motorcycle like he always would, popped a wheelie and got
the keys. I knew I was in trouble!
Nope, for some reason that weekend, nothing seemed to
ruffle his feathers. Not even being stranded. I was shocked.
Anyway, I got into the truck with him and we headed over
to our next pit station during our ride.
Chuck was pumped and told me that he hoped he’d get
to ride one more time! Hoping someone would not want,
or be able to, finish their leg. Well, his wish came true, at
pit number 4. When we arrived to our pits, our bike went
faulty. It was the water pump.
Our team came together, fixed it, and at that time, our
rider, had heat exhaustion. Chuck stepped up, so excited,
and geared up. We took a few photos and he took off into
the sunset. In my heart I knew he wasn’t coming back, but
I ignored it, thinking that it was just a crazy
thought.
Our team raced to where the finish line would be. And, of
course, I was supposed to follow behind in Chuck’s truck,
but with me being confused in the desert (everything looks
the same), I went the wrong way, accidentally following the
course and getting the truck stuck in soft sand. Great! Then
I forgot the keys and I got the truck stuck where there’s
no phone service, 120 degrees, and everyone’s going to be
waiting at the finish line and not know where or how to
find us.
Great, I screwed it all up again! We found a group of nice
guys who were willing to help us get un-stuck. Guess what
happened when they tried to
help us. Oh yeah, they got
stuck too! We piled rocks
under the tire, it popped
and went flat! Someone else
came and tried to help and
Finally, after four-and-a-half hours in the heat, thirty men,
a flat tire, five broken straps, six trucks (5 out of the 6 got
stuck trying to help), two jeeps came side by side, and pulled
me at the same time out of that damn sand.
someone came up to us yelling, saying the bike we had in
the back was not ours. I thought we were getting mobbed.
It turned out that not even 2 miles down the course, Chuck
was found dead. And the person, who thought we stole
Chuck’s bike (and didn’t know him from Joe Schmo), thought
that we were stealing it. I translated, he finally understood
that Chuck was part of our team and we had two bikes with
the same number on them.
was our rider. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There he was, in the
back of the truck, lifeless. From what I gathered, the guys
who picked him up said they passed him once and saw him
leaning against the bike. They’d asked if he needed water and
he said “no” and was going to “keep going“.
They were pulling us back toward the pits when, suddenly,
He opened the door to his pick-up truck and asked if this
When they did the autopsy, he was wearing five layers.
they also got stuck! I wanted to cry at this point, I couldn’t
believe what was happening. I counted thirty Mexican men
at once, trying to get us out of this hole I’d gotten us into.
48 | SSIMAG SEPTEMBER 2013 ISSUE
They went around a second time, saw our bike propped up
on the kick stand, then found his body about 50 yards away.
They confirmed his death as heat stroke leading to a heart
attack. He had a mission, he was determined, he died how he
wished, and doing what he loved.
After his passing, I remember so many things that he would
tell me when he would talk about this race. I added it all up
and realized, that he was preparing everyone and everything
for his passing. He had once told me “ I would be happy
dying out there, don’t ever put me in a hospital, let me go
www.swimsuitillustrated.com | 49