Story by Cody Cottier with additional reporting by Jacob Granneman, Shannon Heckt and Luke Hollister.
CORDOBA, ARGENTINA — Ricky Brabec stood alone in the sun-baked dunes outside San Juan. His bike was on fire. He was miles from help.
He had traversed more than 4,000 miles on his Honda motorcycle, from the highlands of Peru to the pampas of Argentina. Now the 26-year-old from Hesperia, California, was the highest-ranking American in the Dakar Rally.
In the history of the race, no one from the U.S. has ever won. A small handful have stood on the podium, but none at the top.
The 14-day race across three countries is widely considered the world’s most prestigious — and most unforgiving — off-road rally. With its arsenal of obstacles, it can topple even hardened riders. Many never reach the end.
“It’s such a gnarly event that it’s hard to explain to people,” Brabec said. “This race is one of a kind.”
He, along with several other riders, represents a growing American interest in what has for decades been an overwhelmingly European sport.
Early in the morning on Jan. 19, the second-to-last day of the race, Brabec saddled up. He had placed an impressive fourth in the previous day’s stage, and he trailed behind just five other riders overall. He felt good.
Then his bike broke down 30 miles into the desert — 30 miles from help.
World’s toughest race
hen Thierry Sabine veered off course during the 1977 Abidjan-Nice Rally and became lost in the Libyan desert, he had an idea.
Despite his situation, he was struck by the stark beauty of the sandscape. Sabine envisioned a rally stretching from Paris to Dakar, Senegal, crossing the Sahara along the way. When he returned home to France, he began to plan the competition that would quickly rise to the throne of off-road racing.
The rally launched in 1978, and in the following decades its fame and engagement soared. At its peak, nearly 700 racers — riding motorcycles, cars, quads and trucks — attempted the intercontinental trek.
Dakar calls to a certain type of person. Its hazardous charms enthrall the adventurer, the daredevil seeking an exotic challenge. But it takes a certain breed of athlete to complete, let alone win, the rally.
“This is the greatest rally there is. But it’s also the hardest.”
Most days they rise at 3:30 a.m. and ride at 4, some days for eight hours, others 12 or more. They go from the Andean altitude of Bolivia to the shadeless summer desert, weathering cold and hail, rain and heat along the way.
Darren Skilton, who raced in many editions of Dakar and now hosts the Mexican Sonora Rally, called it the Olympics of the sport.
“This is the greatest rally there is,” he said. “But it’s also the hardest.”
No other brings to bear so many unique assaults on a person’s mind, body and vehicle. The extreme terrain, coupled with the sheer exhaustion of two weeks of daily riding, place Dakar in a category all its own.
American motorcyclist Andrew Short — and many other riders — named fatigue as the foremost difficulty. Be it mental, physical or emotional, the stress of 5,500 miles weighs heavy.
“Each day is much harder to get up,” said Short, a 35-year-old Colorado Springs native. “You just don't have time to rest and the race just keeps moving, whether you want to or not.”
But sometimes they are unable to keep moving. Many riders sustain race-ending injuries, and nearly 30 have died over the years from crashes, exposure or health complications. Sabine himself perished in 1986 while searching for vehicles stuck in the desert, when his helicopter plummeted into a sand dune.
The dangers of Dakar, at least in the past, extended beyond the race itself. Skilton recalled the time he “hauled ass through the night” to escape Algerian militants.
Rally organizers moved Dakar to South America after cancelling it in 2008 amid fear over terrorist attacks in Mauritania. This ensured the safety of competitors, but brought new obstacles.
The terrain is more diverse, taking racers up to the thin air of the Andes and down across the vast interior plains below. It is difficult to train for such landscapes, and in particular for the lack of oxygen on the higher sections of the route.
Competitors may also simply get lost. One misread direction can result in hours of lost time and a huge drop in rank.
Even if racers can stand the elements and stave off weariness, their vehicles may not be up to the task — a truth Brabec knows all too well.
Desert disaster
hen he arrived in South America in 2016 for his maiden rally, Brabec already had an impressive record. He had won numerous off-road races, including the Baja 1000. That year he finished ninth in Dakar. The next year, he won an individual stage.
But he was no stranger to misfortune, either.
In just the past three years, Brabec has broken his neck twice after falling off his bike. More pertinent to his current situation, in the 2017 edition of Dakar he had to drop out midway due to mechanical trouble, at nearly the same point in the race.
