Hoop and I reason we should turn back , get more speed , and have another go before admitting defeat . We came here to ride the track after all . Hoop goes first and manages to make it through . In the melee of falling rocks behind him , I ’ m only watching my front tyre , and miss whatever magic move he used to make it up . I get hung up once again and listen as his engine disappears off into the distance . Good on him . On my own once again , but still upright , I eye up a potential line and try catch my breath .
There is a nasty left-hand drop to a river , far below , with a tree branch sticking out , that gets in the way as I study the terrain . To the right of the track is a sheer bank upwards , that I can lean into with my right foot for leverage . A rocky scree of around three metres wide is the track in the middle , sitting around 45 degrees in pitch . All in the final hour , of another punishing day , it ’ s one final fuck you from the race organiser . Just when I think I might get a nice clean sheet and have some downtime before the evening briefing , no … I must hurt for my bed , endure for this sport , and abuse myself for this privilege . I must suffer .
After a few minutes of nervous deliberation , I fire my engine and simply have a go . I ’ d like to say I try a tactic of some sort , but I simply point the bike up and roll the throttle , hoping for the best . So far in my biking career , this simple tactic has very rarely let me down . However , in mere seconds , we are both on the deck . I ’ m left panting like a dog and sweating like mad , as the beached bike
NEWS MAGAZINE
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