Living the Dos Sertoes Dream: Racing 4,500km across Brazil
- Thread starter BlueBull2007
- Start date
Rbacknz
Puppy
Had to bump this back up to the top of the list. It is too good to be forgotten about. :biggrin:
STAGE 7 - S.Félix do Tocantins (TO) – Balsas (MA)
12km - Initial Liaison
501km – Special Stage
7km – Final Liaison
Total for the day 520km.
We wake before dawn as usual; it’s amazing how refreshed we feel. What an nice snooze it was indeed! These marathon stages sure do have their advantages. We shove down a few rolls and oranges lock up and trot over to the park ferme. There is a crowd on eager bikers being held back by the officials. No-one is allowed in before their time, and when they do go in, it’s carefully recorded as is their time coming out. They don’t even allow us to start our bikes, we have to push them out and start only when we have been waved off.
I get my time and move in with my road book rolled up ready to go. I have stuck some strips of duct tape to the side of my road book and I fiddle with the motor and the rollers to get the scroll lined up properly and onto the machine. It’s a 500km road book which rolls up too big to fit the whole thing in. If you load too much paper, then the little motor does not work and you have a mare to deal with that will lose you a lot of time, so it is very important to spend time on the loading process to make sure the paper winds on properly. In this case I have to tear off about half and put it in my pocket, and roll the other half onto the machine. I make sure that the section I tear off is past the first refueling point, where we have 15 minutes neutralization time to fill up and sort out our lives. I can roll the other half on then.
Good stuff. I have about 4 minutes to hang about, and I take the time to relax and just chill. I watch a couple of quad bikers getting ready. One of them had some kind of technical problem with his bike and he is prodding something in his engine. An official comes up to him and instructs him not to touch, he has to wait until his bike is outside and he is on the liaison. The poor guy has to push his bike out of the park ferme and then work on it outside. I think it’s pretty anally retentive, but I also remind myself that this is racing, and the Dakar is far worse with this kind of thing.
I get called and I start my bike. The damn thing doesn’t want to start! I try again, helping the engine with the kicker and it fires. Thank God. I set off on the short liaison, basically reversing our route from yesterday for the first bit. Then it turns off to the north and I get to the start of the special. I take my place in the line, get my time card stamped, have my time written in and line up for the start. Everyday there is the same excitement and nervousness, Its old hat for us now, we’ve done this for seven days running, but the butterflies just don’t disappear. The start is in deep sand, and the official has to dive away every time he does the countdown to avoid being covered in sand. He is wearing a dust mask as well. Must be an awful job.
I brace over the bars and at 3 seconds to go I lean forward and whack the throttle, dropping the clutch at one second. The bike slowly pitches forward and in a few seconds
I’m doing 130km/hr along a little two track, literally floating over the sand like a ship. It’s great. This road is not as tight so we can really fly along. The area has seen a huge veldt fire and there is nothing left, the road is open and it’s easy to see what is coming up. The gap between the cautions in the road book is big so I can focus on the riding and enjoy myself.
I’m just thinking how fast I am going when Ze Helio who started a minute behind me blasts past me ten minutes into the stage.
He is really moving on that Speedbrain BMW of his, and he waves his leg in the air to thank me. Shit. It’s a pleasure boet, I never even knew you were coming! Good thing I held my line.
I feel a sense of honor to be sharing the track with a guy like this. I accelerate to keep up with him but the speed at which he corners is too much for me and I can only stay with him for about 10 minutes, all the time he is edging a little further away. It’s really impressive but at the same time I feel great being able to keep up with him to some extent. He has nothing to lose, no wife, no kids, a paid professional. I don’t have the same situation, I need to walk after the rally so obviously I don’t take the same carefree attitude he does into the corners! Even so, Ze is a human being after all it is possible to ride with these guys albeit for only a while. It does wonders for my confidence.
I’m enjoying today’s riding a lot more than yesterday, its similar riding but my “flow” is somehow better: I’m cornering better, navigating better and probably riding the same speed but it feels faster. Of course it’s possible to flick the ICO over to show speed with the control switch on my left bar, but then you can’t see your ODO. I guess that is why some guys have two of them on their bikes. I’m doing just fine with mine.
Decyphering a rally road-book
Some of you may be wondering how a road book and ICO is used to navigate.
Looking the above example, the road book is divided into three sections vertically. In the left column are the distances of each waypoint (WP) from the start in kilometers in big, bold numbering. The first one on the top right of the above photo is 231.22km. The little number beneath it in the white box is the distance to the next WP in kilometers, in this case 0.17km, or 170m.
The middle column has the tulip diagrams representing each WP, always shown in plan-view. North is not necessarily at the top of this “map”, the direction you are travelling in when you reach a point is always upwards, with an arrow showing the direction you will be travelling, starting with a dot at the bottom, in this case, highlighted in green at point at 231.39km. The dot always marks the “starting point” just before each WP. In this tulip, a solid arrow indicates a left hand turn off from the main road. In other words at 231.39km there is a sharp left hand turn off the road you are travelling along. The type of line is important, for example a solid line (as shown in this case) represents a road; if it is a thin line a small track; a dashed line a very small path; and a dotted line is no track but only the direction you should be heading, normally accompanied by a CAP heading (or compass bearing).
On the right hand column of the strip there are normally codes and other important information related to that particular waypoint. The single exclamation (!) mark represents a single caution or something of importance. A double exclamation represents a double caution, something that could cause you to crash. A triple caution (!!!) like the one shown in the photo at 231.22km is something that is highly dangerous that could result in very serious injury or death of the rider should he or she ignore it.
