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Since we had a couple of days in the grasslands of the Inner Kingdom, I wanted to attempt another first…to race a Mongolian horseman! My team thought the Gobi sun must have fried my brains. No one had ever done such a thing so why did I want to try? Just because. That was good enough reason. Arrangements were made. We drove a day through green fields and wild horses before coming to a village of nomads and collapsible tents called yurts. I met the young men who were chosen for the next day's race. We partied that night in the main yurt, with plenty of food and drink; dancing and wrestling; song and laughter. The next day, I was in no mood to race, let alone leave the comfort of my yurt. But the gauntlet was thrown. I had no choice but to go through with my nutty idea. Besides, the press had come out once again, as they had been doing along the journey thus far. Whatever was happening in the outside world, I had no idea. My world was the moment, and the moment was the race, and the media was here to cover it. The two young men and I prepared with warm-ups. They on their horses, me on my bike. A line was drawn in the dirt a quarter mile away; the photographers ready for a flash finish. Who was I to disappoint them? When the signal was given, the three of us took off; horseman on either side of me. My blinders were on. I could feel the hot breath of the steeds close to my sides; the thunder of their hooves racing alongside the rubber on my wheels. Neck and neck we were keeping focused forward. Then one dropped behind for some reason, yet his teammate kept pace with me. The finish line was in sight; the cameramen snapping away. Then, just before the horse got his nose over the line, a tire slid past. My speed: 39 mph. We really partied that night in the main yurt, serenaded with love songs by several beautiful Mongolian women, who served us rack of lamb and other delicacies. Such is the way at times for the life of an adventurer. It was while scanning the horizon of the vast openness of Inner Mongolia, that I saw the moon come up full. So huge was it, that all one had to do was walk out there and climb aboard. A crystal, blue moon that made you consider there had to be a Great Creator. A news reporter asked what my thoughts were, and I answered, “I'd like to take my bike and do a few loops up there.” He laughed. “If you pull that one off, Kev, I want to be there to cover it.” Then we turned in. Yeah…the moon. Someday. |
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captainamerica@kevin-foster.com
© Copyright Kevin Foster |
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