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Baja 1000 Recap
By Scott Forward
Suggestion: Read this story with a glass of wine after work and hopefully it will make you laugh a little.
THE RACE :
Distance: 710 miles non stop, one bike, approximately 20 hours, technical course this year, hence the shorter distance.
Entrees: 390 entrees, the most they've ever had.
Spectators: 300,000
Where: Downtown Ensenada through the streets, out of town south to Matomi Wash and back to Ensenada.
Start time: 6:30am / sunrise
Finish time: 2:00am
Dust: Plenty
Rocks: Just big ugly ones
Whoops: Only the big deep type with sand all around them and rocks hiding underneath.
Booby Traps: Always
Click on this link and scroll down to "Class 50" for quotes at the finish line: http://www.whowon.com/sresults.asp?SanctionID=377&StoryID=172321
Click on this link for the results of the motorcycles only: http://www.motorcycle-usa.com/Article_Page.aspx?ArticleID=2694&Page=1
THE STORY:
Monday, November 14: Checked in the hotel and headed out for a late dusk pre-run of Section 1. Thank goodness my ex-special forces buddy who lives in Colorado threatened to skin me alive (literally) if I didn't wear my shoulder pads every time I ride my motorcycle. This threat came from me falling in front of him without my pads on, and he so kindly installing 12 stitches to my arm with a fish hook and fishing line. So every time I try to sneak off without them, I hear his gruff voice in my head and see that long sharp Navy Seal type knife with the jagged edges reminding me to put them on. Hence, they are on every time I ride! It's a good thing too, as the pre-dusk trial run was going just fine until a fairly large creosol bush branch jumped out and speared my back pack strap at about 40mph while leaning into a sandy turn. Riding alone and being aboard my XR650 which weighs just a tad less than a small battleship and steers like one too, I had only a split second to decide to push the eject button or to try and ride it out.
The branch, obviously being experienced at spearing unsuspecting riders, knew that it had hooked a big one, possibly a show stopper, and pretty much wasn't going to give in. So, as it pulled me down, it managed to snap the 2 inch wide cordura strap on my 40lb back pack that had everything in it, except a Maytag washer and dryer. I remember seeing the sand being shoved into my face like water filling a drain pipe and then the hard dull smack of my helmet hitting the rocks and bank of the turn. My last thought was "This is going to hurt". Once I came to a stop, as always, I jump right up to prove to my brain that I'm ok, in hopes that in case I'm really hurt my brain won't really know it. However, I discovered there was no air in my lungs or anywhere near them AND I was trapped under my small battleship in this deep sandy turn. It also seemed like both my kidneys had been transplanted somewhere near my neck. After having a serious conversation with the air situation, I managed to breathe again and of course that gives your brain the ability to send signals. This can be disheartening, as the first signal received was "HEY STUPID, THAT WAS REALLY STUPID." Normally, of course, I would have argued with that first signal, claiming that is was the branches fault, but I had a feeling that was a going to be a losing argument and not necessarily a priority at the moment.
Next job was to try and get out from under the hull of my small battleship. Problem was everything pretty much hurt, especially my left arm which had been making decisions on it's own earlier. Thinking it was going to save this, meaning not-crash, my arm therefore hung on to the bars, skimming along the rocks and branches until coming to rest. So now I have this 320lb, very hot, fuel dripping, pissed off XR650 laying on my leg and only one good arm to lift it off with. My brain, very delicately mentions to me, that the exhaust pipe is very hot and can burn a hole through almost any metal, let alone a leg. I became very motivated to get out now. Pulling and digging, I squiggled out... not pretty, but certainly effective. Ok, time to take inventory on the damage. Body hurts, only one arm good, torso feels like it's been mounted 90 degrees to the lower half of my body but the bike looks good. So, one out of 4 isn't bad, heck I'm batting .250. That's not so bad.