There are also letters that are codes for various obstacles to be negotiated or landmarks that can be used for navigational purposes. So for example reading from the top I know that I have a very dangerous dip, followed by a sharp right (D, “derecha” or right in Portuguese) onto a small track (narrower line). 170m after that there is a sharp left (E, escierdo or left) that I need be aware of, easy to miss. Then I have 730m before WP 232.12 where I continue straight through a hole in the road, this is not cautioned, so it’s more of a landmark than anything else. So I know to expect this landmark and when I get there, check and adjust my ICO reading to match the road book as I go through it, knowing that I only have 260m before another very dangerous dip (pink, behind Marcelo’s right hand/pen).
The ICO is simply a fancy albeit a very accurate odometer that works off a magnet situated on the front disc, it works like an ABS system on any bike. It feeds to a digital display that is back lit at night. Checking the ICO at point 232.12 it would be very typical for there to be a variation between the ICO reading on the bike and the kilometer indicated in the road book. Sometimes it’s slightly over, sometimes slightly less. Over 700m I found my ICO to be around 0.02-3 or 20-30m ahead of the road book. It’s very important to regularly “set” the ICO to the road book, so you stay with it, by pressing the downcount or upcount button an equivalent number of “clicks” or ten-meter increments so your ICO is the same as the road book.
Of course this is not easy because if you are say traveling at 60km/hr or 16m per second, the ICO continues to count and you can “lose your place” for lack of a better description. You can also be concentrating on this so much you end up riding off the road or into some obstacle you have not seen. So one does not have a lot of time to think about anything else other than navigation on a route like this, especially if the distance gaps between tulips are short. A good example is the easy section of road as indicated below Marcelo’s hand. Remember the pros are reading this and riding along at an average speed of 140-160km/hr including the turns. That’s 100 meters every two and a half seconds!. Try it yourself, try to read the partially hidden tulips in the picture, because in reality that is all you see as you glance down at the road book for not more than a second each time:
236.05, km, left hand turn, check ICO on or 10m after the corner and adjust;
Open up, you have 1.4m to the next point, look ahead and judge how far that is;
237,48 look for a junction left, straight on. Check and adjust ICO;
237.95 keep right;
238.21 2nd turn right, watch out of sharp curves before that, check ICO, and so on.
In most rallies, CAP headings are also supplied, in Sertões not. Most of the Sertões route consists of is tracks, and when there are open areas and dunes GPS navigation is the norm. This makes navigation a lot easier in Sertões than in other rallies in some respects. So I won’t go into CAP headings until it’s time to do a ride report on a rally that uses them. The road book is enough to deal with for a start.
Im writing the rest of Stage 6 now...
madmike999
Race Dog
- Joined
- Feb 20, 2009
- Messages
- 2,995
- Reaction score
- 0
- Location
- pretoria
- Bike
- Honda XRV 750 Africa Twin
:thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft:
![Professional First Aid Kit, Trauma First Aid Kit with Labelled Compartments Molle System for Car, Hiking, Backpacking, Camping, Traveling, and Cycling[New Upgrade]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/41uCkwNilAL._SL500_.jpg)
Fucking hell mate!! Epic stuff! :thumleft:
The riding is going well, I’m flying along and really sliding through the sandy corners.
The road conditions gradually begins to change from sandy and loose to hard-packed but dried mud sections covered by sand.
The trees also get bigger as we go. Pics courtesy www.webventure.com.br
It feels like we are riding somewhere in Zambia, with less open savanna between the bush and trees. It’s beautiful countryside.
Sometimes its really very thick.
Here is Dave barreling along.
Pics courtesy www.webventure.com.br
Exhausting as the route is, I love the riding, and begin to impress myself with my ever improving power sliding prowess. I’m thinking even fellow wilddog Plothond would be impressed when it all goes to pieces on a corner in hard and quite slippery conditions. I don’t adjust my riding technique from the last couple of sandy turns and the bottom slips out and I go down like lightning, not time to react at all. The rubber side is definitely up and I land hard on my left side, spinning off the narrow track. It hurts big time, but nothing seems to be broken on me or the bike. Im angry with myself as I limp about in a bit of a daze. Again, it’s only two kilometers to the refueling point where we get 15 minutes of neutralization, enough time to rest and refocus. My bike seems to be okay and I ride on, nursing my bruised shoulder sore head and ego. Three cheers for the Acerbis ballistic jersey I am wearing; again I escape and am able to ride on. The bike seems to be fine as well, which is good, because being the second day of the marathon, we still have a lot of kilometers to cover without any real maintenance on these machines.
Five-time Sertões winner Ze Helio in action on Stage 6 on his Speedbrain BMW.
I get to the refuel point at 120km and have a bit of a break. There isn’t much time to relax though, because I have three tanks to refill and each one has to have its measure of octane booster and two-stroke oil added, as recommended by the mechanics. I eyeball the amounts and push my bike away from the refueling vehicle to make way for the other riders coming in. Its only about 10:30 am but its swelteringly hot already. I down a bottle of water and shove down an energy bar while I rip out the first 100km of the road book. I find I can just squeeze in the rest of the roll for the day without causing it to jam in the machine. I run out of time and have to leave again. The official tells me that the special has been cut to 222km. “Why?” I ask. They tell me they were unable to secure access and it was felt by the organizers that it would be too unsafe to race. We would still have to finish same route it would form a liaison instead. Pity about that, but as Im waved away I’m happy that I only have to race another 100km because the fatigue factor is really beginning to count against me. The riding has been energy sapping stuff and progressive exhaustion is still setting in.
