Woken up by the roar and rumble of the truck and motorcycle engines, I peeled my eyelids open, still dazed after barely three hours of sleep. My tent was covered in sand and dust inside and out, and, as I crawled out and located my grime-splattered riding boots, I blinked at the rising sun. Day three at the Rally Dakar 2019. It was just past four-thirty in the morning, but there was no time for poetry or scrambled eggs. Exhaust fumes would to for breakfast, and, after scurrying to the portable sinks at the back of the camp to brush my teeth, I quickly packed my tiny nylon abode up, loaded my bike, and wheeled it outside the bivouac gates. I put the packed bike on a side-stand near a lonely wooden bench and set about making coffee as the wind tore into my jacket. Riders were alrea
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