The video camera guy tells me maybe there is water in the bowl of the carburetor, so I drain it a second time, and take off the air filter. I figure it’s too late to open the sparkplug now, if there’s damage there’s damage. I kick the engine a few times and it coughs and clacks. I try again. Nothing. It seems hopeless. I watch a couple more bikes come through. I’m been here nearly an hour now.
It looks like I’ll be out of the race after all.
Phil arrives and stops to help – Thanks Brother! There is nothing he can do so I give him the thumbs up, the universal rally sign that l that I am fine and he should ride on.
I find out later he has crashed and thinks he dislocated his thumb, but he doesn’t tell me until later. Apparently he freaked when he tried to start his bike and his thumb moved backwards when he pressed the ignition. Anyway he has overcome and gotten this far. Well done Phil!
I appreciate his gesture of stopping big time. There are a couple more bikes that pass after him and then the scene becomes quiet again. Apart from us passing through, it’s an amazingly peaceful spot really, the overhanging trees, the sound of the gentle river, broken only by the odd photographer crashing about in the bush looking for a better position to take the next shot. I am aware of the sands of time draining away, and am expecting to see cars charging through soon.
The cameraman suggests we stand the bike up with the front wheel in the air and try and start it like that.
We do this and it nothing happens. We drop it down again, and I have no option but to try again. This time it coughs and burps. Suddenly it bursts into life, so I keep the revs high, it’s still coughing and spluttering. That feeling of relief washes over me big time. Eventually the motor evens out a bit and steam rises from the engine. Its a miracle! I let out a whoop of delight. Once I’m sure it’s running okay I rush up and give the cameraman a high five and thank him for his assistance.
I’m off and he films as I go. I’m so overwhelmed that the bike has survived the river, its difficult to concentrate on the road book. I’ve lost so many places but at least I’m still in the race. I stop at the top of a rise and look back; I see cars descending down to the river. Oh no! I’m suddenly anxious to get move on. They catch me in the end but are kind enough to warn me with the sentinel so I can get off the road. It’s stunning to have these vehicles pass so close to me. They’re simply awe-inspiring. One-by-one the front four cars catch me over the next 30 km. They’re nice to follow though, their dust trails can be seen from so far away.
Eventually I get to the end of the special. Somehow I’ve still made it before the cutoff time. I’m last in but I made it before the cutoff time. Brilliant.
I still have 193km of liaison to do, this becomes a very long, monotonous connection on tar. I find it wearing riding on asphalt, and I am amazed to find myself nodding off! I never thought it possible to fall asleep on a motorbike, apparently it is! I learn to keep myself awake by emptying my camelback, and stopping at refueling stations often. Each time, I buy three ice cold bottles of water and one red bull, I drink one bottle immediately along with the red bull and an energy bar, one bottle I dump over my head and pour down inside of my jacket, and the one I loosen and fit into my fairing for easy access. I use this one to dump down my jacket when I get drowsy on the road. The cooling effect of this is tremendous, even in the 40 degree heat. It works pretty well and I try and I do this as often as I feel tired.
I’m overjoyed at reaching Unai. It’s a mining town, there are mine dumps everywhere, reminding me of Renco in the hills of south eastern Zimbabwe. The box area is in the showgrounds of the town, and it’s an open day for the local population to walk in the bivouac and meet the racing teams. This is the way it was to be at every town from here on.
Thousands of people visit the box area, and we are inundated by fans seeking photos with the riders and autographs. Initially there weren’t so many people, but after dark the place becomes packed. It’s really wonderful to be at the centre of so much attention. People literally queuing up for autographs from us. Fantastic. Unworthy heros. After today’s performance, I know I’m certainly no Alfie Cox or Marc Coma, but now at least I know what it feels like. The attention is overwhelmingly nice but I can't help but feel a little self-consious.
The support team tell us about their own challenges for the day.
The dust was appalling and very dangerous apparently. It was impossible for them to overtake the big trucks, they had zero visibility often but were to afraid to stop in case a truck behind them rammed them from behind.
The Kombi overheated again. The air filters had to be replaced.
Then they met up with the polish support guys (Kuba Przygonski & team) in some or other town, and asked for directions. Des goes up to this huge truck and talks to the driver.
I’m talking about this support truck, the one that won the truck category of the 2006 Dakar.
Des brightly introduced himself to the driver saying, “Hey! Wow! That’s an awesome truck you have there!” The truck driver leaned out of his window with this dour, frowning face and responded with a deep and very serious “I know.”