The route gets a bit faster and its going great. At about km160 I notice I’m battling to read the road book. It takes me a another little while to realize that its moving around with the vibrations. I have to stop and look. A sinking feeling hits me like a punch in the pit of my stomach as I peer down over the bars. I experienced the same thing in the rally training four months earlier. The soft aluminum of the navigation tower had been damaged in the fall and the whole thing has been vibrating loose, the whole friggin front sub frame and fairing. "F***!!!"
I waggle it with my hands and it only moves about an inch so I decide to just live with it and whack it for the next 60km to the finish of the special. Luckily the riding is a little more open here, so I do just this, and really fly. All the time the whole sub frame is wobbling more and more. Its very disconcerting to see the front of my bike moving about at speed. At the 200km mark the shaking is too much to ignore so I stop again and tighten up a couple of the good bolts that have been working loose. One is literally about to fall out. I lose a good ten minutes in the process. I notice that to situation looks hopeless, the torn metal is exerting too much stress on the remaining bolts and with the torque of the bike bouncing over the rough track the good bolts will loosen up and fall out if left unattended. This is a disaster, but I have only 20km to the end of the special. From there I reason I can limp on and get to the finish without too much pressure.
Guys are passing me. Im losing time.
I have no choice really, lose mega time or hope it does not fall apart in the next twenty. I leap on the bike and ride on. In a minute or two the vibrations are too much and everything is wobbling around again. Then my road book stops working. "Magtig!!" The power cable to it must have been cut. I ride on winding the road book by hand. Each time I touch the roadbook, I feel like I am holding the whole front end of the bike in my hand and it is going to fall off if I let go.
I have only fifteen kilometers to go before I am able to stop and work on it, only fifteen, if I can get that far! After that I have nearly 300km further to go before I see a mechanic. I consider how ridiculous the situation is really, after my experience last April. That time I only rode five kilometers before it became unrideable. That time I had professional help. This time I am on my own and I have no spares for this. "Please God, just let it hold together!"
Just as I say this, I hear that characteristic blinging, tingling sound of something metallic falling off the bike and hitting something under the bike. There goes another bolt. Oh crap!
I ride on. There is no stopping for freaking bolts at 145km/hr.
The road conditions gradually begins to change from sandy and loose to hard-packed but dried mud sections covered by sand.
The trees also get bigger as we go. Pics courtesy www.webventure.com.br
It feels like we are riding somewhere in Zambia, with less open savanna between the bush and trees. It’s beautiful countryside.
Sometimes its really very thick.
Here is Dave barreling along.
Pics courtesy www.webventure.com.br
Exhausting as the route is, I love the riding, and begin to impress myself with my ever improving power sliding prowess. I’m thinking even fellow wilddog Plothond would be impressed when it all goes to pieces on a corner in hard and quite slippery conditions. I don’t adjust my riding technique from the last couple of sandy turns and the bottom slips out and I go down like lightning, not time to react at all. The rubber side is definitely up and I land hard on my left side, spinning off the narrow track. It hurts big time, but nothing seems to be broken on me or the bike. Im angry with myself as I limp about in a bit of a daze. Again, it’s only two kilometers to the refueling point where we get 15 minutes of neutralization, enough time to rest and refocus. My bike seems to be okay and I ride on, nursing my bruised shoulder sore head and ego. Three cheers for the Acerbis ballistic jersey I am wearing; again I escape and am able to ride on. The bike seems to be fine as well, which is good, because being the second day of the marathon, we still have a lot of kilometers to cover without any real maintenance on these machines.
Five-time Sertões winner Ze Helio in action on Stage 6 on his Speedbrain BMW.
I get to the refuel point at 120km and have a bit of a break. There isn’t much time to relax though, because I have three tanks to refill and each one has to have its measure of octane booster and two-stroke oil added, as recommended by the mechanics. I eyeball the amounts and push my bike away from the refueling vehicle to make way for the other riders coming in. Its only about 10:30 am but its swelteringly hot already. I down a bottle of water and shove down an energy bar while I rip out the first 100km of the road book. I find I can just squeeze in the rest of the roll for the day without causing it to jam in the machine. I run out of time and have to leave again. The official tells me that the special has been cut to 222km. “Why?” I ask. They tell me they were unable to secure access and it was felt by the organizers that it would be too unsafe to race. We would still have to finish same route it would form a liaison instead. Pity about that, but as Im waved away I’m happy that I only have to race another 100km because the fatigue factor is really beginning to count against me. The riding has been energy sapping stuff and progressive exhaustion is still setting in.
The route gets a bit faster and its going great. At about km160 I notice I’m battling to read the road book. It takes me a another little while to realize that its moving around with the vibrations. I have to stop and look. A sinking feeling hits me like a punch in the pit of my stomach as I peer down over the bars. I experienced the same thing in the rally training four months earlier. The soft aluminum of the navigation tower had been damaged in the fall and the whole thing has been vibrating loose, the whole friggin front sub frame and fairing. "F***!!!"
I waggle it with my hands and it only moves about an inch so I decide to just live with it and whack it for the next 60km to the finish of the special. Luckily the riding is a little more open here, so I do just this, and really fly. All the time the whole sub frame is wobbling more and more. Its very disconcerting to see the front of my bike moving about at speed. At the 200km mark the shaking is too much to ignore so I stop again and tighten up a couple of the good bolts that have been working loose. One is literally about to fall out. I lose a good ten minutes in the process. I notice that to situation looks hopeless, the torn metal is exerting too much stress on the remaining bolts and with the torque of the bike bouncing over the rough track the good bolts will loosen up and fall out if left unattended. This is a disaster, but I have only 20km to the end of the special. From there I reason I can limp on and get to the finish without too much pressure.
Guys are passing me. Im losing time.