As I gingerly stand up, the back pack flops to one side, remember the broken strap, and my goggles dispense a couple of teaspoons of sand into my eyes. Oh yeah, my highly supportive brain keeps sending that same distress signal.... "Hey stupid". Once the bike is started, after a couple hundred kicks and my heart rate being somewhere near 300, I find pulling the clutch in with my wounded left arm is rather annoying to say the least. But off we go, thinking it could have been worse. The backpack now being held on with only one strap has politely swung all the way to one side, making the small battleship list heavily to one side. Murphy's law always applies to situations like these, so of course, I haven't been moving for more than 100 feet and a large set of sandy whoops approaches. Whoops require speed, 2 good arms and a securely attached backpack to successfully master. Now I'm batting zero, as I have none of those at hand. I can only describe the next sequence as just plain "UGLY".... but I did in fact make it. It's dark now, and I argue with the slithering back pack for another 15 miles until I arrive at my pickup point where Brenda is waiting for me in the van. I decide it would not be in the best interest of the team to let them know after 3 months of training, pre-running and planning that I crashed in the first 80 miles of pre-running. We head back to the hotel for a good nights rest and some custom margarita pain killer, looking forward to everything feeling better in the morning for the next day's 300 mile pre-run session. Back in camp, I gave my best impression of an unsuspecting crasher, so the rest of the team didn't know I was damaged goods, possibly ready for the glue factory. Mutiny on the bounty is not good on the first day.
Sure enough, upon waking up everything pretty much feels like it's been plastered together, stiff, no movement, and feeling like even morphine would not deaden the aches and pain. Rollling our of bed, and I do mean rolling, I decide from experience, the best cure for this is to ride some more! The "stupid department" must not be awake yet as I hear no arguments from the back of my jostled brain. So, 6:30am and away I go. This time I take Pete, my riding buddy, who has experience at removing small battleships from buddies. The rest of the pre-running, 300 miles per day, goes pretty smooth, at least no more crashes, as I had a talk with the folks in charge of the "STUPID" department and we all agreed on a compromise. The key to pre-running is to ride your sections at the precise time of day you plan to race, so the daytime and night-time conditions are exactly as you'll see them on race day. Ah yes grasshopper, you learn this from experience, as riding at night changes everything, and if you haven't pre-run at night, you are almost guaranteed to get lost and eaten by Chupacabras. The simplest of "Y's" or turns in the road at night can look totally different than in the day.
RACE DAY:
My job definition today is to start and get the bike to the next guy, in one piece, regardless of any hurdles required to do so. In the morning there is a sacred ceremony of preparation for the day. Up at 4:30am, all race gear laid out in the order, it's installed and a check list similar to a Space Shuttle flight is completed. Warm up exercises, then special spray crap for the forearms and legs to help warm them up. Vaseline for all the areas that are going to abrazed. Powder on the knee cups and sox and inside the boots. Blistex on the nose and lips. Cytomax in the camelbak water bag on you back. "Gel" bandaids on the thumb followed by medical tape wrapped carefully around the thumbs and grip-holding areas. Tums, Advil and aspirin to help relax the muscles and keep from cramping. Visine in the eyes to help resist the dust. Peanuts and a protein mix to energize the body for a rapid start.
A rag in the boot in case of fog or anything else at the start that might ruin your vision.
It's 6am and I'm lined up for the start. I will ride the start from Ensenada to Kilometer 77, a mere road sign marker where the race course crosses Highway 3, basically in the middle of nowhere. The start line is on the main drag of Ensenada with literally 50,000 watching. Estimated spectatorship was 300,000. We start one bike every 30 seconds and we ride on pavement for about a 1/2 mile winding through town and then they drop us into a sandy wash that runs right up through the middle of town. This sandy wash has been groomed smooth, trash and debri moved to the extreme sides on the night before and then watered. It has (2) 40-foot wide jumps, a couple hundred feet long. The jumps are about a mile apart. Easy ramps with clean landings, basically made so you can hit them at almost any speed and make a spectacle for the crowd without endangering yourself. The wash is lined with solid people on both sides for 3 miles, maybe 10 people deep, behind dirt berms formed by the grooming tractor. I hit the first jump at a conservative speed, being cautious, never sure what the Mexicans might have done to the back side from the day before, and then 9000 flash bulbs go off. The jump is clean on the back side, and a sigh of relief. You can hear the cheers from the crowd and your skin bristles with excitement. The next jump I attack at full speed and the crowd is very pleased again with tons of flash bulbs. I exit the wash onto a narrow pavement section with people so close they are reaching out to try and touch you passing by. Mexicans are pretty cute as they always think you will have time to reach out and give 50,000 folks the high five as you pass by them at 60mph, never suspecting it would tear both of your arms off if you made contact. I'm sure there is much more to report here but I was really trying to focus on where I was going and not the details of the crowd.
