#4 Talk to Yourself

It’s Thursday, November 17, 2016. One day until go time.

Today, we packed our packs we’d carry with us during the race. Hydration bladders with water and electrolyte powder added. Multi-tool, knife, wire cutters, wire ties and tape. A small tool kit, flashlights, headlamp, and battery back-up lights that attach to your helmet like two Mickey Mouse ears. Energy gels, Clif bars, a rag, extra goggles; tinted for day, and clear for night. And of course, race team stickers – highly collectible in Baja, even by the military at checkpoints.

We packed a race bag to be kept in the truck with extra jackets and warm shirts to layer up when night came.

We put reflectors all over us. I went nuts and put them on the back of my helmet, boots, inside the rear fender of my bike, on my pack, my riding jacket and neck brace. I did not want to get run over by a trophy truck. It has happened too often here. I wanted to reflect their billion candle power lights back at them through the dust.

Then we went to the grocery store. My wife Wendy, and then Tanner, taught me how to eat. While I’m not perfect, I have changed my diet a lot. While Tanner had his own ideas, I bought bananas, apples, ham and bread, and something Tanner turned me on to – Chia.  

After listening to the book “Born to Run,” we learned about the Tara Humara, an indigenous people in the remote mountains in Mexico, who were long distance runners. They could run more than 100 miles. I heard much farther than that. What did they drink before this? Chia. You mix Chia seeds in water and add some lime juice and maybe a bit of sugar for taste. The seeds expand and look and feel like frog eggs in your mouth. You get used to it. Chia is rich in slow burning fat (calories). You can eat and drink at the same time. It’s like a natural Red Bull, without the roller coaster. I prepared three bottles for the race, and Tanner prepared four.

At 7pm, we went to the mandatory drivers/riders meeting. In this race, there are various classes of vehicles.  Besides motorcycles, there are different types of four wheeled vehicles. Trophy Trucks are at the top of the food chain. They cost a million dollars to build from scratch. 800 horsepower, four feet of suspension travel for huge tires – they can do 100 mph over rocks and rough terrain – and they do. Truly impressive – and scary as hell for motorcyclists. These guys don’t play around.

Then there are multiple classes of buggies. Don’t let the cute name fool you. Buggies are two-wheel-drive versions of trophy trucks, and nearly as capable. Behind that are a variety of other four-wheeled desert racing machines. This year more than ever, I realized this race was all about the trucks. The motorcycles are an after thought. That’s why they don’t do the safe thing and let the motorcycles race the day before the trucks. Because the spectators come for the trucks. That’s why they start us at 6am and the trucks at 10am. The spectators will come out more at 10am.

The trucks are faster and catch up to the bikes midway through. This means that 150 trucks have to come through 100 motorcycles. That is a recipe for disaster. The riders meeting was all about “safety.” The conversation was all about the motorcycles getting out of the way of the trucks in time so they don’t get run over, and don’t hold up the trucks. God forbid the truck should lose a few seconds to give a bike a chance. No admonishing the truck drivers to be careful of motorcycles. I was angry.

They did start using a tracker system called the “Stella” system this year. This is a box that is bolted to your handlebars next to your GPS. The Stella allows the race organizers to track your every move on GPS to catch cheaters, making sure you don’t cut the course and assessing penalties if you do such that it is not worth it.  Another thing it does is really cool. If a truck comes up behind you and he sees that a bike is ahead, he can press a button and “light you up.”  Your Stella tracker will light up bright blue and a siren goes off to tell you to get out of the way before you get run over. It sounds great. Now let’s see how they work in real life.

After the meeting, we needed to sleep. That, of course, was a problem. How could you sleep knowing you had to wake up at 4am for a race that could last 36 hours? Sleep under pressure! I managed to get some sleep, but keeping my mind off the race was not easy.

Controlling your thoughts and emotions is really important in all areas of life. If we think about failing, or how hard things will be, or that we aren’t good enough – then that becomes our reality. Of course, you have to prepare because that is where confidence comes from – preparation. But you simply must control your inner dialogue. Your subconscious mind cannot distinguish between what is real or what is imagined. It acts on the messages it gets.  

