The Hard & Prickly Truth About Target Fixation
If you’ve ever crashed into a tree you’ll know it’s like hitting a brick wall. You and your bike come to an almost immediate stop, regardless of the speed you’re going, and your entire body rattles. The impact pushes the air from your lungs and you sit there, winded and dazed, as it really starts to hurt.
For some reason, I thought crashing into a giant cactus would be a little more… squishy. Maybe because they’re 90% water, I thought there’d be some ‘give’. Some of them even look like prickly little water balloons, don’t they? I’m not sure. All I know is, my theory isn’t correct and I found out the hard way.
Let me set the scene.
Baja California dreamin’
Baja California is the most north-western state of Mexico. If you’re looking at a map, it’s the spindly finger-shaped piece of land that points down the left-hand-side of the country. Separated from the mainland by the Gulf of California (also known as the Sea of Cortez), Baja is a hot desert oasis, famous for having some of the most awesome ocean life on the planet.
The place has a unique and impressionable beauty. Its rolling mountain ranges of sand and rock are pebble-dashed with bushes. These towering desert dunes roll right down to the sea - a gorgeous wash of blue, the likes of which we rarely see here in the UK.
Having said all that, there’s one thing that dominates the Baja landscape. Cacti.
Lots of cacti.
Lots of BIG cacti.
120 different species of the things, pretty much everywhere you look.
In some cases, a cactus in Baja can grow to be 20 metres tall and weigh up to 25 tonnes. With most having thousands of sharp spines on them, who knows how many tiny needles exist in those dusty hills. Somewhere between butt loads and sh*t tonnes, I’d guess.
As you can imagine, this creates an obvious issue when mountain biking in the Baja mountains. Sharp needles plus rubber tyres usually equals nightmare. That’s one thing I experienced whilst pedalling the Sierra Cacachilas mountains.
As my tyres gradually gathered more prickly bits, I gave in to temptation and plucked one out. Of course, I was instantly greeted by the hiss of escaping air and the bubbling ooze of sealant from within. A quick spin of the wheel and note to self: Don’t do that again. Best leave the prickles where they be.
The trail systems around Rancho Cacachilas are what I’d describe as singletrack for the strong-willed. Much time and energy was spent pedalling on sand. This, combined with the intense, power-sapping heat, made for a testing day in the saddle. There’s bits that felt like a sweaty slog, if I’m being totally honest. But it was worth it for the occasional reward of rock garden, slab ride or death-defying switchback descent.
Of course, we can’t forget the bonus fun factors, like rattlesnakes in the brush beside you, wild hogs crossing the trails and the occasional sting from a foreign wasp.
You get the gist, it’s no Sunday pootle in the park.
If you hadn’t noticed already, I’m painting quite the picture of risk here. But, I’ll level with you, the impending crash can’t be blamed on any of the above.
Here’s how it went down.
Who put that there?
We’re nearing the end of the ride. I’m bringing up the rear in our group of three, happily enjoying the mostly flat and downhill finale to our day. The trail isn’t super tight. It’s the sort where you could maybe ride side-by-side with your buddy but, in the interest of personal space, you fall in behind them anyway.
Up ahead, the trail widens slightly and right in the middle stands a solitary cardon cactus. It’s probably about 9 feet tall. It doesn’t have arms. It’s just one, tall, thin, green, prickly pole. There’s enough room to pass the cactus on either the left or the right. Just pick a side.
The rider in front of me goes left and, in my mind, I guess I choose left too.
I turn the cranks, the wheels spin, and the cactus gets closer.
“There’s plenty of room, just pass on the left” I’m thinking.
But I know that the cactus is approaching. It’s getting closer by the second.
Until it’s literally right there, my handlebars are pointed at it, my front wheel slips out in the sand and, yup, I hit the damn thing.
Like a rugby player making a tackle, I shoulder charged this big green object which was, I’ll admit, just minding its own business in the middle of the trail.
To confirm once again, there is no ‘give’ to a cardon cactus. It is just like hitting a tree, only this tree is armed with inch-long needles - a bunch of which are now deeply embedded into my arm and shoulder.
I let out a groan. Mayday, mayday, woman down.
What happened?
Assuming that I didn’t just momentarily lose the ability to ride a bike, my cactus kissing incident can be explained by the concept of ‘target fixation’.
Target fixation is a widely acknowledged attentional phenomenon. It refers to a common tendency we have as riders (as well as drivers and pilots) to over-focus on a hazard or obstacle, to the point that we end up colliding with the very thing we’re trying to avoid.
It’s also considered a panic reflex. When faced with something unusual or dangerous, our natural instinct is to look directly at the thing posing the threat and exclude everything else. Unable to look away and consider another route, we tend to go where our eyes take us - directly into the object.
So, like a moth drawn to a flame, I couldn’t help but stare at the very thing I was trying not to hit - the cactus. Being so focused on the scary object meant I’d inadvertently increased my risk of crashing into it.
How to avoid
I know what you’re thinking, “Rach, just point your wheels to the left. Or the right. Or anywhere except there”.
Well, that probably would‘ve helped.
But, as a rule in mountain biking, your bike will go where your eyes go. So if you look at a tree, rock or cactus for too long, you’ll most likely ride straight into it. The solution? Keep your eyes looking forward, past obstacles and focused on where you want to go.
It’s simple advice. But not so easy when there’s a giant prickly water balloon approaching, I swear.
Words & Pictures: Rachel Clayton