Perhaps this is the right time to make mention of the guys from Brazilian photo company Webventure who go out there every day to take these awesome photographs.
They are all top guys, passionate about what they do but were also chilled enough to have a beer with us before the rally.
I must say it must be a great job: Following rallies and taking awesome pictures, seeing some pretty amazing and exciting stuff, surrounded by a exotic and beautiful landscape
Quite high risk too, often the guys would be out there on the outside edge of a bend trying to get that ultimate shot. I would ride past cameras attached on the end of long sticks hanging over the road. Sometimes I spot one in a tree or river from time to time but most of the time, unless it is really obvious I don’t see them at all.
To get these photos the guys have to basically stay five to ten hours ahead of the field. The route of the rally is naturally closed to all from the time when sparrows begin to fart until the last rider is in. This means that all their travelling has to take basically take place allong appalling roads in the middle of the night, with some camping rough in the bush after that so that they are in the right spot for the next day.
I think it takes a toll on the boys, but I’m sure you agree with me the results make it really worth it. Andre, Ivan, thanks again for the awesome work you produced!
Back to the story:
Ivan, stops taking pictures in the river and helps me to get my stalled bike out of the water and up the bank. He offers me some words of encouragement and pats me on the back like an elder brother. Grateful for his help, I manage to kick start the bike easily enough once it’s out of the water and set off, still breathing hard from the effort of all that pushing. It takes a good ten minutes for me to recover and during this time I don’t risk pushing it too hard. The sun is already high in the sky and I dry off quickly.
It’s getting really hot already and its only 10 am! Fortunately the route after the river is quite fast and I get into a great rhythm and cool off a little racing along these narrow and fast straights, broken only by the odd mata burro or curve. These sections are pure perfection for me, you know, that feeling when it all comes together and you are in unison with the bike.
I feel the bike beneath me, just gliding and sliding over the sand, there nothing to disturb my utopia, nothing to interfere with my thoughts. Everyday life is so far removed now, the only input are from anomalies in the surface ahead of me and I feel like I am flying. I switch my ICO to check my speed and I realize I am flying: 150km/hr! Awesome.
Better keep your head screwed on straight, Ringdahl.
We cross through in to a section of mountains with lots of criss-crossing tracks and the navigation gets a lot more difficult. The trees here are awesome, it looks like we are in Eastern Zambia again with all these big Acacias about. I take wrong turns twice, both times losing quite a bit of time trying to get back onto the right track. It highlights either an inability on my part to mark the road book well and, or, more likely, my lower level of concentration thanks to yesterday’s epic. I'm aware that although Im not tired or sleepy, I feel fatigued. I think about the snowball effect that Charlie always talked about, and shake my head as if to deny that it is happening to me. But it is and there nothing I can do about it at this stage except to just survive. The last three days have been really hard for me and its beginning to seriously affect me despite months and months of heavy training. Focus Neil, just focus. You have broken the back of this thing...almost. You're on Stage 8! Wow, thats's awesome! We have all made it, are we going to beat the odds and be the first rookie team that gets all three riders to the finish. I start thinking about Dave and Phil and wonder how theyre doing and if they have what it takes to finish. Then I stop. Concentrate on the bloody road, you stupid f*****g fool!
Riding for this amount of time continuously really does something funny to ones head. The riding and navigation becomes something you start doing without thinking at all about it. In some respects this is good because what we normally find challenging or exciting on a ride just becomes another obstacle, but it can also be a bad thing because you get lulled in not thinking about what you’re actually doing. It becomes automatic; I look down at the road book and there are the all too familiar tulips and numbers need computing and calibration with my ICO. They determine my very future, but after miles and miles the obvious risks somehow fade.
The road is open and wide with big, sweeping curves. Its great fun. I continue without incident and I start deluding myself that I'm Alfie Cox. Before I know it I look up from my road book and I'm see myself going into a corner too fast. Way, way too fast. Too late. I lean into it and stamp on the outside foot.
Now I'm power sliding out of control at at least 130km/hr on a left-hand corner that I would normally do at eighty. What happens next takes only a second or two, but time slows completely, I see the end of the rally right here. I see helicopters, and stretchers and drips. My first reaction is to slam on the anchors, but I flinch at that. It will just flip me and result in more pain. I'm surprised at myself. What the f... Too late. Here goes.
The trees in front for me loom threateningly as I break off onto the shoulder of the road. My sphincter clenches and tries it's best to hide. Riding instinct kicks in and I find myself wrenching the throttle big-time. I can't believe what I a doing. Im about to crash and I'm absolutely wringing it's neck. Unbelieveably, the bike sweeps on and on along the shoulder and after a couple of seconds I find myself speeding down the road, quite untouched at the same speed I came into the corner. My heart races and it feel really good to still be alive. F*** that was close. It must have looked really awesome.
