adventurelog
But a bigger problem was present-
ing itself. My riders—all of whom had received copious instructions on how to handle this leg of the tour—man- aged to forget most of what they had been told. Helplessly, I watched eight riders crest the dunes, heading in 8 different directions. “Guys, we have a new problem,” I
spit into the radio. “The riders are a half mile from you and are off course! I can’t guide them from here. Fan out and make yourselves visible. Get them to come your way!” I listened over the radio as Nacho,
my lead support guide, translated my instructions to Dario, our Spanish- speaking mechanic and driver. “Okay, no problemo,” Nacho replied with his usual South American nonchalance. I waited, the radio echoing soft footfalls as the support team made their way to the top of a dune. “We see them. … Well, most of them. I count 4, no 5 riders. Make that 6. No, 5. Yes. 6 riders.”
I stared at the radio, exasperated. “Well,
how many is it?? …Nevermind. I need fuel. Round up everybody you can and bring me some gas, okay??” “Yeah, no problemo,” Nacho replied idly.
“Just bring your bike to us and we’ll refuel you.” “No you don’t understand. I’M OUT OF
GAS. I need YOU to come to ME.” “Okay, no Problemo. Standby.” I sat alone in the dunes, my head spinning. I was irritated with myself for letting fuel go unchecked, but self-recrimination would have to wait. At least two of my riders were lost in the dunes, and I needed to find them. First fuel, then rescue and recovery. My radio chimed. “We have six riders here. We strapped a fuel can to one of their bikes, he’s on his way to you.” Soon I could hear an approaching I
machine. looked to the dune ahead,
searching for a cresting motorcycle. But the sound grew quieter, and still no bike in sight. I searched the other dunes, and there he was, 600 yards away and heading in the wrong direction. I laid on the horn, waving
my free hand and yelling, “HEY! HERE OVER HEEEERE!!!” He didn’t hear me. But he was a diligent operator, and caught sight of me while scanning the dunes. He rounded about and headed my way, stop- ping with ease and transferring the fuel to me. “If you’re good here, I’m gonna go back and watch the race. It’s just getting started!” he said with excitement. I nodded and he headed back to the truck. I followed him, and soon I was back with the group, save for two. I spent the next 2 ½ hours scanning the
dunes for my missing riders. As it turns out, they weren’t lost at all. Just as they had caught sight of the support truck, they had taken notice of a crowd of locals gathering to watch the races. They decided to take a look, and ended up parking and joining the natives. I found them lounging with other spectators under an umbrella, sipping Chil- ean Tea and cheering the competitors. “Where’ve you been??” they asked as I approached, covered in sweat and stress. “You’re missing the Race!”
56
BMW OWNERS NEWS February 2016
discovery
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