Day 8 - The Final Day
Here we go. We wake at our wonderful camp and turn out the horses to graze. The thoughts are still in my head about Kip’s comment, that we might be able to finish today if we are able to ride 4.5 stations. For a chance at winning, I know the chase is on. I’ll say, I have come to terms with the fact that we cannot possibly make up an hour and a half at the pace the guys are riding, so if our strategy of pushing hard then jumping at an opportunity doesn’t work out, I’ll be happy with the outcome. I’m extraordinarily proud of the race that I’ve run with no penalties and no nav errors outside the first day. I’m proud of how my body has held up. I’m proud of my horse selection, and the gear I brought, and way I’ve conducted myself, and the experience I’ve prepared myself to absorb. This whole thing has already been a success.
The man of the household is up this morning and helps us saddle. With a very friendly smile and wave we thunder off at 7am. It’s a stunning morning and I breathe it in deeply that it might be my last morning racing across the steppe as the sun rises and the dew makes the grass smell like sage and thyme. I ask the universe for an opportunity today. Whatever that might look like. I’ve done the work, I’ve ridden an honorable race, I’ve put in the blood sweat and tears, please just grant me an opportunity to seize. These recounts have been simply factual, relating to you the details of the race, and I’ve left out much of how the steppe felt, the generosity of the culture, and the expanse that is now so imprinted on my heart. That is still processing and difficult to communicate. Perhaps that comes later.
We opt for a slightly shorter route over a hill and through a bog. The boys left HS 25 at 7 and we pull in about 8:15 AM. They still maintain their lead on us. It’s clear that we need to push harder if we want to make up ground. Erik and Stevie are at this station and we haven’t seen them in days. The crew are like family and it fills my cup to be able to hug them and get their encouragement.
Our strategy now becomes to push harder during the first part of the leg and then taper down. “Haul ass” as Tiffany puts it in the video We are mentally prepared for what Kip warned us will be a slog, and thank god for that warning. The leg ends up being close to 30 miles - previously they have been 20 to 25 - gradually uphill the whole way, and straight parallel a paved road. Brutal. Tiffany and Willemien have selected much better horses than I, and I’m urging my little gray along, and I’m already dripping sweat with the effort. Him, not so much. It’s not even 10am and the day is hotter by the minute. There is no water along this leg unless we detour across the road to a pond on the map. I don’t think I’ve mentioned before, and today it becomes a critical detail, the maps uploaded on our GPS are multiple layers of 40 yr old Russian survey maps. The road locations have been surprisingly accurate, but the water has, of course, migrated over the last 40 years. Another nuance with the GPS is that, because there are different layers of maps, roads appear and disappear as you zoom in and out on the GPS. A critical detail it will prove.
Back to the water situation. It’s very hot and I’m concerned about my grey on this long hot leg. As we approach a ger I notice a large box truck parked outside with a water tank in back. We stop and holler “San Ban ooo!” A young woman steps out of the ger and we point to the water and our horses. She obligingly fills a metal bowl under the truck. All the horses sniff and act interested but no one drinks. So on we go, now slowed to mostly a trot counting down the kms to HS 26. We see it at the top of the hill and get off to do our usual 2km walk into the station. I use this time to analysis our navigation for the next route. Due east of HS 26 there is a “Bridge crossing” marked on the GPS map by the course manager. Then we turn due south and head down the valley and bam, we’re at HS 27. Easy.
All the horses pulse down on the first or second check and we’re selecting new horses and re-tacking immediately. One of the young men led me straight to a gorgeous sorrel with a long mane. I ask if he’s fast and he give me a knowing smile and a nod. I’m sold. As he is kindly tacking up my horse and taking him for a quick test drive, I recheck my GPS. As I zoom in and out of the different layers of maps, I notice that if we can cross the River, there is a road that goes SE over the mountains separating us from HS 27. We’re headed that way, it’s the hypotenuse of the triangle and I feel confident right away in the choice. I remember Richard, the videographer, interviewing me at this station and asking me where we’re headed. I said “They want us to go to the bridge over there, I’m not going that way. We’re headed over those mountains.” I hope he keeps that clip. The markers on the course are suggestions. Data points. Not requirements.
Erik asks Willemien what we’re doing to the reply of “hunting, hunting, hunting”. I’d much rather be the hunter than the hunted.
The sorrel is in my top 5 horses of the race, especially compared to the company. We haul ass out of the station and while Willemien and I have lovely fast willing guys, Tiffany’s horse is straight up out of control. She is handling it expertly like the TB rider she is, but makes soccer-field size circles and then comes zooming straight up behind us, causing our horses to bolt each time. This carries on for no less than the first 45 mins and each time she goes by, I worry he’s going to step in a marmot hole and she’ll get launched and seriously injured. She’s mentally and physically exhausted. We also know this will be the last leg we ride together as she’s required to sit her lameness penalty at HS 27. We know Patrick will also be sitting his prior penalty there too. We’re not sure what Chris will do, if he’ll stay with Patrick or go on without him.
We hit the road I saw on the may and begin to climb the first of 2 passes. There are old old roads there and I see tracks on them and know the boys are in front of us. Tiffany is able to plant her horse right behind mine, after Willemien’s kicked the shit out of him a few times, and he goes the rest of the way manageably. The sorrel is a stud, never tires, and keeps the pace at whatever I set. The route is working and I seems like no time we’re at HS 27. I recall the look of sheer surprise on Kip’s face when we came in. He’s astonished to be seeing us much earlier than he thought. How can that be when we took the same route as the guys? Those weren’t their tracks on the road. We didn’t take the same route. They took the longer 2 legs of the triangle. We’ve made up a significant amount of time. (I don’t find any of this out till the finish line).
The most astonishing part of HS 27 is that Chris is holding an IV drip bag for his horse as we walk in. He’s incurred a 2 hr penalty and Patrick is sitting on a lawn chair outside a ger. My stomach flips. This is it - my opportunity. It’s right here. My superstar horse drinks an entire bowl of water as soon as we get there and after 2 checks he’s passed. I cannot thank that one enough for what he did. We’re running to get water, running to pee and then selecting horses. No food. We’re also dumping water on our heads to cool off since it’s close to 90 degrees. In hindsight they weren’t our best picks because we were so overwhelmed by what was happening we rushed to get on and out. We didn’t ask how much time they had left in their penalties, or do I think they would have told us
Coming into HS 27. The horse I’m leading was the legend that carried me across the mountain passes.
We ride away from HS 27 at 2pm in the lead. CAN THIS BE HAPPENING? I look at Willemien wide-eyed and she says, “Don’t say it, fuck, don’t even think it” Just do the job, ride the horses we’re on, race our race. We push the horses hard to start his leg. It’s broiling hot and after half way, all they’ll do is trot. It’s painfully hot and the stress of now becoming the hunted is taxing. The walk into HS 28 is the longest 2 km on the entire steppe. Kippling and Stevie are waiting for our arrival at HS 28 at 4:45pm along with an entire group of herders. I have analyzed the route to the finish line and there is no. good. route. There is a mountain range in the way and we have to go north and around or south and around. But we’ll deal with that when we get there.
The heat has taxed our horses, and us and while mine pulses down in about 10 mins, it takes Willemien’s a bit longer. I run to fill both our waters and we don’t even use the bathroom. We’ve sweat so much I’ve drank 2.5L of water and don’t have to pee. Nor do we inspect the line of horses. We tell the main herder, through the translator, that we’d be honored to finish and win this race on their best horses. Immediately 2 horses appear. Willemien gives me the choice and I chose the sorrel. Turns out his number is 1. Auspicious. The herder says he is strong for distances and “is a 4 season horse”. We hear that even though we don’t need any more incentive to ride hard, the guys are 80% of the way to HS 28 behind us. Jesus are they riding rocket ships? They must not have had much time left on their penalties after we rode out of HS 27. They also have nothing to lose now, and they’re riding accordingly.
Willemien passing the vet check at HS 28
It’s 5pm and while we know this leg is shorter than the rest, we’ve not yet completed a leg in under 2 hrs. We ask the herders if there are any gers between us and the finish line. They point to a low spot in the mountains and say there is one that way. We might have to camp out on the last night, just out of reach of the finish line. We could always ride past 7pm, but doing so incurs a time penalty of 2 minutes for each 1 minute we ride past 7pm. Since we don’t know how far behind the guys are we start to think about how much time we can reasonably give up or take in penalties. 20 mins = 40 min penalty? Could we push it to 25? I’ve also already come up with a plan for camping. We won’t stay with a family, we’ll ride till the clock strikes 7pm and stop wherever we are. We’ll hobble the horses and sleep in 2hr shifts while the other hand grazes the horses, never letting go, not even to scratch your nose. We won’t unsaddle or take any other risks where we might lose our horses. Who cares if we’re tired or it pours rain, it’s the last leg. I digress.
This is the only section of the course where we encounter agricultural fields. As such, Kippling specifically points us through a road that split the fields. We head out on our horses, mine being strong and willing, but not a bolter, but clearly a phenomenal athlete. Willemien’s is good, but lagging behind a bit. I’m agonizing over the route. There is no best way. There is no way to choose where I’m sure that’s what the guys will also choose, or that they won’t go another way and miraculously make up time on us and win. I’m stressed to the point of almost tears and stop dead in the road and tell Willemien I don’t know what to do. She says “Deirdre, whatever you chose will be right” and that she has total trust and willingness to follow my decision. The burden is overwhelming me. She follows up by mentioning that she has a GPS and could use it if she really wanted to. That does it. I can do this. LFG.
We go south and over the mountain, cutting up some elevation, but not too much to tire her horse. There are the crew land cruisers following us everywhere. We’re making good progress in, but it’s getting close to 6pm. As we start to come off the back side of the mountains, we’re within 10kms and a bit under 1 hr to go till 7pm. I think we’re really going to make it. I start to let myself envision what it will be like to see Vance waiting for me at the finish line. How the years of training for me and sacrifice for him will finally culminate when we cross the finish line. Only someone with a better grasp of the English language could come close to describing the anticipation, adrenaline, accomplishment that I’m feeling.
Holy shit. There it is. We can see finish camp as we drop off the hills. It disappears as we get on to the flat and the literal home stretch. About 5kms to go. We’re going to make it. There’s an Ovoo as we ride. Circling it is not even an option. We haven’t passed one up yet, we’re definitely not going to start now. We trot around it 3 times clockwise and move on. With almost 4km left Willemien feels her horse needs ample time to cool down. This is the most painful part of the race. Walking to the finish line after 620+ miles. How can we not come across in raging galloping glory? Because we could still get a vet penalty at the finish line. We must stay the course.
So we walk down the road. Walk around the corner into sight of the finish line banners. We can hear the crowd start to cheer. We walk up the long hill, and cannot believe this is really happening. I can see Vance from the bottom of the hill. He’s a shadow but I recognize his stance there waiting for me, and he’s with Stevie. It feels like a dream. We grab hands and trot a celebratory few strides across the finish line at 6:52pm. What looks anti-climactic to a spectator, couldn’t be further from the truth in our hearts. Everyone stays back as we have to pass the last vet check of the race. Our horses pulse in at 62 and 60. Low and going down but not 56. While we know it shouldn’t be a problem, it’s stressful. We untack and take them to water. Kip and Cozy, the vets, are stoic and serious. Kip vets mine again and backs away without saying anything. A few mins later Cozy pulses Willemien’s and they announce that together we’re the winners of the Mongol Derby.
Vance can finally walk down to me and we meet halfway. It’s all the things: Love, pride, joy, accomplishment, relief, gratitude, elation, unconditional support, and belief in each other. I realize the opportunity I’ve been praying for was not the opportunity to win, it’s the opportunity to have this moment right here. This that couldn’t be more hard earned or more perfect.