We exit town and head into the hills, due east, where the sun is just peaking over the mountain tops, directly in your eyes. The "watered wash" is now behind us. It's my riding partners choice to always be the last "Pro" entry off the line, this way he feels he always knows where we stand on corrected time. Unfortunately, that means whoever starts (which would be me), gets to ride in the glory of everyone's dust. Add to that a "little" bit of......, NO, change that to "a lot" of bright, reflective sun and then a healthy dose of 4 weeks of silty dust from pre-runners and basically you can't see anything, not even your own front fender. Oh, and how could I forget, the Mexicans don't feel like it's a race unless they build booby traps the night before, so even though you've pre-run, you always get a multitude of surprises to test your reflexes on race day, from ditches dug across the road, to mounds built like speed bumps sticking up 12-24" high, to tires rolling out in front of you or stacked on the course like a wall, or maybe even small fires stretching from one side of the road to the other and an occasional "make-do" cinder-block wall from the more industrious pranksters. The beer bottles and empty tequila bottles come later as you come back into the finish, 20 hours later on the same section. So, you can see that more than once during that first few miles you're asking yourself, "Why would anyone in their right mind do this?" Yep, you got it, no one in their right mind would!! I rest my case.
Now the last factor of this beautiful early morning experience is called ARM PUMP. This phenomena is common to motorcycle racers where going from a calm, relaxed, talkative position to hanging on to a 240lb / 55hp bullet that accelerates from 0-60 as fast as any Ferrari you know. This forces the muscles in your forearms to basically pump up, filling with blood, but it feels more like concrete in there, and even though you can't take to the time to look, you'd swear if you could look, they'd be exactly like Popeye's forearms. You have far less than normal control in your ability to hang on and your only choice is to concentrate and try to ride through it. Everything becomes tougher. You have to keep saying "Focus and relax!!" Much easier said than done. Sometimes you can shake it out, assuming you have a moment to remove your hands from the bars, but in this case today, the ARM PUMP would stay with me all the way until getting off the bike in about 2 hours.
The farther from town you travel the less chance of booby traps you have and the better the dust gets. There was a spot in the beginning where the cars had pre-run two silty tracks up a very dusty hill. When I hit that spot I could only ride by what I remembered seeing the day before and then letting my front wheel bump the sides of the 6 inch wide car wheel track, stay loose, and pray I wouldn't go down there, as every vehicle, 30 seconds apart behind me, would use me for traction. So having survived the first 10 miles of silt, sun and booby traps, I'm feeling pretty good now. I catch a glimpse of the 10 mile marker in the dust where a rancher had gotten very creative and watered the road. AH HA!! ALL OF A SUDDEN NO DUST, like a light switch. Instantly you can see, you have traction and it's like a dream come true. I accelerate to maximum speed for about 5 seconds, only to be surprised by his ingenious and strategically positioned very large mud-hole at the bottom of a little downhill in the shadows. Whoosh, and now I'm covered with dark brown gooky mush,that I think was harvested from the cows banos, which was only a guess, based on the incredible perception of my nose. Cheers go up from the crowd, which I can only hear and certainly not see now. A moment ago you could see almost perfectly and now the gook and dust are mixed like egg casserole on your goggles, making it impossible to see anything except the occasional Mexican, cheering his success for booby trap Oscar winning. Your new goal: to ride hard hoping the muddy water will dry quickly, so you can wipe your goggles clean and maybe see again. Never touch your goggles when they're wet or the smear will be like looking through one of those opaque shower doors. An occasional rock in the road now reminds you that one can't see, as your front wheel glances away from it and tries to be knocked out from under you. Great testing for your reflex skills. Out of the ranchers area and back into the original dust, just waiting for that Section I pre-road that was fast, flat, and wide. I had figured to hit top speed on the bike there, around 100 mph and hopefully pass some folks. WRONG! Solid dust. The wind had changed from the pre-run days and was now blowing all the dust into our faces with the sun still in our face too. It was like being in those clips you see of Desert Storm. The next 70 miles were going to be very tough indeed. Time to grit down and be smart.
