Man down

“The imagination is far better at inventing tortures than life because the imagination is a demon within us and it knows where to strike – where it hurts” – Anais Nin

I headed out away from my van with one concern. Why was Tanner “taking a rest” a mile ahead? Something was wrong. He had been there all the while I was at my pit – and they did not tell me. If they didn’t tell me, then something must be wrong, and they didn’t want me to know.

I saw the white van on the left – a twin to the one my crew was in. I circled around. There was Tanner, and he had his gear off. At least he was standing. I pulled up.

“Are you ok?” “Yeah.” “What happened?” “My body is just not working anymore.” I paused and surveyed his body language. “Can you go on?” I asked. “No,” he said, “I felt like I was going to pass out at 70 miles an hour.”

Awww man. I couldn’t believe it. If he tapped out of this race, there had to be a damn good reason. Here’s a kid who ran 46 miles a month earlier. He doesn’t quit. Being in anaphylactic shock 30 hours before the green flag had something to do with it, I was sure. Add lack of sleep and going all out like he was, and this is the result.

“Are you sure?” “Yeah,” he said solemnly.

“Are you okay with it?” He knew what I meant; was he ok with not finishing? “Yeah,” he said. I reached up to put my hand on his face. This was my son. It was just yesterday that he was a little boy. It was hard to see him have to drop out. But at least he was taking it alright.

Of course, when he rolled into this spot to meet his van earlier, he was far from alright. He got off the bike and dropped to the ground. Some members of the crew wanted to take him to the hospital. By the time I got there, he had some time to re-gather himself and accept it.

Ok. Now what?  I looked around. They were all looking at us. At me. Two crews. Andrew, Arturo, Ralph, Franz, Trevor, John, Jesse, Ted, Chad, Omar, Bobby, and Todd.

Tanner looked at me with encouragement.

It was on me now. It was up to me to finish this race. All of a sudden it was more important than ever. Nobody else could do it. I had to make it happen. I was Dad again.

There was nothing more for me to do here. Tanner was ok. I had to go.

I had two chase trucks now – one of them with Tanner in it. I felt great. Really good. A surge of resolve and energy filled me. I was reborn. I felt strong. I would finish this race!

My next goal was to go 177 miles to the physical checkpoint at mile 784 by dawn; the second dawn. It was 10:30 pm. I had all night to get there and still be on my race plan.

I rode away from the team with conviction. About a half-mile towards the center of this tiny town a flagger waved me right. There were crowds of people along the road, three deep in places. They were waving and cheering. I fist pumped them to the right. There were lights and colors and movement. Cheering. I fist pumped them to the left.

The people of Baja let us ride on their land. They don’t know me, but I was giving them something back. I fist pumped them to the left. Colors. Crowds. Lights. The 230-year-old mission church presided over the plaza. Left. More crowds along the narrow streets with one story masonry buildings three feet off the curbs. I fist pump the crowd again. I will finish this race. I had done so much right, and I felt good. I was over halfway there.

More people. More cheering. Narrow street. All of a sudden this little town kicked me out into the oblivion of the nighttime desert. Black. No more people or cheering. No more lights. Just me and the blood in my veins and oil in my engine.

 

As I would find out soon enough, I had just made a huge mistake…