I have no choice really, lose mega time or hope it does not fall apart in the next twenty. I leap on the bike and ride on. In a minute or two the vibrations are too much and everything is wobbling around again. Then my road book stops working. "Magtig!!" The power cable to it must have been cut. I ride on winding the road book by hand. Each time I touch the roadbook, I feel like I am holding the whole front end of the bike in my hand and it is going to fall off if I let go.
I have only fifteen kilometers to go before I am able to stop and work on it, only fifteen, if I can get that far! After that I have nearly 300km further to go before I see a mechanic. I consider how ridiculous the situation is really, after my experience last April. That time I only rode five kilometers before it became unrideable. That time I had professional help. This time I am on my own and I have no spares for this. "Please God, just let it hold together!"
Just as I say this, I hear that characteristic blinging, tingling sound of something metallic falling off the bike and hitting something under the bike. There goes another bolt. Oh crap!
I ride on. There is no stopping for freaking bolts at 145km/hr.
Aquatic
Race Dog
- Joined
- Oct 19, 2007
- Messages
- 1,907
- Reaction score
- 2
- Bike
- BMW F650GS / Dakar
BlueBull2007 said:
That says it all!!!
Neil, you are like 'Hood' drug pusher!
You get us addicted
Then you leave us to suffer withdrawal
Just as we get over the withdrawal and over the addiction you give us another shot in the arm and we're fucked
Addicted all over again!
Keep it coming please! Need another "FIX"
Aquatic said:
;D
Glad youre enjoying it bro! its 2:26 am here and Im desperately trying to finish Day 7 before I head out to the bushveld for a couple of three days.
Aquatic
Race Dog
- Joined
- Oct 19, 2007
- Messages
- 1,907
- Reaction score
- 2
- Bike
- BMW F650GS / Dakar
BlueBull2007 said:
Nee fok!
Another intermission.
The show has been more than worth it though!
I don’t know quite how, but the bike makes it to the end of the special. It’s in a little village. I ride another couple of hundred meters and find a nice tree with lots of shade to park under. There is crowd of about fifty people standing there, watching the passing racers. They are delighted and watch me with great interest as I strip off the fairing and use about 100 cable ties to lash the fairing together.
The damage is horrific. Bolts have been stripped and I’m missing crucial spacers holding the structure together, moreover a couple of aluminum plates have been badly torn by the vibrations since my last stop. It’s painfully obvious that this is just not going to last. I use my towing rope to lash the whole lot together in a bunch and tighten the remaining bolts. I consider using liquid metal as well, but all the surfaces are too dirty to provide a decent bonding surface. There is nothing to clean this up out here without embarking on a major strip of the whole front sub frame, and even though there is only a liaison to complete, I need to get to the finish before the maximum time to avoid a 2 hour penalty.
Finally, after a good 45 minutes of work I think I have managed something workable and the whole lot seems to be relatively solid. The whole time I am putting this all together the crowd watch me, commenting and discussing my prgress among themselves. There is a sweet little old lady no higher than four feet with no teeth gabbling away happily the whole time and making exclamations of excitement that make me and everyone else laugh. I think the poor lady has Down syndrome, but she seems to be so loved and supported by those around her, it does not appear to be much of a handicap. Everyone in this village clearly have so little, they are all so poor, yet appear to be living very happy lives in spite of the obvious hardship. For them today is just one fun day in a whole set of long, tedious days farming in the heat. What a humbling experience it is to be with them, to share these moments with them. A couple of guys help hold my rope tight as I tie knots. I wish I had my camera with me, the scenes would make such an awesome photo sequence. Here are some others instead that I think captures the essence of these really wonderful people to some extent:
Pic: www.Webventure.com.br
Pic: www.Webventure.com.br
Pic: www.Webventure.com.br
Eventually I am ready to push on and I thank them all and wave. They cheer and clap. The little old lady, jumps up and down despite her great age, giggling and laughing excitedly. Everyone laughs with her rather than at her. Tears come to my eyes as I pull away. What precious people.
Almost immediately, my system of ropes and cable ties begin to work lose and fifteen minutes later I have to stop and re-tighten everything up again. It becomes a pattern and I resign myself to limping along for 15 minutes and then spending ten minutes tightening up again. Its going to be a long day.
I’m not the only straggler though. I come across another rider who has broken his chain. He does not have a master link either. He is trying to push the pin back in with his thumbs. It’s not working well. I don’t have the tools to help him. Just then Dave arrives and comes to the rescue. He whips off his backpack and produces not only the tools but another master link. Only one problem: It does not fit!
I decide to leave them as I have a long way to go with my own problems and I am beginning to realize that at this speed I might not make it myself. Reading the road book is problematic; ropes holding my bike together are crisscross the viewing window of my road book and make reading each tulip a bit of a guess. I just know if I marked it in red, there is something dangerous coming up and I deal with it. It means careful riding. Fortunately, the area we are in is so remote there seems to be only one track to follow. Soon enough, Dave and the guy with the broken chain come blasting past, while I am on one of my lashing stops. I am unable to catch them again.
When I get to the second refueling stop for the day, I meet up with Phil.
We are wonderfully happy. The special is behind us, we just have a long liaison to deal with. Phil has no power on his bike. He is also operating the road book by hand. This is now the second day running he has been doing this and he is not very pleased about it.
But right now, we have autographs to sign, even if it’s on the little guy’s arm,
and pictures to take. Again, we are treated like heroes. We feel unworthy, but it’s a huge ego boost regardless, and it is exactly what we need for the challenges ahead. I spend some time retying my subframe and this time I think it’s a better job. I also have some huge cable ties someone gave me that really help. Just as well, as all the other ones I used have been cut through by the sharp metal.