OJOS NEGROS:
We cross the main highway where the local police have all the traffic stopped and give us right of way to stay on the gas. The entire area is filled with people and looks totally different from yesterday when no one was there. I zero in on a rider ahead and make the pass just as we cross the highway. Yippee, I got to pass someone!! I'm sure I passed someone else but there was no way of knowing as you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. The next section coming up is filled with some very lovely, jagged rocks, shaped very much like meteors or small comets that have embedded themselves into the very hard undulating dirt. I think this is where God decided to experiment with making adobe-fiberglass. There is nothing remotely soft here. When I say undulating, I mean it has no consistency or symmetry and is very hard to read at speed, as it's bright in color and reflects the morning sun really well. The rocks force you to stand up to ride and weave your way along while the hard dirt is whooped, up and down, with an occasional deep ravine or slippery off camber marbly dirt that is difficult to see until your almost in it. Nothing here is forgiving, a mistake and you're going to break your body and your bike. There is no resting here, no sitting, just a constant barrage of hard hitting rocks, ruts, and dips. I always talk out loud to myself here, convincing myself to ride smart and keep good lines as no one is going fast in here. Somehow, I manage to remember all the spots I needed to avoid from my pre-running notes and I clean that section.
CERRA COLORADO, PIT 1:
I'm picking off riders slowly but surely now, picking my spots to pass carefully, so as not to make a mistake. I pass a couple of guys who weren't so fortunate and are laying on the ground but ok. Some poor dude is trying to change a flat in the deep sand with an excitable Mexican lending a hand. We'll never see him again. Exiting the rocks and entering the sand wash I know the first pit for fuel is near and the area where I crashed pre-running the first day. YAY, the pit, a 10 second break while they refuel the bike would feel good. The other good news is, after the pit stop, the two- track road winds back and forth and it's fast, good for me. I'm into the pit and see another bike leaving as I enter the pit. I do my usual visit with the pit crew, like asking them where a nice Italian restaurant is out here etc, smile, say thanks and leave courteously, so as not to bury my pit people in dirt. Not out of the pit 20 seconds and I can see the rider who just left. Zero in the crosshairs on him and our little bike gobbles him up. I manage to pass 3 more guys in this next fast section as, I like this stuff. I negotiate the section perfectly where I crashed and wish it good-bye. Luckily though, just ahead, I see it just in time, a severe booby trap that has claimed another rider's day. He must have been charging in the dust and didn't see the 14" vertical wall they built in a small dip in the road.
I'm not far from where I'll get off the bike for the first rider exchange, I'm making good time now. One last section of deep whoops and I'm home free. I pop out onto the highway and there are cars everywhere, and people waving, cheering and yelling. You have to quickly sift through all the hoopla and find which ones belong to you, your pit folks, the ones with the next rider. We had pre-arranged an agreement that at this point I would either suggest an air filter change or not, based on the amount of dust I was in. Obviously we changed the filter as I wasn't in anything BUT dust!! Away goes Jack Johnson, our # 2 rider, winner of 10 or so Baja 1000's and a sigh of relief from me, I did my job.
KILOMETER 77, MILEAGE 85:
I passed a total of 12 riders and never got passed or fell, truly a miracle! Jack's section is long and tough, but he's good. We now load into the chase vehicles, 4 of them, and are off to the next point of rider exchange which is 70 miles of highway but 120 miles of race course. We arrive and wait and finally the first bike comes through. Everyone will be more spread out now. Jack arrives with us in 5th place overall, an outstanding ride indeed, especially considering he cut his finger pre-running and had 8 stitches in it. There is a fairly large hole in our muffler but Jack says it is not affecting performance, so we opt to keep it moving while our position is good and we'll change the muffler at one of the next pits. Honda provides pits approximately every 60 miles, however, because we chose to ride an 450X this year most of the spare parts they have in the pits only fit XR650's.
BORREGO, MILEAGE 200:
We are pumped now, 5th overall and only 6 hours into a 20 hour race. Even though you want to feel confident, you know from experience, it's a long race and plenty more will happen. We load up the vehicles and try to escape the now "make-do city of vehicles and officials,",helicopters, etc., and drive to the next spot, midway point, and start the long wait of 4 hours for the bike to arrive. Seems like forever, waiting, with hundreds of others as the race Semi's start pulling into the pit areas for the Trophy Truck Teams, Nissan, Toyota, Hummer, etc, it looks like a mini Daytona 500 but in the middle of the Baja desert. Every now and then the sound of a motorcycle will break the still air and the excitement picks up, only to discover it's a Mexican with no helmet and no muffler on a quad pretending to be a racer, making tons of dust for any would-be real racer that might be coming.
