my energy remaining , I change my course . It ’ s that 10 % that will enable me to leave the bike , walk out and survive . Not today , I want to give this hill my all , and I want to overcome it and taste that sweet addictive victory . This will reenergise me and make it all worthwhile , the gambling equivalent of all in .
The other riders seem to dance through it all , smiling , perfectly on time , and only cursing a tiny scratch on their bike here and there . I look like Tom Hanks in Cast Away at this point , talking to my bike like it ’ s Wilson . My poor Tenere looks like a child ’ s push bike , which has been run over by a car and thrown in a skip . No one is sure what to make of us , or why we are here . I certainly have no answers , and the mystery grows by the day .
I often catch small smiles from the experienced elders as they watch us struggle , partly laughing with me and partly at me . Several have done the Dakar , been at this for decades and roll with a full support crew . They must reason I haven ’ t got a fucking clue , but that I must be a reckless and tenacious bastard . And they ’ d be right . I can do it . I will do it .
I feel like a rabid dog at this stage , scrounging around in the dark , picking through a pile of rotting rubbish for dinner . The scraps are only making me hungrier . Surely there is a full meal to be had somewhere out here . Surely there is some salvation after lurching around these dusty tracks for days on end ?
Nope , there is only bitter lead to eat , washed down with
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