“Ok then…Ha, ha. Ahem, we are lost, to do you which way it is out of town?”
“Yes, my navigator who you cannot see says it’s that way.”
“I see. Thanks,” Des replied, the a little bit stumped by the super serious conversation. Not to be out-done, Des leapt into the Kombi and raced away, the challenge was on. In about 2 seconds the truck had passed them but made a wrong turn shortly after that. By this time Des and team had cottoned onto the right route and had another head start, but were apparently nearly killed by this monster vehicle charging out of another road that forked back onto the main one, pipping them to the post as they left town. Good thing too, imagine the story we had beaten these hard men in our 73 Kombi!
Once out of town onto good roads again, views were good, and
There was even some wildlife to be seen. The DD & I felt like we were back in South Africa.
Back at the bivouac there is a carnival atmostphere. Actually, the bivoac always seems to be like that. The word that pperhaps best describes the bivouac is a circus. One really screwed up, insane, demented circus, filled with crazy men and even some women who have a passion for cars, trucks and bikes. No wonder its such a spectacle. Later in the night, the mechanics need to do some work on Mauro’s quad, the frame needs some work.
Out comes the angle grinder, URO rally-style! Being a mining guy, conscious of safety regulations and procedures, this was quite an eye opener for me. :laughing4: I couldn’t help but laugh – No gloves, no safety shoes and who needs eye protection!? Fire extinguisher? Hah! Fire extinguishers are for sissies. Is the area safe to work? Of course not! But somehow, the job gets done all right without anyone losing eyes or limbs and without burning down the bivouac either. Stunning.
We try our best to concentrate on our road books,
while mechanics work hard on the bikes, much to the amusement of the others, and of course in front of lots and lots of spectators.
DD tries out a new G-string. :biggrin: Its a carnival mode here.
Later a young lad gets to sit on it. He is delighted. The poor boy; if only he knew where it had been!
At the briefing it is confirmed I came last. I’m still beaming that I came in on time. Phil and especially Dave did very well. Phils hand is very sore but he thinks he can make it tomorrow. At least his thumb seems to be operating okay, but it’s still pretty sore and swollen.
The day’s result. For those interested , the full results are here:
Three pilots Did Not Finish (DNF) the stage. Although there were some crashes, no pilots are officially listed as DNF. In Sertões you can start the next day with a penalty if you do not finish.
It looks like I’ll be out of the race after all.
Phil arrives and stops to help – Thanks Brother! There is nothing he can do so I give him the thumbs up, the universal rally sign that l that I am fine and he should ride on.
I find out later he has crashed and thinks he dislocated his thumb, but he doesn’t tell me until later. Apparently he freaked when he tried to start his bike and his thumb moved backwards when he pressed the ignition. Anyway he has overcome and gotten this far. Well done Phil!
I appreciate his gesture of stopping big time. There are a couple more bikes that pass after him and then the scene becomes quiet again. Apart from us passing through, it’s an amazingly peaceful spot really, the overhanging trees, the sound of the gentle river, broken only by the odd photographer crashing about in the bush looking for a better position to take the next shot. I am aware of the sands of time draining away, and am expecting to see cars charging through soon.
The cameraman suggests we stand the bike up with the front wheel in the air and try and start it like that.
We do this and it nothing happens. We drop it down again, and I have no option but to try again. This time it coughs and burps. Suddenly it bursts into life, so I keep the revs high, it’s still coughing and spluttering. That feeling of relief washes over me big time. Eventually the motor evens out a bit and steam rises from the engine. Its a miracle! I let out a whoop of delight. Once I’m sure it’s running okay I rush up and give the cameraman a high five and thank him for his assistance.
I’m off and he films as I go. I’m so overwhelmed that the bike has survived the river, its difficult to concentrate on the road book. I’ve lost so many places but at least I’m still in the race. I stop at the top of a rise and look back; I see cars descending down to the river. Oh no! I’m suddenly anxious to get move on. They catch me in the end but are kind enough to warn me with the sentinel so I can get off the road. It’s stunning to have these vehicles pass so close to me. They’re simply awe-inspiring. One-by-one the front four cars catch me over the next 30 km. They’re nice to follow though, their dust trails can be seen from so far away.
Eventually I get to the end of the special. Somehow I’ve still made it before the cutoff time. I’m last in but I made it before the cutoff time. Brilliant.