Let’s say you are talking yourself down and saying you can’t do something. And let’s say it is not true – you really can do it. Your subconscious hears the message and makes it come true. You will take yourself out of the game, or perform badly to validate what you already said was true.

Pay attention to your self-talk. Then change it. Even if you don’t believe it at first. Keep talking positive to yourself.  

I laid in bed at the San Nicolas hotel hours before the most difficult race in the world, telling myself I could do it – and that I would not stop until I saw the finish line. How hard could it be? If anyone could do it, I could…I got this……zzzzzzzzz.

#3 Preparing to Win

With the race starting at dawn on Friday, we had a busy Wednesday preparing.  We officially registered for the race and got our wristbands with our medical information on them.  Then we had to pre-run from the start to mile 38.  They had just released the GPS coordinates for that part of the course that morning.  This is so the locals in the more populated area near the start aren’t endangered by pre-running trophy trucks for a month before the race.  

Then we’d meet our race bikes for the first time.  They were built for this race for us in California by our race support team.  We had to shake them down, and ride them for a while to make sure everything was ok.  Then we’d take the wheels off, put the spare ones on, and get them up to speed to make sure there were no problems.  

Our tires did not have air in them.  Instead, they had a hard foam donut in them.  This way we couldn’t get a flat on the sharp rocks.  When it got dark, we put four different combinations of lights on the bikes, and tested and adjusted each one.  If your lights go out, which happened to Tanner at night and me during the day while pre-running, you’re stuck in the desert until morning.  Jimmy, the race bike builder, put a second power supply on each bike.  If the lights went out, he showed us how to disconnect the old power supply and use the new circuit to see if that would fire up the lights.

I wanted lots of rest before the race.  Unfortunately, we wound up riding nearly 100 miles on Wednesday testing, just 36 hours before the race.  Not energy I wanted to use up so close to the race.  Everything counts.

I was excited because today, our friends came in.  In an unusual move, I invited seven friends to come and chase us during the race.  Why?  You’ll see.

Bobby Miles, Kevin Koval, and Todd Lutinski would chase Tanner in a Jeep that Todd borrowed from his friend in Tijuana.  (You can’t rent a car and drive it to Mexico – it’s illegal in Mexico, and against rental car company rules.  If you get caught in Mexico, you go to jail).

Franz Froelich and his son, Trevor, are from California.  They picked up my friends Ralph Carpinella and John Sayour in San Diego and brought them down.  They each met us in Ojos Negros where we were testing the race bikes.  I was glad to see them.  The group ranged in age from 20 to 73 – a diverse group to be sure.  These friends didn’t hesitate when I asked them.  But I don’t think they realized exactly what was about to happen.  An adventure was about to begin that will never be forgotten by any of us.  

When we got to the hotel that night, they only had two rooms for seven guys.  A snafu with little cure as the hotel was sold out with racers and crews.  Four guys in a room?  No problem in Baja.  

It’s amazing what we’ve come accustomed to complain about.  In a country like Mexico, when a mother holding her baby walks up and down lines of cars waiting at the border selling churros to people waiting to get back into America, or when that 8 year old girl who learned how to juggle comes by your window and shows her skill and waits for you to hopefully approve…

The size of obstacles is relative.  My friends cheerfully accepted their situation without much discussion.  This was nothing…

#2 What's inside?

On day two of pre-running the Baja 1000 course, we did another 200 miles. That’s it. It got dark and Tanner had a dim stock headlight on his bike as the proper, bright race lights had failed the night before. We got a motel and for security, we pushed the bikes right into the $15-a-night room! I thought we’d get in big trouble if we got caught doing this. When we had no hot water and needed a shower badly, I became less worried. In the morning when I could see more of the place, I wasn’t worried at all. It’s Baja. It’s a different world here.

