Turning the corner, I scan the empty shoreline. Weekend over, the place really cleared out yesterday. It’s just us and the white VW van under the tree. Only the long-term nomads remain indefinitely.
Dropping a bag at the rig, I turn and walk along the shore. Pack up what’s left and return to Rufio. Stuff, zip, attach, clip, cinch, get road ready. Baylor loaded, I adjust his goggles, give him an extra cookie. Firing up the bike, I frown. Look at the clutch cable.
The adjustment screw broke the other day and the cable is clearly on it’s last leg. I’ve parts awaiting us at the next stop, we just need to make it out of this middle of nowhere desert. Hopping on, I squeeze the clutch. Make a silent plea. Just let us make it to the waiting parts. Rolling forward, I note how finicky it is. Noiselessly bargain. We’re so close. Please, please, please. Just let us get there.
Passing the white van, I wave. Sit up straighter mentally preparing for the sandy miles to come. At least the sidecar should be on the down side this time around, so really it shouldn’t be as bad as the ride in. Or so I hope.
Rolling along, I scan the sand. Weave back and forth. Sun climbing high in the sky, I grip the handlebars tightly, look over at Baylor, smile. He’s snoozing contentedly.
Looking ahead, I note the steep slant to the left. Aim a bit farther to the right. Seeing the tire marks I try to decide if it’s better to have the sidecar or the bike in the tracks. Being narrower than a car, we’re constantly jerked back and forth entering and exiting various tracks. A more experienced sidecar rider might do it differently, but I’m making it up on the fly. Getting a real-time education in sandy, desert riding.
Sinking into unexpectedly deep sand, I grit my teeth. Try to pull towards the seemingly less deep left side. Slog, slide, pull in the weary clutch and jerk to a halt. Shit. Coming to a stop. That’s the one thing I really did not want to do in this deep sand.
Revving the engine, I try to pull forward. Spin tires for a second without gaining purchase and quickly stop. I don’t know much, but it’s obvious I don’t want to dig myself into a deeper hole. Jumping off, I try heaving and pulling. Move it inches. Accomplish nothing.
Hands on my hips, I exhale. Inhale. Look up at the shiny blue sky and scream into my helmet. It doesn’t change the situation, but I feel slightly better.
Down on all fours, I dig at the front tire. Move to the back. Round to the sidecar.
Desert sun beating down harshly on me. I whip off my jacket, feel sweat roll down my back. Looking over I can’t help but laugh. Baylor’s sitting up, staring at me with a look of concerned annoyance. He wants it known I’ve interrupted his nap with these stuck shenanigans. Grinning, I hand him a cookie. Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out, get us out of here soon. He looks at me, turns to stare across the barren, dusty expanse. I know, there’s not really any other choice, I mutter. Baylor raises an eyebrow. Lies back down with a sigh.
Not for the first time I want to just burst into tears and wait for death. Realizing that won’t do any good, I find myself crawling through the soft sand. It’s not as deep to the left. If I can just create a trough to get us over there, we’ll be able to get rolling, to gain momentum and leave this land behind without incident.
Jogging back to Rufio, I survey the trail I’ve created. Looks like it will work. Now it’s time to put it to the test. Swinging a leg over, I fire up the bike. Zipping up my jacket, I look over at Baylor. Okay, keep your fingers crossed. Here goes.
Rolling forward I stay in the troughs, ride to the left and gain speed. Excited, I let out a whoop. Quickly retract any celebrations for fear of jinxing us. After all we’ve miles and miles of desolate desert left to cross.
This challenge is behind us, but there are surely countless more ahead.
262 days down. Many more to come.