A couple of other guys catch up with us and we herd out in two groups of two, Phil with his new found friend Arndt, also on a Katoom, and me with a wild looking guy on a Yahama. Riding next to my partner becomes a real pain in the ass. His exhaust is missing (as in gone) and its wailing like a banshee. Even with my earplugs it’s a serious case for hearing loss and I decide this riding-with-a-partner thing in this case is for the birds. I’m also eating the dust of Phil and Arndt in front of us.
I pass Phil and Arndt in front of me in an open corn field and nearly wipe out on a huge series of whoops. Somehow the suspension keeps me upright and I break away. The guy on the Yamaha keeps up with me and we ride together until it gets twisty again and I get ahead, despite having to dial the road book manually.
Having had some water and a bite to eat has done wonders for my confidence. I’m more upbeat about my front sub-frame and I have some strength back after the shade. I have to stop after about 25 minutes to tighten the ropes, just enough for Phil and Arndt to pass me, but I catch up and pass them again. It becomes a pattern for the afternoon: I ride on ahead and they catch me later. Perhaps two hours later, I come across our friend with the chain problem again. His chain is broken again. He looks me in the eye and we are both thinking the same thing: This is the end of the race for him. But he doesn’t give up, and tries to fix the chain. I admire his fighting spirit. We are brothers in this thing now. I tie up my bike again; the ropes have worn through in several places now. Phil and Arndt rock up and help the poor guy just as the first of the cars come blasting through.
They are so freaking fast and scary, bikes and bikers scatter in all directions. Once they are close a bike is no match for them. Despite popular belief their average speeds are way higher than ours and being caught on a narrow road with three tons of flying metal behind you is absolutely terrifying.
I’m just so glad we seem still seem to be staying ahead of the truck boys. Cars are bad enough. Trucks are far worse.
It seems I am not the only one who holds trucks in disdain… ;D Just don’t let the bastards catch you, whatever happens!
I press on and at my next stop, the guy who broke his chain comes by me. I have just finished tying up my bike up again and try to stay with him. It’s getting late and we still have over 150km to go. He is not wasting time and I am battling to keep up with him. Just then I notice a buzzing helicopter and it distracts me enough in a deep sandy section to cause me to dig in my front wheel in. I am going too slowly and endo onto my head. Its soft sand but the shock to my head dazes me. Sand has filled my helmet, and gone down my jacket. There is nothing I can do except wrestle the bike up again and get back on. Pulling away, I struggle in a river crossing and realize that I’m going to have to dig really deep to get through this.
The river crossings are endless. [size-8pt]Pic: www.Webventure.com.br[/size]
Most of them are small, thank God. The riding between the rivers is challenging. Technical, but not ridiculously so I suppose, but after seven days of nonstop riding its really, really debilitating. I’m in that zone where you are too tired to care, where everything is merely mechanical and the mind wanders. I dream of the others ahead of me, of Mark Coma and others having probably finished this hell and are enjoying a late afternoon snack and perhaps Red Bull in the comfort of their super-luxurious bivouac setup. They’ll be working on their road books for the next day, while I’m slogging away in the boondocks. The bastards. We dont even have any water left.
All the while the day gets longer. Light is going to be a problem. The snowball effect Charlie warned me about in rallies is about to catch me and overtake me. I’ve been dodging it the whole rally, but now it finally has me in its clutches. Tomorrow, if I can make it will be even harder thanks to the events of today.
My anger refocuses me on the task ahead, another bloody river crossing, this time with submerged planks to ride along. I’m too tired to care about walking it and cruise through. The cold water on my legs and in my boots wakes me from my zone a bit and I ride better for a while, still stopping now and then for a while to fix the navigation tower. I have lost all power to the navigation systems, the fans, the light, it’s all been severed by sharp blades of broken metal. I hope that my ignition cable holds out. Luckily my ICO has a little battery that powers the LCD panel so that still works while there is daylight. Car after car have been passing me. There are no other bikes about. I know most are in front and the only comfort is that there are still a number still caught behind me somewhere.
Arndt and Phil catch me again and wait for me to finish tying up my bike for the nth f***** time. They look on, concerned.
Arndt takes a few snaps of me working on my bike.
It’s a really beautiful afternoon. Looks like somewhere in the bushveldt doesn’t it?
I’m greatful for the company but talk is of the failing light and the distance we still have to cover: 80km. We only have half an hour of light left, max. It’s going to be epic for both Phil and I who will have no lights at all. At least Arndt has kindly offered to ride with us. His bike seems to be okay.
I press on in front and pull away from the guys, aware that the faster I go now will mean less riding in the dark later on. It’s only a matter of time in my condition that I crash and I wait for it anxiously, fighting to stay alert and focused. I remember Phil’s logo written on his bike: “Focus, flow, finish.” Its very apt when you’re thoroughly knackered.
It happens in the growing twilight about twenty minutes later, I low-side the bike on a gravelly curve that tightens halfway through. The bike lands on my left leg and spins me around, twisting my leg the wrong way and ripping ligaments and cartilage in my knee. I desperately try to roll over to minimize damage but its too little too late. I burst into tears, the frustration of failure is just too much to handle at this point. I lie there for a while, but only until I remember that no one is coming to rescue me at this time of day. I have to get myself out of this or stay here for hours waiting for help. Worse, Phil and Arndt will be coming any minute and see me in my pathetic state. What will my reason be for stopping? That I’m too tired? Hell no! Get up, damn it! I get up, and pull myself together. There is still some twilight left. Maybe five or ten minutes. That’s maybe 15-20 km further if I don’t waste any more time. I struggle to get the bike back up on my good leg, and set about turning it around. Of course, I manage drop it a second time before kick starting it and setting off. I’m too tired to worry about the fairing and navigation tower now. I just want this to end.