We asked where the best restaurant in town was. Two blocks. On this road, of course – there are no other paved roads on the entire Pacific side. We went in and the Cubs game was on – 9th inning, tied score, several locals cheering them on. By the time we left the place, the Cubs had performed their miracle. “That’s what I need,” I thought. A miracle.

On day three, we did another 220 miles. We were beat. Our hands were numb. Tanner was ahead of me as we bounded down a whooped out (wavy) sand section. He didn’t see that the spaces between two of the whoops were four feet deep – a wash. He cartwheeled his bike and was thrown over the handlebars. Lucky the bike did not land squarely on him. We were miles from help.  

He regrouped. Lucky the bike was ok to ride still. Two miles later he had the head of a dead cactus stuck in his hand. It looked like an anemone. A few hours after that, I missed, a little dogleg on my GPS and went straight instead. On the course notes, this is where it said “Danger, drop off.”  As I appraoched, I could see the trail fell away, with a much lower elevation ahead. I figured it was a grade going down, as I braked into it to see how steep it was. To my horror, it was straight down, 6 feet. Because I was braking, all the weight was forward; I’d surely flip over the handlebars if I went airborn now. My motocross skills kicked in and I instinctively blipped the throttle. It was too late to get the front wheel up. As I dropped, I didn’t know if I’d save it or not. After a hard hit on the front wheel, would the rear end go down, or up and over the front one? Lucky. I looked at my GPS and realized my small mistake. I missed a turn 15 feet before the cliff.

This section of Baja is called Borrego. It’s the most brutal terrain in Baja. That’s what the driver of the broken down desert buggy said to me a few miles later. He was pre-running too, and had become a Baja casualty that day.

The fourth and last day of pre-running gave me some hope. The course flowed better and there were some faster sections. I was encouraged for a bit. Tanner reminded me that it took us four days to ride this, and we still didn’t do the 38 miles out from the start, or the 40 miles back into the finish line. More than that, we had three 8-hour periods of sleep in between our rides. Yes. I knew this. I had little reason to be encouraged. On race day, we needed to do all of this – at once.

We flew home. One week later, we were to fly back for race week – the race being on Friday, November 18. I controlled my thoughts and self-talk as best as I could. I talked myself into being excited for the challenge.  

We can talk ourselves into things. You know this.

On Monday of race week, we went out with the video guys to get some drone footage over the beautiful desert. We decided to go to a 12-mile-long sand wash that we did not pre-run before. (A sand wash is a dry riverbed.) Jesse Dostie put the drone up. I pulled off the paved road into the deep sand. A quarter mile later I look back expecting to see Tanner. No Tanner.

I stopped and waited. No Tanner. I went back. I thought maybe he stalled because we forgot to turn the gas valve on. We had just started! There he was 20 seconds off the pavement, where he hit a watermelon-sized rock sticking up out of the deep sand, camouflaged in the shadows. His front wheel slammed the rock, the back of the bike kicked up violently, and he went over the handlebars. His footpeg jammed into the side of his boot as the bike landed on him. Lucky it was soft sand and he didn’t hit any rocks. His helmet was full of sand, and both wheels were bent, but he wasn’t badly hurt.

Later, we reviewed helmet camera footage, and we got the whole thing on video.

While there was no reason in the world for us to believe we could actually pull off this 855 mile non-stop race solo, we never thought of not trying.

What makes someone attempt a feat so dangerous when their chances of failure are so high? Why would anyone face such a challenge he did not have to?

There is something for each man to discover within himself. The Baja 1000 is where I discovered what was in me.

#1 – What are limits?

Are limits physical or mental?  Are they real or created by us?

Finding out can be a spiritual experience. 

After nearly a year of preparation, planning, and sleep lost for what the possibilities were, we were as ready as we were going to be. The Baja 1000 was the longest non-stop race on the planet on the most brutal terrain a motorcyclist can imagine. My 21 year old son Tanner and I were lined up for the start in the dark in Encenada Mexico.  Half the teams of up to six riders don’t finish. We had chosen to race in the Pro Moto Ironman class. This means you are on your own.  You’ll have to race 855 miles in one shot just to finish. Historically, the odds of this happening were very slim.  

