The Raid - Day Six

Day Six

I know the road from Leh to Pangong Lake as it's the one
Pankaj Trivedi and I took into the Ladakhi hinterlands when
going for our altitude record. I know it's just the territory
the Yamaha and I enjoy and that with the Metzelers back on
front and rear I can catch the leader today. Only two
problems - I haven't slept a wink all night (and little the
previous at the cold army base) and I have a raging shits.

Wearing the carpet out between bed and bathroom, I'm
considering bowing out. In store today we have a crossing
of the 5000m-plus Chang La, a pass that felt higher and
colder than even Tanglang La on my last ride around the
area. I doubt I can concentrate fully for 320-odd dangerous,
high-altitude kilometres when I can't even risk breakfast.

Having come this far, I decide to break the day into sections
and just try to get through each one. First, get dressed;
next get to the bike, scrape the 5am ice of the saddle and ride
to the start-line in the dark cold.

In the paddock, waiting, shaking uncontrollably, big spasms
wracking through me as I fight the urge to vomit. I'm
exhausted and so is my bog-roll.

Next task is to complete the long transport to the first
competitive section in the bitter cold. I feel a little happier on the
bike - I always do because it feels like home. A measure of
how bad I feel is that when I stop at a shop for loo paper
and water, I forget to buy cigarettes!

From the doctor's car at the competitive stage's start point I
am delivered a magical bowel-binding antibiotic wonder-pill
and some electrolyte sachets to add to my water. The other
required drug is, I know, that good old adrenalin stuff, but I'm
having trouble revving myself up in the cold and still can't
stop shaking, still feel like death.

The stage begins with a few kilometres of flat-out action,
which wakes me up a bit. I leave my visor up for a big fresh
blast - insects are grounded in these temperatures, so eyes
are fairly safe. As the road rises up to the pass, I manage to
slip into that full concentration zone where only the riding
matters - full focus, I barely notice my hands deadening
under my heavy gloves. On the descent I notice them alright
and as the blood starts to move again it feels like they're in
boiling water.

I can't even remember where I pass Rocky (somewhere near
the top, I think), but I do and make back some more
minutes. As the surface is mainly very good, I've started
catching the two lead cars, too.

The next section is ultra-fast (comparatively), with an
average speed of under 70kph required to 'zero' the stage. I
am feeling a lot better now, go at it hard and clear the
stage without any time penalty, faster than the two lead cars
and faster than Rocky. But I gain no advantage, time-wise,
as there are four of us who have zeroed the stage.

Things are now going to be tight if I'm to catch Rocky,
because we now have only three competitive stages left to
run, two of them today. So I put everything into the job,
gassing as hard as I can, everywhere I can. Again, I zero
stages and go fastest of all, but I'm not gaining all the
advantage I might. I'm busting the target time, but Rocky's
not coming in far over it and so not getting big time
penalties.

Had I taken it easy on day one, I would not be within
shooting distance. As it is, I estimate myself to be
somewhere between level and two minutes behind. The final
stage tomorrow is a reverse run of the Tanglang La stage
and I'm confident I can take two minutes back. My wish is
that I'm now a couple of seconds behind, so that Rocky will
start ahead of me - it's a letting the dog see the rabbit
thing.

Rumours that night, before the official numbers are available,
are that I'm in the lead; that I'm 1min 16 secs behind; that
someone's going to 'fix' my bike in the night. Rocky's brother tells me
their mother is making a special trip to the prize-giving to
see her son crowned. Having not eaten all day, I'm too tired
for other people's mind games. All evening I've been nurturing my own head problems and am considering withdrawing from the race anyhow.

In my tired state I'm feeling that if I win, I lose, because
everyone will say it's the bike. If I lose, I lose twice over,
because I must be crap if I can't win on the big Yamaha.
Nobody complained about foreigners competing on powerful
bikes when they weren't vying for a win - there have been
others before me and all have failed to finish. And nobody
gets shirty about the Indian riders on imported bikes. No-
one - except ultra-rude Brit' Matt, of course - has come out
and said: 'You're shit, it's just the bike that's doing the
work,' but I there's an undercurrent of such feeling, I'm
sure. Maybe it's just the fatigue messing with my mind and I
myself am my only accuser. Except rude Matt, of course.

Over pizza with Shetty, I'm a sullen old bugger. I sit silently,
reminding myself that there were four big bikes entered at
the start (a couple more suitable than mine, I reckon) and
that I'm not even entered in the same class as Rocky. I only
have the one bike on which to race!

Rocky has done extraordinary things on his 225 Honda, has
been a great competitor, a good sportsman and spending so
much time waiting together at the front of the field we have
also become pretty friendly. I have great respect for the lad,
but should I just hand him the race? Surely nobody should
expect to win. He shouldn't be feeling like a condemned man
when there's every chance he'll be a class winner - and by
some considerable degree. And, hold on a god-dang minute,
there's still one anything-could-happen stage to run and the
small matter of Leh to Manali and the finish, 475 high-level
km away.

I've ridden as hard as anyone, given the event as much
commitment, taken at least as many risks, endured the
same physical challenges. And all on my own, without the
help of a support team. As I've picked up the pace, people
have started to make assumptions: that I'm a professional
off-roader; that the XT is a competition enduro bike, etc,
etc. They do't see the stiff, short-travel forks, the rubber
touring footpegs, unadjustable suspension trying to control
the wild buckings of a 185kg road-biased machine, or know that as
standard this bike has sod-all ground clearance.

They can't feel the weight of the thing, the back tyre spin
everywhere on the torque, the effort it takes to get such a
long and weighty bike turned on the dirt, or slowed on the
frost. Still, it is one of the three best bikes to start, but only
if you can ride it.

I decide to decide whether to race in the morning, when,
hopefully, I've had some sleep and can get some kind of
reasonable perspective. A couple of small rums, earplugs in
and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.