I can’t read my ICO anymore. It’s now too dark to see much at all. I take off my goggles and ride, peering anxiously at the road ahead of me. There is no moon, and I can’t see jack. The only thing guiding me is the very dark shapes probably representing undergrowth on either side of the very dark but slightly paler road. If there is any livestock on this road, any rocks or sharp turns, and I’m in deep shit. I ride like this for perhaps half an hour, feeling the sandy and rocky patches. It’s quite a weird feeling not having any idea of what to expect. Here I am in a 3rd world country doing 60 with no lights at night. I brace for the inevitable, concluding crash and praying to the Lord that I do not.
The damage is horrific. Bolts have been stripped and I’m missing crucial spacers holding the structure together, moreover a couple of aluminum plates have been badly torn by the vibrations since my last stop. It’s painfully obvious that this is just not going to last. I use my towing rope to lash the whole lot together in a bunch and tighten the remaining bolts. I consider using liquid metal as well, but all the surfaces are too dirty to provide a decent bonding surface. There is nothing to clean this up out here without embarking on a major strip of the whole front sub frame, and even though there is only a liaison to complete, I need to get to the finish before the maximum time to avoid a 2 hour penalty.
Finally, after a good 45 minutes of work I think I have managed something workable and the whole lot seems to be relatively solid. The whole time I am putting this all together the crowd watch me, commenting and discussing my prgress among themselves. There is a sweet little old lady no higher than four feet with no teeth gabbling away happily the whole time and making exclamations of excitement that make me and everyone else laugh. I think the poor lady has Down syndrome, but she seems to be so loved and supported by those around her, it does not appear to be much of a handicap. Everyone in this village clearly have so little, they are all so poor, yet appear to be living very happy lives in spite of the obvious hardship. For them today is just one fun day in a whole set of long, tedious days farming in the heat. What a humbling experience it is to be with them, to share these moments with them. A couple of guys help hold my rope tight as I tie knots. I wish I had my camera with me, the scenes would make such an awesome photo sequence. Here are some others instead that I think captures the essence of these really wonderful people to some extent:
Pic: www.Webventure.com.br
Pic: www.Webventure.com.br
Pic: www.Webventure.com.br
Eventually I am ready to push on and I thank them all and wave. They cheer and clap. The little old lady, jumps up and down despite her great age, giggling and laughing excitedly. Everyone laughs with her rather than at her. Tears come to my eyes as I pull away. What precious people.
Almost immediately, my system of ropes and cable ties begin to work lose and fifteen minutes later I have to stop and re-tighten everything up again. It becomes a pattern and I resign myself to limping along for 15 minutes and then spending ten minutes tightening up again. Its going to be a long day.
I’m not the only straggler though. I come across another rider who has broken his chain. He does not have a master link either. He is trying to push the pin back in with his thumbs. It’s not working well. I don’t have the tools to help him. Just then Dave arrives and comes to the rescue. He whips off his backpack and produces not only the tools but another master link. Only one problem: It does not fit!
I decide to leave them as I have a long way to go with my own problems and I am beginning to realize that at this speed I might not make it myself. Reading the road book is problematic; ropes holding my bike together are crisscross the viewing window of my road book and make reading each tulip a bit of a guess. I just know if I marked it in red, there is something dangerous coming up and I deal with it. It means careful riding. Fortunately, the area we are in is so remote there seems to be only one track to follow. Soon enough, Dave and the guy with the broken chain come blasting past, while I am on one of my lashing stops. I am unable to catch them again.
When I get to the second refueling stop for the day, I meet up with Phil.
We are wonderfully happy. The special is behind us, we just have a long liaison to deal with. Phil has no power on his bike. He is also operating the road book by hand. This is now the second day running he has been doing this and he is not very pleased about it.
But right now, we have autographs to sign, even if it’s on the little guy’s arm,
and pictures to take. Again, we are treated like heroes. We feel unworthy, but it’s a huge ego boost regardless, and it is exactly what we need for the challenges ahead. I spend some time retying my subframe and this time I think it’s a better job. I also have some huge cable ties someone gave me that really help. Just as well, as all the other ones I used have been cut through by the sharp metal.
A couple of other guys catch up with us and we herd out in two groups of two, Phil with his new found friend Arndt, also on a Katoom, and me with a wild looking guy on a Yahama. Riding next to my partner becomes a real pain in the ass. His exhaust is missing (as in gone) and its wailing like a banshee. Even with my earplugs it’s a serious case for hearing loss and I decide this riding-with-a-partner thing in this case is for the birds. I’m also eating the dust of Phil and Arndt in front of us.
I pass Phil and Arndt in front of me in an open corn field and nearly wipe out on a huge series of whoops. Somehow the suspension keeps me upright and I break away. The guy on the Yamaha keeps up with me and we ride together until it gets twisty again and I get ahead, despite having to dial the road book manually.
Having had some water and a bite to eat has done wonders for my confidence. I’m more upbeat about my front sub-frame and I have some strength back after the shade. I have to stop after about 25 minutes to tighten the ropes, just enough for Phil and Arndt to pass me, but I catch up and pass them again. It becomes a pattern for the afternoon: I ride on ahead and they catch me later. Perhaps two hours later, I come across our friend with the chain problem again. His chain is broken again. He looks me in the eye and we are both thinking the same thing: This is the end of the race for him. But he doesn’t give up, and tries to fix the chain. I admire his fighting spirit. We are brothers in this thing now. I tie up my bike again; the ropes have worn through in several places now. Phil and Arndt rock up and help the poor guy just as the first of the cars come blasting through.