Riding along at night or anytime for that matter, when you're around spectators, you must learn to read any unusual movement from the crowd. There is a constant movement always in the crowds lining the roads or course, but usually all moving at the same speed. You cannot possibly pick out any specific thing, so you look for any sudden or quick movements, different from the normal movement from the crowd. Anything that might come into your path quickly. It's an art, a rather stupid art, but indeed important to your survival. The Mexicans have kids, dogs, bicycles (usually with flat or no tires) and various assorted items that can find their way into your path. More than once I've had a whole family decide to cross the road in front of me while traveling at race speeds. They never seem to grasp the concept of the speeds you're traveling at.
PIT STOP SAN MATIAS, MILEAGE 410:
As we wait and wait, bike after bike goes by and your heart becomes heavy. 5th, 6th, 10th, 15th goes by and something has gone wrong. Not having any contact with your bike, you begin to wonder if you'll see it at all. Scanning the horizon with binoculars, I finally see the familiar 549X slowly heading toward us. The rear is weaving back and forth.... A FLAT. Jim is nursing the bike toward us and has dropped 11 spots because of it. Twenty-eight miles flat, but he's here. We have co-coordinated a complete pit here, 2 new wheels and tires, replace the muffler, fuel, replace the bent shifter and install the lights. We accomplish all of this in 7 minutes and head out 16th overall.
Now it's time to split the crews apart as Brenda and I need to drive from the Gulf Side of Baja all the way around to the Pacific side where, should all go according to plan, I will mount and ride the bike into the finish at around 11pm. Strategy of the race is critical. To have redundancy is your best hedge. So, I was the wild card at the midway point, just in case Jack had any problems physically, I would have been given the job of mounting the bike at the midway point and riding to Trinidad, an additional 200 miles, and then again to the finish, a tough assignment, but not as tough as some I've had previous years. Turns out Jack was fine and our best bet to get back some of the spots we've lost. It will be dark in about 45 minutes, so he will have his hands full in the transition period between dusk and dark. This is where the bike lights really don't light up the terrain yet, but the sunset light is dim enough that it's very hard to read the terrain.
DRIVING BACK TO URAPAN AND THE SIDE ROAD:
Our trek back to Urapan / Santo Tomas on the Pacific side should take about 2.5 hours in the van in normal traffic. However, there is no such thing as normal traffic in Mexico. Two lane highways, poorly maintained, with trucks moving literally at 15mph in some spots for miles and cars lined up forever behind them as there is nowhere to pull off. Oh and cars driving at night with no headlights or tail lights, classic Baja. And then there's the "Federale" checks. Mexcian Army Highway checks for drugs and guns with 16 year old kids holding M14's asking the same questions every time you pass through, basically wasting everyone's time and causing enormous traffic jams. I think it's a great idea but we've never seen or heard of them catching anyone there in the 25 years I've been going. Let's see, they've seen me at least 20 times in the last few days, almost know me on first name basis and yet they want to inspect everything in the van every time. I think it's a power trip over the Gringos. Usually stickers or a t-shirt will clear an inspection quickly.
Redundancy and preparation again: We carry a set of spare wheels, HID headlights, a filter and and my pre-runner in the van, so if any traffic becomes too much, I'll unload the bike and head to my next spot on my own, on the pre-runner bike. It doesn't care about traffic. The race bike is marked, so the pre-runner can in no way be substituted for or changed for the race bike. In addition, this year they decided to use GPS transponders, mounted to the race bikes to track the bikes speed and location to insure no one cheats, an issue in past years that always frosted me. I can remember several times taking miles to pass someone in the dust, to only find them in front of me again, at a later point, while no one came by me on the course!! Never could quite understood how you could be proud of a trophy on your mantle that you won by cheating. Anyway, the transponder was a welcomed addition in my opinion. It and the checkpoint stubs are turned in at the finish line.
Murphy's law again, as we wind down the road into Ensenada in the dark, I see the tell-tale line of bright tail lights, indicating an accident on the highway. This is a disaster, as the Mexicans can take hours to remove an accident from the 2-lane highway. Our karma was good this evening, as just as we start to stop at the end of the traffic lineup, I see a local, turn off to the right on one of the very few dirt roads that leave the highway in this area. My memory says there is a dirt road I've seen during pre-running that comes back onto the pavement some 8 miles or so ahead. I gamble and follow the local down this rutted, terrible road with the backup in my head of, "I can always ride my bike out". I look behind me and I've become the Pied Piper. Probably 30 cars are following me, probably thinking "This Gringo must know what he's doing". Turn's out to be a blessing in disguise, as it works perfectly and at one point we could actually see the accident, off in the distance, and miles of cars stranded in line. We end up making it to the exchange spot in plenty of time despite two more Federale checks.