Two weeks earlier we were on the Baja peninsula to pre-run the course.  You don’t show up for a survival race having never seen what you’re in for.  While we ran this race as a two man team last year, the course is laid out different each year. We had three bikes, Honda 450X’s, one for each of us plus a spare, packed into a van.  We had a GPS and stared out into the desert.  What now?  Ride out there and try to pick up the GPS line at mile 38. They keep the first 38 miles of the course a secret until two days before the race.  There were barbed wire ranch fences with locked gates.  It took us 40 minutes to even find the race course. A frustrated start 

What possible difference could it make to take four days to ride over 855 miles? Think about how far that is from your home. Now think about traversing that far through the wilderness.  How could you remember every turn, fork, boulder, rut and hazard? That’s what I was thinking.  Amazingly, it helps dramatically. With practice you can make a strategy and be mentally prepared. It can also scare the crap out of you when you realize the magnitude of what you signed up for.

The most I have ever ridden in one day was 390 miles. But that was in last years race and I alternated with Tanner. Every few hours I could rest while he was riding and get myself regrouped.  It was a 25 1/2 hour race, but I only rode for half of that time. Besides that giant effort with its “hurry-up offense” pace, the most I’ve gone was 270 miles. I felt half-dead afterwards.

My plan in pre-running was to ride 12-14 hours to find “The Wall”. I had been training hard since winter broke.  I had been trying to keep up with Tanner with Spartan work outs and races  I was running in the woods regularly. I had lost 15 pounds I did not think I had to lose.  I had taken my body to where I thought I could not go on anymore up Killington mountain.  Now I wanted to do it on a dirt bike.

My plan was foiled by a delayed start for preparation, and what happened when it got dark.  Tanner was behind me by a mile or so. It was ink black.  So dark the night sky looked light with its stars laced gracefully over the unnamed desolation you viewed it from. I got to a barbed wire gate across the course.  These gates would be down during the race, but until then they were holding in cattle and horses.  If you ride into one the wire would get inder your helmet and chin and take your…well – don’t run into one.  

I got off my bike and took the makeshift gate down, with its sticks holding the wire apart. I waited for Tanner. He didn’t come.  With my own lights off, I should be able to easily pick up and glint of light for many miles.  Nothing. I rode back a mile to higher ground.  No light.  I took my helmet off to listen.  I only heard the dry wind. 

Really? We’re supposed to race 855 Miles on this course soon and we can’t go 200 miles without a mishap? Yes…of course.  This is Baja.  Baja doesn’t care about us. The majesty of the desert and mountains can lure you in with its beauty or end your life, without any preference. 

Where’s Tanner? Why does that question sound familiar? And what does a father do now?  I could see for miles behind me and there were no lights.  I decided to go forward.  Maybe he took a different wash down to the lower elevation.  In the shallow parallel canyons maybe he passed me and I didn’t see him. 

I went four miles ahead into the black, and started to feel like I was doing the wrong thing. Something told me to turn back.  So I did.  I saw a white four door pickup truck coming.  We came together.  In the desert, your survival is at stake and when you see someone, you stop and check with each other; not like in places where there are plenty of people to be ignored.  The four guys in the unmarked truck had guns and didn’t speak English. I figured they were police because guns are illegal in Mexico, and they were trying to understand me, not rob me.

As I tried to understand the guy sticking his head out of the rear window, the driver pointed ahead into the dark. A light, far dimmer than Tanner’s approached.  But it was Tanner!  The reason I didn’t see his light is because it failed. Oddly it didn’t go completely out, but glowed like a cell phone.  He picked his way though the rocks at 1 mph this way.  