They are all top guys, passionate about what they do but were also chilled enough to have a beer with us before the rally.
I must say it must be a great job: Following rallies and taking awesome pictures, seeing some pretty amazing and exciting stuff, surrounded by a exotic and beautiful landscape
Quite high risk too, often the guys would be out there on the outside edge of a bend trying to get that ultimate shot. I would ride past cameras attached on the end of long sticks hanging over the road. Sometimes I spot one in a tree or river from time to time but most of the time, unless it is really obvious I don’t see them at all.
To get these photos the guys have to basically stay five to ten hours ahead of the field. The route of the rally is naturally closed to all from the time when sparrows begin to fart until the last rider is in. This means that all their travelling has to take basically take place allong appalling roads in the middle of the night, with some camping rough in the bush after that so that they are in the right spot for the next day.
I think it takes a toll on the boys, but I’m sure you agree with me the results make it really worth it. Andre, Ivan, thanks again for the awesome work you produced!
Back to the story:
Ivan, stops taking pictures in the river and helps me to get my stalled bike out of the water and up the bank. He offers me some words of encouragement and pats me on the back like an elder brother. Grateful for his help, I manage to kick start the bike easily enough once it’s out of the water and set off, still breathing hard from the effort of all that pushing. It takes a good ten minutes for me to recover and during this time I don’t risk pushing it too hard. The sun is already high in the sky and I dry off quickly.
It’s getting really hot already and its only 10 am! Fortunately the route after the river is quite fast and I get into a great rhythm and cool off a little racing along these narrow and fast straights, broken only by the odd mata burro or curve. These sections are pure perfection for me, you know, that feeling when it all comes together and you are in unison with the bike.
I feel the bike beneath me, just gliding and sliding over the sand, there nothing to disturb my utopia, nothing to interfere with my thoughts. Everyday life is so far removed now, the only input are from anomalies in the surface ahead of me and I feel like I am flying. I switch my ICO to check my speed and I realize I am flying: 150km/hr! Awesome.
Better keep your head screwed on straight, Ringdahl.
We cross through in to a section of mountains with lots of criss-crossing tracks and the navigation gets a lot more difficult. The trees here are awesome, it looks like we are in Eastern Zambia again with all these big Acacias about. I take wrong turns twice, both times losing quite a bit of time trying to get back onto the right track. It highlights either an inability on my part to mark the road book well and, or, more likely, my lower level of concentration thanks to yesterday’s epic. I'm aware that although Im not tired or sleepy, I feel fatigued. I think about the snowball effect that Charlie always talked about, and shake my head as if to deny that it is happening to me. But it is and there nothing I can do about it at this stage except to just survive. The last three days have been really hard for me and its beginning to seriously affect me despite months and months of heavy training. Focus Neil, just focus. You have broken the back of this thing...almost. You're on Stage 8! Wow, thats's awesome! We have all made it, are we going to beat the odds and be the first rookie team that gets all three riders to the finish. I start thinking about Dave and Phil and wonder how theyre doing and if they have what it takes to finish. Then I stop. Concentrate on the bloody road, you stupid f*****g fool!
Riding for this amount of time continuously really does something funny to ones head. The riding and navigation becomes something you start doing without thinking at all about it. In some respects this is good because what we normally find challenging or exciting on a ride just becomes another obstacle, but it can also be a bad thing because you get lulled in not thinking about what you’re actually doing. It becomes automatic; I look down at the road book and there are the all too familiar tulips and numbers need computing and calibration with my ICO. They determine my very future, but after miles and miles the obvious risks somehow fade.
The road is open and wide with big, sweeping curves. Its great fun. I continue without incident and I start deluding myself that I'm Alfie Cox. Before I know it I look up from my road book and I'm see myself going into a corner too fast. Way, way too fast. Too late. I lean into it and stamp on the outside foot.
Now I'm power sliding out of control at at least 130km/hr on a left-hand corner that I would normally do at eighty. What happens next takes only a second or two, but time slows completely, I see the end of the rally right here. I see helicopters, and stretchers and drips. My first reaction is to slam on the anchors, but I flinch at that. It will just flip me and result in more pain. I'm surprised at myself. What the f... Too late. Here goes.
The trees in front for me loom threateningly as I break off onto the shoulder of the road. My sphincter clenches and tries it's best to hide. Riding instinct kicks in and I find myself wrenching the throttle big-time. I can't believe what I a doing. Im about to crash and I'm absolutely wringing it's neck. Unbelieveably, the bike sweeps on and on along the shoulder and after a couple of seconds I find myself speeding down the road, quite untouched at the same speed I came into the corner. My heart races and it feel really good to still be alive. F*** that was close. It must have looked really awesome.
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But after yesterdays experience at the finish I'm not thrilled with the idea of becoming the Sertoes very own "Ghost Rider". Just as well its a later start than normal.