They are so freaking fast and scary, bikes and bikers scatter in all directions. Once they are close a bike is no match for them. Despite popular belief their average speeds are way higher than ours and being caught on a narrow road with three tons of flying metal behind you is absolutely terrifying.
I’m just so glad we seem still seem to be staying ahead of the truck boys. Cars are bad enough. Trucks are far worse.
It seems I am not the only one who holds trucks in disdain… ;D Just don’t let the bastards catch you, whatever happens!
I press on and at my next stop, the guy who broke his chain comes by me. I have just finished tying up my bike up again and try to stay with him. It’s getting late and we still have over 150km to go. He is not wasting time and I am battling to keep up with him. Just then I notice a buzzing helicopter and it distracts me enough in a deep sandy section to cause me to dig in my front wheel in. I am going too slowly and endo onto my head. Its soft sand but the shock to my head dazes me. Sand has filled my helmet, and gone down my jacket. There is nothing I can do except wrestle the bike up again and get back on. Pulling away, I struggle in a river crossing and realize that I’m going to have to dig really deep to get through this.
The river crossings are endless. [size-8pt]Pic: www.Webventure.com.br[/size]
Most of them are small, thank God. The riding between the rivers is challenging. Technical, but not ridiculously so I suppose, but after seven days of nonstop riding its really, really debilitating. I’m in that zone where you are too tired to care, where everything is merely mechanical and the mind wanders. I dream of the others ahead of me, of Mark Coma and others having probably finished this hell and are enjoying a late afternoon snack and perhaps Red Bull in the comfort of their super-luxurious bivouac setup. They’ll be working on their road books for the next day, while I’m slogging away in the boondocks. The bastards. We dont even have any water left.
All the while the day gets longer. Light is going to be a problem. The snowball effect Charlie warned me about in rallies is about to catch me and overtake me. I’ve been dodging it the whole rally, but now it finally has me in its clutches. Tomorrow, if I can make it will be even harder thanks to the events of today.
My anger refocuses me on the task ahead, another bloody river crossing, this time with submerged planks to ride along. I’m too tired to care about walking it and cruise through. The cold water on my legs and in my boots wakes me from my zone a bit and I ride better for a while, still stopping now and then for a while to fix the navigation tower. I have lost all power to the navigation systems, the fans, the light, it’s all been severed by sharp blades of broken metal. I hope that my ignition cable holds out. Luckily my ICO has a little battery that powers the LCD panel so that still works while there is daylight. Car after car have been passing me. There are no other bikes about. I know most are in front and the only comfort is that there are still a number still caught behind me somewhere.
Arndt and Phil catch me again and wait for me to finish tying up my bike for the nth f***** time. They look on, concerned.
Arndt takes a few snaps of me working on my bike.
It’s a really beautiful afternoon. Looks like somewhere in the bushveldt doesn’t it?
I’m greatful for the company but talk is of the failing light and the distance we still have to cover: 80km. We only have half an hour of light left, max. It’s going to be epic for both Phil and I who will have no lights at all. At least Arndt has kindly offered to ride with us. His bike seems to be okay.
I press on in front and pull away from the guys, aware that the faster I go now will mean less riding in the dark later on. It’s only a matter of time in my condition that I crash and I wait for it anxiously, fighting to stay alert and focused. I remember Phil’s logo written on his bike: “Focus, flow, finish.” Its very apt when you’re thoroughly knackered.
It happens in the growing twilight about twenty minutes later, I low-side the bike on a gravelly curve that tightens halfway through. The bike lands on my left leg and spins me around, twisting my leg the wrong way and ripping ligaments and cartilage in my knee. I desperately try to roll over to minimize damage but its too little too late. I burst into tears, the frustration of failure is just too much to handle at this point. I lie there for a while, but only until I remember that no one is coming to rescue me at this time of day. I have to get myself out of this or stay here for hours waiting for help. Worse, Phil and Arndt will be coming any minute and see me in my pathetic state. What will my reason be for stopping? That I’m too tired? Hell no! Get up, damn it! I get up, and pull myself together. There is still some twilight left. Maybe five or ten minutes. That’s maybe 15-20 km further if I don’t waste any more time. I struggle to get the bike back up on my good leg, and set about turning it around. Of course, I manage drop it a second time before kick starting it and setting off. I’m too tired to worry about the fairing and navigation tower now. I just want this to end.
I can’t read my ICO anymore. It’s now too dark to see much at all. I take off my goggles and ride, peering anxiously at the road ahead of me. There is no moon, and I can’t see jack. The only thing guiding me is the very dark shapes probably representing undergrowth on either side of the very dark but slightly paler road. If there is any livestock on this road, any rocks or sharp turns, and I’m in deep shit. I ride like this for perhaps half an hour, feeling the sandy and rocky patches. It’s quite a weird feeling not having any idea of what to expect. Here I am in a 3rd world country doing 60 with no lights at night. I brace for the inevitable, concluding crash and praying to the Lord that I do not.
It goes on and on. I can’t believe what I’m doing, but I find myself at peace, able to just make out the general direction of the road. I get to a junction and am not sure which way to go. Even my tracking abilities won’t help me here. I consider retrieving my light from my medical kit, but I’m too dog-tired to cut it loose and open it. I see in the distance a glow, the glow of a town. That must be the town of Balsak, I mean Balsas. I giggle at my own toilet humor and choose the most likely direction- I hope.
Soon enough a little moped pulls onto the road ahead of me towards what I hope is the town. It’s a feeble yellow beam bouncing along the road away, but to me it’s like the rising sun. I’m still hundreds of meters away but the silhouette of the moped draws me like a moth, I speed forward, on the assumption that if I can see it, there is nothing between me and the moped. Except the dust. Furiously blinking it out of my eyes I somehow catch the moped without going totally blind. He does not know I am there behind him and I sit down, happy to bumble along with him. Soon enough he turns off to the left. Oh no, the town’s light is in front!