WAITING AT URAPAN WITH TIM & KEVIN:.
The course crosses Highway 1 at Urapan. We will ride the race bike up the highway for about 6 miles, through a Federale check and turn off into the dirt for the remaining 110 miles. Arriving at Urapan and joining other pitters for the night wait, I get the two girls, Brenda and Karen, Margarita's from the local pub and they join some friends around the camp fire along side the highway at 10pm. I think this made the long day a lot more enjoyable for the pit crews. Where else could you have a campfire 8 feet high along a main highway with Margaritas and sharing the days adventures. For me it was tough. I was fully dressed, helmet, pads, boots, helmet night light wired to my fanny pack, etc., waiting, for at any moment we might hear our bike coming. The "not knowing status" is always tough. Several bikes pass through and finally the dreaded noise YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR, the rumble of the first 750HP Trophy truck. I still don't know how they physically fit on some of the race course, as they seem wider than many of the sections I ride through. The tires are huge and rugged and of course, with 750HP they make a lot of noise and more dust than a Abrahams Tank. Do they have lights??? Oh yeah, when one of these comes up behind you it feels like a baseball stadium is sneaking up on you. Most of them have (10-12) 300-watt floods and spots. So, once it goes by ahead of you, you know more are coming and there is going to be dust like you've never experienced. So isn't this going to be fun?? Gee, why not more dust, in the dark, with rocks and cliffs and ruts big enough to swallow small airplanes AND now it's night, and cold, and the dust will just hang, like fog in the canyons and on the rocky uphills.
ALAS, THE NIGHT RIDE:
Finally our bike arrives and all is well, at least it has air in the tires and the lights intact. Our lights are very good also. Two 300 watt HID's that don't go off when you kill the motor, WOW, what a treat. Previous years, if you were a little hot coming into some corner where you panic and hit the brakes enough to kill the motor, the headlights would go off. OH YEAH, that's bad!! Moving at speed and all you have is the memory of what you last saw before the lights went out....You lose equilibrium and almost always crash, just hoping it's someplace soft, which of course does not exist in this race. Then once you crash, you have to feel around in the darkness to try and find your bike again. Glad that was cured!
Before I mount the bike, Chris tells me he's been in big dust and maybe we should change the filter. I ask if the bike is running good? He says, "Yes", so I decide to ride, before any more cars/trucks come through. We are in 11th spot now, but with big gaps between bikes, so I decide to ride smooth and smart and just get the bike to the finish and not try to impress anybody with the finish times
Up the highway I go, passing cars while blinding them with our race lights. At the Federale checkpoint they wave the race bikes through in a special lane, ahhh, such wisdom. Six miles later, I turn in into the dirt and start looking for booby traps as I pass through the villages close to the highway. The temperature drops considerably, down to 45 degrees or so and I'm glad I decided to race with my jacket. Everything is going pretty good, the normal booby traps and all, when I see a tail light bobbing up the mountain road 1/2 mile or so ahead. I think, Nahhhh, I couldn't have caught anyone, I'm just cruising. Must be a Mexican on the course being a "poser." As I get closer faster I see it has pretty good lights and I'm inspired to catch and pass but know it will be difficult. I close in just where there is a spot on the course where an "either / or" exists, you pick which one you want. Pre-running, I knew the left was longer but faster and no dust. He takes the right, and I say out loud like he'd hear me, Cool, you should have pre-run more. I motor right by him dust free and come out ahead. He's eating dust now. Not 10 minutes later another tail light. Wow, this is cool. Reel him in and get another spot, which makes us 9th overall now. 10 minutes later another tail light, so I close in and just as I get close enough to see what or who it is, I realize it's a quad. A QUAD?? How did he get ahead of us. Anyway, they make lots of dust and he's slowing me up 25% at least. I try to pass twice and he picks the pace up and makes tons of dust making the risk way too high at this point in the race. I make one more attempt before the big rocky uphill and just as I get within 20 feet, he hits a silt hole and I see nothing! I go off the road and wedge into the bushes. A few curse words and a talk with the "Stupid" department again and I figure it's time to follow the quad in, no gain in passing him, and certainly plenty to lose by crashing. Since I got close he's picked up the pace and he probably thinks I'm another quad dicing for overall position. The concellation prize is, at least I have no arm pump now.