We rode alongside each other for miles, sharing my light, trying to get to the road.  His light came fullon for five seconds, and then went out completely.  An electrical problem.  The locals built a huge jump, Which we know are often booby traps for racers because they’d have a pit on the other side where they got the dirt from.  If you didn’t clear the pit, you were going to take a dirt nap.  In going around it, I lost Tanner again.  Why?  I went back and shined my headlight on him to find a big bail of wire wrapped around his rear wheel, sprocket, and brake. We worked to get it all out by beding dozens of strands of wire back and forth and back and forth to break it. Finally.

Tiny towns were scarce and had few amenities. We knew we were close to El Rosario.  We found the road and found a small dusty hotel. One problem. Chad, our driver and mechanic, was waiting for us 40 miles away.  I left a tired and cold Tanner at the hotel and set out back into the night to find Chad.  I wasn’t dressed right for high speed in the cold night.  By the time I got there my core temperature had fallen. We loaded the bike in the van alongside the spare one, and I got in telling Chad what happened.  As we drove back to El Rosario, I shivered and my body began to give me signals.  Distress signals.

Riding a dirt bike in this terrain is not like driving a car or even riding a motorcycle on the road. For the first 20 minutes it’s fun. The it’s work.  Then it’s a workout. Then misery. It’s physically punishing.  After 260 miles of riding that first pre-run day, I felt nauseous.  Sick.  Dizzy.

Thinking about the 855 mile race….how could this even be possible?  I was worried.  No, I was more than worried.  

I was terrified…

The Bell Tolls For Us

At 6:00 am Pacific time today, the green flag will fall on Larry and Tanner Janesky for the Baja 1000 – the longest non-stop cross country race in the world. This year, we are racing against each other (wingmen) in the Ironman class – where you are on your own – no teammates. We each have to complete the 850 miles of riding our dirt bikes across the dust, rocks and silt of the Baja peninsula in Mexico by ourselves.

For us, it is the challenge of a lifetime. Extreme physical output and focus and concentration for about 27-32 hours…I will be employing all the ideas I know to dig this out of me. We’ll be on the bike all day today, all night tonight, and finish some time tomorrow.  

Belief, purpose and drive.

But what if it doesn't work?

What if it does?

Moving "Toward"

What are your goals?  

Will what you work on today bring you meaningfully closer?

Who is going to stop you?

“It’s not who is going to let me, it’s who is going to stop me.” – Ayn Rand

Don’t stop yourself.

Some Challenges We Choose

There are many challenges in life. Some we have to face, and some we choose.

As most of you know, last year my son Tanner and I entered the longest non-stop off-road race in the world – the Baja 1000. We raced our dirt bike 822 miles as a two man team, taking six turns each. It was a giant challenge that required much to even finish – planning, learning from experts, teamwork, physical and mental preparation, and perseverance. In 25 hours and 37 minutes, we finished – and won by 60 seconds!

Last year, we were racing against teams that had 4 to 6 riders on their teams. We were a team of two, so we were at a disadvantage. This year, we both decided to take on the only Baja 1000 challenge more difficult than that – the Ironman class. This means you do all the riding yourself – no teammates!

This will be exponentially harder than having one teammate. Last year, while Tanner was riding for his 1-3 hour turns, I was sitting in the chase truck resting, hydrating, eating and making adjustments to my gear, etc. This year, there is no rest. If you stop to rest, your bike is not moving, and there is a 36 hour time limit to complete the race. Only two Ironman riders finished in the time limit last year. This year’s race begins at Pacific coast dawn on Friday, Nov 18.

I don’t know if this is perfectly accurate, but someone said that 25 times more people have summitted Mt. Everest than have finished the Ironman class in the Baja 1000. We have been training for this all year. We are ready.

Doing things that stretch you, take you outside of your comfort zone, and that even scare you, makes you better prepared to live the other dimensions of your life without fear and stress – at least that is what is has done for me.  

The Baja 1000 is an unforgiving race in an unforgiving land. But I believe in the outcome – we will both finish.

"Fanatically Committed"…

…to the wrong thing.

Do people do that?

Do we do that?