I fall behind and have brake hard having lost all night vision I had built up and being plunged back into darkness. Its just too dangerous to try and catch the guy again so I spend five minutes waiting for it to return before blundering on in the same direction. Great. Now I’m going to be lost as well. The road goes over a hill and on the other side there are a couple of houses and one street light. Stunned that this may in fact be the right road after all I battle along into the dark and dusty road on the far side and after a little while a row of lights come into view at right angles to the road I’m on. I get to it and turn along the road, hoping that it takes me into the town. It is so nice to see where I’m riding, all my other problems are temporarily blotted out. I stop under a streetlight try to work out where I am in the road book. This town is bigger than it first appears. Its hopeless, I have been riding for over an hour in the dark and there is no way I can try and navigate from here. I decide I’m going to have to ride the town until I find the bivouac. It can’t be that hard to find 700 people. After a couple of wrong turns I muddle my way around the town and finally after perhaps twenty minutes arrive at the finish. I’m amazed there are still officials waiting there for us.
After the usual GPS swap, and time card verification, I spend another twenty minutes riding around on my bike looking for our support guys in a very sprawled out campsite in the sports centre of the town. It been two days since I have seen them and I’m delighted when I hear the familiar whistle.
I’m home!
Immediately tourists want me to stand with them for photos.
I happily oblige. I don't know quite how, but I have made it.
Standing (barely) with Randal
Pretty zoned out man...Ganjora, rallies are better than your stuff bro. :laughing4:
My bike is not looking all that good at all...
Who knows if the guys can fix this?
Phil arrives about 20 minutes after me, another epic day.
Well done brother! Marcello is delighted we are back, but horrified at the condition of the bikes. We are not sure if we will be able to continue tomorrow.
Boys, lets get started on the rehydration and those road books, its time to prepare for the next day. Snowball effect in action! :biggrin: :biggrin:
Will we make it to the finish? At this stage I really dont know or care, Im just glad I made it.
Thanks for following, please stay tuned for the final epic days..
Soon enough a little moped pulls onto the road ahead of me towards what I hope is the town. It’s a feeble yellow beam bouncing along the road away, but to me it’s like the rising sun. I’m still hundreds of meters away but the silhouette of the moped draws me like a moth, I speed forward, on the assumption that if I can see it, there is nothing between me and the moped. Except the dust. Furiously blinking it out of my eyes I somehow catch the moped without going totally blind. He does not know I am there behind him and I sit down, happy to bumble along with him. Soon enough he turns off to the left. Oh no, the town’s light is in front!
I fall behind and have brake hard having lost all night vision I had built up and being plunged back into darkness. Its just too dangerous to try and catch the guy again so I spend five minutes waiting for it to return before blundering on in the same direction. Great. Now I’m going to be lost as well. The road goes over a hill and on the other side there are a couple of houses and one street light. Stunned that this may in fact be the right road after all I battle along into the dark and dusty road on the far side and after a little while a row of lights come into view at right angles to the road I’m on. I get to it and turn along the road, hoping that it takes me into the town. It is so nice to see where I’m riding, all my other problems are temporarily blotted out. I stop under a streetlight try to work out where I am in the road book. This town is bigger than it first appears. Its hopeless, I have been riding for over an hour in the dark and there is no way I can try and navigate from here. I decide I’m going to have to ride the town until I find the bivouac. It can’t be that hard to find 700 people. After a couple of wrong turns I muddle my way around the town and finally after perhaps twenty minutes arrive at the finish. I’m amazed there are still officials waiting there for us.
After the usual GPS swap, and time card verification, I spend another twenty minutes riding around on my bike looking for our support guys in a very sprawled out campsite in the sports centre of the town. It been two days since I have seen them and I’m delighted when I hear the familiar whistle.
I’m home!
Immediately tourists want me to stand with them for photos.
I happily oblige. I don't know quite how, but I have made it.
Standing (barely) with Randal
Pretty zoned out man...Ganjora, rallies are better than your stuff bro. :laughing4:
My bike is not looking all that good at all...
Who knows if the guys can fix this?
Phil arrives about 20 minutes after me, another epic day.
Well done brother! Marcello is delighted we are back, but horrified at the condition of the bikes. We are not sure if we will be able to continue tomorrow.
Boys, lets get started on the rehydration and those road books, its time to prepare for the next day. Snowball effect in action! :biggrin: :biggrin:
Will we make it to the finish? At this stage I really dont know or care, Im just glad I made it.
Thanks for following, please stay tuned for the final epic days..
Aquatic
Race Dog
- Joined
- Oct 19, 2007
- Messages
- 1,907
- Reaction score
- 2
- Bike
- BMW F650GS / Dakar
Tr0jan said:
+1
Don't forget the goose bumps
Would I?
Race Dog
- Joined
- Aug 7, 2009
- Messages
- 717
- Reaction score
- 13
- Location
- Tauranga - New Zealand
- Bike
- KTM 950 Adventure S
:thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft:
Absolutely riverting stuff. Thanks again for the effort in writing this sharing so freely.
Absolutely riverting stuff. Thanks again for the effort in writing this sharing so freely.
Gee eS
Race Dog
Awesome read!
faniesmith
Race Dog
- Joined
- Feb 22, 2010
- Messages
- 1,511
- Reaction score
- 2
Vasgenael! :thumleft: :thumleft:
Rokie
Race Dog
Shot Neil!! The Legend continues - and continues to inspire!!!!
Similar threads