I still have 193km of liaison to do, this becomes a very long, monotonous connection on tar. I find it wearing riding on asphalt, and I am amazed to find myself nodding off! I never thought it possible to fall asleep on a motorbike, apparently it is! I learn to keep myself awake by emptying my camelback, and stopping at refueling stations often. Each time, I buy three ice cold bottles of water and one red bull, I drink one bottle immediately along with the red bull and an energy bar, one bottle I dump over my head and pour down inside of my jacket, and the one I loosen and fit into my fairing for easy access. I use this one to dump down my jacket when I get drowsy on the road. The cooling effect of this is tremendous, even in the 40 degree heat. It works pretty well and I try and I do this as often as I feel tired.
I’m overjoyed at reaching Unai. It’s a mining town, there are mine dumps everywhere, reminding me of Renco in the hills of south eastern Zimbabwe. The box area is in the showgrounds of the town, and it’s an open day for the local population to walk in the bivouac and meet the racing teams. This is the way it was to be at every town from here on.
Thousands of people visit the box area, and we are inundated by fans seeking photos with the riders and autographs. Initially there weren’t so many people, but after dark the place becomes packed. It’s really wonderful to be at the centre of so much attention. People literally queuing up for autographs from us. Fantastic. Unworthy heros. After today’s performance, I know I’m certainly no Alfie Cox or Marc Coma, but now at least I know what it feels like. The attention is overwhelmingly nice but I can't help but feel a little self-consious.
The support team tell us about their own challenges for the day.
The dust was appalling and very dangerous apparently. It was impossible for them to overtake the big trucks, they had zero visibility often but were to afraid to stop in case a truck behind them rammed them from behind.
The Kombi overheated again. The air filters had to be replaced.
Then they met up with the polish support guys (Kuba Przygonski & team) in some or other town, and asked for directions. Des goes up to this huge truck and talks to the driver.
I’m talking about this support truck, the one that won the truck category of the 2006 Dakar.
Des brightly introduced himself to the driver saying, “Hey! Wow! That’s an awesome truck you have there!” The truck driver leaned out of his window with this dour, frowning face and responded with a deep and very serious “I know.”
“Ok then…Ha, ha. Ahem, we are lost, to do you which way it is out of town?”
“Yes, my navigator who you cannot see says it’s that way.”
“I see. Thanks,” Des replied, the a little bit stumped by the super serious conversation. Not to be out-done, Des leapt into the Kombi and raced away, the challenge was on. In about 2 seconds the truck had passed them but made a wrong turn shortly after that. By this time Des and team had cottoned onto the right route and had another head start, but were apparently nearly killed by this monster vehicle charging out of another road that forked back onto the main one, pipping them to the post as they left town. Good thing too, imagine the story we had beaten these hard men in our 73 Kombi!
Once out of town onto good roads again, views were good, and
There was even some wildlife to be seen. The DD & I felt like we were back in South Africa.
Back at the bivouac there is a carnival atmostphere. Actually, the bivoac always seems to be like that. The word that pperhaps best describes the bivouac is a circus. One really screwed up, insane, demented circus, filled with crazy men and even some women who have a passion for cars, trucks and bikes. No wonder its such a spectacle. Later in the night, the mechanics need to do some work on Mauro’s quad, the frame needs some work.
Out comes the angle grinder, URO rally-style! Being a mining guy, conscious of safety regulations and procedures, this was quite an eye opener for me. :laughing4: I couldn’t help but laugh – No gloves, no safety shoes and who needs eye protection!? Fire extinguisher? Hah! Fire extinguishers are for sissies. Is the area safe to work? Of course not! But somehow, the job gets done all right without anyone losing eyes or limbs and without burning down the bivouac either. Stunning.
We try our best to concentrate on our road books,
while mechanics work hard on the bikes, much to the amusement of the others, and of course in front of lots and lots of spectators.
DD tries out a new G-string. :biggrin: Its a carnival mode here.
Later a young lad gets to sit on it. He is delighted. The poor boy; if only he knew where it had been!
At the briefing it is confirmed I came last. I’m still beaming that I came in on time. Phil and especially Dave did very well. Phils hand is very sore but he thinks he can make it tomorrow. At least his thumb seems to be operating okay, but it’s still pretty sore and swollen.
The day’s result. For those interested , the full results are here:
Three pilots Did Not Finish (DNF) the stage. Although there were some crashes, no pilots are officially listed as DNF. In Sertões you can start the next day with a penalty if you do not finish.
aw:
