Ron recounts one of his early desert race days through relentless dust and scorching heat while en route to international competition.<\/strong><\/p>\n
Palmdale, California, the middle of the Mojave Desert at the Prospector Desert Race. It\u2019s nine o\u2019clock on a February morning in the winter of 1970, and the intense southern sun is just beginning its ascent into the deep blue sky. They say it\u2019s a dry heat, but it still burns through my jersey. My thighs sizzle inside my leather pants. I try to relax, but my palms are sweaty and tense as I grip the handlebars in anticipation. Every nerve ending is on fire with the connection between eye and limb, in harmony, awaiting that moment when the vying of one man with another will culminate in a resounding explosion of sound and a collision of energies. It is another of those precious memories \u2013 moments in the past, never to be forgotten. One hundred percent focus is the order of the day.<\/p>\n
I quickly glance left and then right, muscles taut in anticipation. As far as I can see in both directions, men stand beside silent motorcycles, waiting for the moment. I wonder if they all feel what I feel, and again I wrestle my senses back to the present. I must focus on that man standing in the back of a pickup truck a mile away, beside the oily black smoke rising into the crystal-clear morning air, holding an American flag to signal the start. I zero in on the man with the flag, trying to catch the slightest movement to give me an edge over the competition.<\/p>\n