Egypt is flooding

Dakar Day 5, 6, 7, 8 and Rest Day.

Flooding has forced a bunch of reroutes and some cancellations of sections. The driver I wanted to win is out. A driver I have no respect for is winning. Such is Dakar. Peterhansel, a guy whose very nickname is Mr. Dakar, crashed after coming over a dune too fast. His co-driver was airlifted out. Without Peterhansel and Sainz racing, the leader has a near insurmountable lead, both in time and experience. I’ll be rooting for him to lose regardless.

(The driver I disdain was assisted in a win by politics, money, and being a shithead. I don't like shitheads)

As I continue to watch, slightly less engaged than previous to the disappointing crashes that removed most of the completion from the cars category, I continue to think about what the Dakar means.

It may be that it happens at the first of every year, a time we associate with renewed vigor, refocusing on goals, and challenging ourselves to be our best versions, or at least closer. Or maybe it's just hat my brain can't comprehend being the skills necessary to ride 500km a day on that kind of terrain for two weeks. Or maybe it's both.

It's not unrelated that I've watched friends dealing with a heart attack, a stroke, the loss of parents, my own aging parents this year. Time is speeding up.

It's hackneyed. It's khaki bro speak. And it's true.

What do you want to do before you die.