Unfortunately, some riders ignored
warnings and rode ahead of planned
stops throwing the support vehicle
pattern into chaos. The field was
now spread more than 50 kilometres
across the desert, this was going to be
a long day.
As the day wore on exhausted
riders were forced to sit trackside for
hours, waiting for fuel and water, for
most it was their own doing and took
it in good humour. Perhaps it was a
reprieve from what seemed like the
same dune being climbed repeatedly.
Was it really the same dune re-
petitively appearing? Moving across
the giant field of them it certainly
seemed so as it became mundane.
This land seems devoid of large life;
no kangaroos, no emus, few dingos.
The same red dune appearing every
few hundred metres. Wait! There
was life and it continually appeared
from nowhere.
The unmistakeable metallic rasp-
ing rattle of a KTM would suddenly
break the hypnosis created by the re-
occurring dunes, the distinct orange
bike appearing like an apparition
from nowhere. Where the hell had
he come from, where the hell had he
been?
TRAVERSE 23
This was Mark, a former Australi-
an military Special Forces soldier. It
seems his self-appointed MO was to
drop back as far as he could by de-
touring off into the dunes for a better
‘look’. His voice would occasionally
crackle across the airwaves, more
often than not he’d appear from no-
where before racing off ahead. This
guy can ride.
Mark was riding at the rear of the
bikes to make sure that everyone was
able to continue, to provide emergen-
cy medical support (if needed) as well
as mechanical repairs. Every rider
was thankful and rode with a confi-