Now 60 miles from anything resembling civilization, you still pass spectators on the sides of the course, camping and waving you on in the absolute middle of nowhere. You wonder when they left to even get to these remote places. One of their favorite games this night is to position their cars and quads etc aiming right at you but in total darkness and when you come over a rise or turn, they flick everything on in your eyes. I came by one camper who has an entire Christmas tree scene up, colored Christmas lights around his entire campground, and several moving reindeer.... priceless. You have to laugh.
I'm now riding the course backwards that I rode early this morning. The rocks etc. seem much better going this direction, maybe it's like the stable horse syndrome, it's because I'm getting close to home. I cross the Highway at Ojos Negros where thousands still lurk and cheer you on. The temperature now is below 40 and my hands and finger tips are frozen. The bikes muffler is on the right side of the bike, so I now have to reach back and around with my left hand, to put my hand in front of the muffler exhaust (it's warm), almost like trying to touch your right outside kneecap with you left hand, from around your back. This feels good and gives you a 30 second burst of feeling back in your fingers. Now you can only do this when the road is straight and fairly flat which is the case. This is the same section I rode this morning that I was planning on passing all the folks at top speed. Now the tricky part is warming your right hand, because it controls the throttle and obviously if you let go, you not only slow down but the exhaust doesn't blow hot exhaust out when the throttle is off. So, you reach across carefully with your left hand and keep the throttle on while your right hand spends a few seconds back over the exhaust getting warm. Next into some very severe silt sections that are now huge due to all the 400 vehicles racing over it this morning. BE CAREFUL!! This is like riding through deep snow with ruts underneath. You can't really tell where your front wheel is going to go and if you fall down, you might not ever find your bike.
I'm now approaching the last 10 miles, feeling great about being close but dreading what the Mexicans have had all day to perfect.... the booby traps that may have failed earlier this morning. In addition, their creativity is being enhanced by 20 hours of beer and tequila. Most of the traps are the same, but just bigger or deeper. The first unique surprise is a 2 gallon bucket of mud coming out of nowhere from above you on a bank. It misses me. A little farther up the road, some empty beer bottles from both sides of the dark road. Luckily the tequila makes their aim and judge of speed poor. Down a small hill into a stream crossing, out the other side and now coming down the hill at me are 3 car tires, like soldiers on a mission. I dodge all three. And finally, the icing on the cake, some dude in the middle of the road, no shirt on (and remember it was 40 degrees), with a 2x4 he had removed from the fire, on fire, in his hands like a baseball bat and he's choosing me or my bike lights off. You just plain have to laugh at this one. Well, experience kicks in again and you gas her up and head right for him. His senses, although numb, decide it's better to move than be run over by a two-eyed 60mph monster with knobbies.
THE FINISH:
It's 2am now and back down the sand wash in the middle of town, the same we rode out on this morning. There are still thousands of folks lining the wash and they have Cal-Trans lights and generators lighting the wash. Quite spectacular actually, and most of these folks are cheering you on. We make one last turn out of the wash and I swear it feels like your riding in someone's back yard, along a fence line that parallel's a drainage covert in darkness and then bingo, you turn into the local Baseball stadium that is massively lit and filled with fans. A sensation of relief and accomplishment fills your entirety and you become surrounded by videographers and interviewers. "How was your ride?" "Congratulations," "Any problems?" etc etc. You spot your support crew and signal them through the security people, hug, high five and join forces to answer all the questions. A great feeling indeed......almost enough to encourage you to do it again next year...how quickly you forget...and then the STUPID department folks send you a reminder! Retire, retire! Alas wisdom prevails.
We had a great team, 5 riders, 2 mechanicals, 2 professional photographers, 4 chase vehicles with 10 assist people, 2 full-time chefs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, 15 pits all equipped with 5-6 people, and of course, my personal pit driver, psychiatrist, massage therapist, support and crerw member, my wife, Brenda.
Sincere thanks to all who made this happen and special thanks Chris and Karen Haines.
Hope you enjoyed!
Scott
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