The course was chewed up and slower than in pre-running. I had tape on my front fender with all my stops written on it. I was looking for the Baja gas pit at race mile 591. Mile 591 came – no pit. I pressed forward to 592. No pit, just desolation. 593 – nothing. Now I was seriously worried. I was having flashbacks of last year. Did I miss the pit? I was in the desert and had not seen a person or structure or vehicle in many miles.
I see a weathered old man with a walking stick in the middle of nowhere. I was desperate. “Gasolina?” I yelled to him. He shook his head. I was looking for some knowledge (or gas) from anyone I could get it from. I pressed forward. The course went up a mountain. I knew the pit would not be up here. 594 – nothing. Did they move the pit? 595. Oh my God.
A downhill followed by a very steep hill climb was in front of me. I was great at hill climbs and I crushed it. It was starting to get light. I saw about ten people watching the hill. I stopped and yelled. “Gasolina?” They pointed up the course and yelled “Baja Pit”. Thank God. A little higher in elevation and I could see orange signs and a pop-up awning in the distance.
I pulled up and told the guys “I was worried! You are supposed to be five miles back!” I looked to my left under the tent and see a bike. 722x. It was Liz’s number. I raise my gaze and see an unnumbered bike and a rider who didn’t look beat down like a racer would be by this time. Then I see Liz eating a pop tart. I said, “How are you doing Liz?” She just waved at me.
I found out later that her team got her a pace rider in two of the hardest sections to ride with her and make sure she was ok. Interesting idea. Some long distance runners have a pacer run with them for ten mile stretches to keep them going. I never heard of a rule against it.
Just two miles later, I came out to the road to see my crew. Liz’s truck was in front of ours waiting for her. I made it to 598 by dawn. Nearly on my “minimum” goal, but 2 hours and 15 minutes behind my plan. Nighttime, the silt and fatigue had taken its toll. The situation was critical. If I lost another 45 minutes against my plan, I would not finish in time. I cut the stop very short – just a few minutes. Liz rolled up and I rolled out.
Race or not, the night is a desperate time, especially when things are not going well. When the sun comes up we feel new life, hope and energy. It’s clean and new. It’s as if the race had started all over again.
I headed toward the Pacific Ocean in high spirits.