Now, he was again stranded alone in the desert, with a useless machine and no support. His Honda CRF450 had faltered. An electrical malfunction sparked a fire on his battery, shutting off the motorcycle completely. His team couldn’t reach him to help with repairs, and he had neither the parts nor the tools to fix the bike himself.
He was on his way to Cordoba, the second-largest city in Argentina, where the race would end the next day. The competitors would race a final short stage that day, but mostly as a formality. The penultimate stage is the last realistic chance to rise in the ranks.
One of his Monster Energy Honda teammates, Jose Ignacio Cornejo, stopped to help Brabec. After 45 minutes they still had no luck, and Cornejo resumed riding.
Alone again, Brabec thought of the friends, family and fans rooting for him at home, imagined their disappointment if he couldn’t go on. He feared this Dakar bid would end the same as the last.
Unfamiliar Territory
he stories Brabec heard of Dakar as a young racer captured his imagination, as they have thousands of others — and a relatively small number of American riders.
Andrew Short, one of Brabec’s fellow U.S. motorcyclists, rode for years in motocross and supercross, decidedly American traditions. Then, in 2013, he learned about Dakar.
“Since then,” he said, “the switch was flipped for me.”
Compared with the world’s greatest rally, he said, his former pursuits are one-dimensional — nothing but short spurts of speed in a simple circuit. In an off-road rally, the variables are overwhelming.
“Here in Dakar, for 14 days, it's a war,” he said. “Sometimes it's within yourself and sometimes it's with a competitor. Sometimes it's with your bike, your equipment. So I think there's so much to it, that that's the beauty of it.”
So why haven’t more Americans come to the same realization?
For one, most race in a vastly different style. The techniques of Short’s discipline, for example, don’t transfer well to off-road rally. The endurance and skills involved are terra incognita for people with his background.
“Here in Dakar, for 14 days, it's a war.”
“It's difficult because you can't just go practice laps,” he said. “The training aspect's gone at that point.”
It’s also simply not as well-known. Everyone has heard of motocross, supercross and the Baja 1000, but far fewer would recognize the name Dakar.
Short compared it to the Tour de France. No one in the U.S. cared much for bicycle racing until Lance Armstrong rose to superstardom with his success in France. Then bike sales went through the roof and the country grew obsessed with the Tour. If America produced a similar icon in Dakar, he predicted, people would notice.
Brabec hoped he would be that icon when he entered the race for the first time in 2016. It was more difficult than he imagined.
“I crashed every single day,” he said.
New generation, new hope
his year looked to be Brabec’s best performance yet. Despite losing a lot of time in an early stage, he kept pace with the top riders. The end nearly in sight, he seemed a shoo-in for a respectable sixth place.
Until his bike caught fire.
After four hours struggling to repair his Honda, officials forced him to abandon the Dakar again. His chance at the top five — or any other finish — withered beneath the merciless Argentinian sun.
The next day he met his successful competitors as they rode into Cordoba.
“I am here at the finish line right now in clothes,” Brabec said, “when I should be here on my bike in riding gear. It’s tough.”
He watched the other Americans come in — Shane Esposito in 13th. Mark Samuels behind him in 14th. Short a bit farther back in 25th. In addition to Brabec, these riders show promise for the future of their country in the rally.
Samuels won free entry to the rally after finishing first in Mexico’s Sonora Rally. Styled after Dakar, it serves as a stomping ground for North American racers who aspire to the ultimate off-road rally.
It helped Samuels to begin honing the skills he needs to thrive in Dakar, and he hopes to keep improving.
“I want to get better and I want to be a top-10 guy down here,” Samuels said. “So hopefully I get the opportunity to keep coming and keep building, and maybe be a top American down here soon.”
Short, who finished behind Samuels in the Sonora Rally, said this year’s Dakar was a test run for him. He trained for just a couple months, and he acknowledges he has a long way to go to compete at the upper levels. Next year, he’s aiming higher.
“I want to be the first American to win this race, because it’s the greatest motorsport race in history.”
“I feel like I wanted to do one Dakar to get the experience,” Short said, “and the second one I want to do to see how good I can do.”
As for Brabec, two years of premature endings haven’t discouraged him. He remains dead set on one day standing atop the Dakar podium. And at 26, he has plenty of time to carve out his spot.
“There is always next year and 10-plus more years,” he said. “I want to be the first American to win this race, because it’s the greatest motorsport race in history.” ♦
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Additional background photos by Cody Cottier and Luke Hollister.
Website made by Washington State University student Yasmeen Wafai.
