I continued my preparation for the Tecate SCORE Baja 1000 in November diligently.  My motorcycle was set up for racing at night and since I would most likely be racing all my section in the dark, I spent a few nights riding in the dark.  I would leave Terry Glass’ house in north Scottsdale and ride out to Sheep’s Bridge on the Verde River.  It was about a 60-mile round trip.  I did this at least once a week in the dark and once or twice in the day light in preparation for the race. 

We would be riding the indestructible Honda XR 650R in the race.  Eric and I both had extensive knowledge of this motorcycle and the preparation it needed to be race ready.  We gave Charlie a list of items he needed to change on the bike to make it race ready.  Charlie had procured a brand new “left over” 2000 model bike.  There were essentially no differences between a 2000 and 2005 model bikes.  

We also would be using Honda’s pit service which was invaluable.  Every 50 miles on the racecourse Honda would have a pit stop set up.  These pits were staffed with excellent volunteers that were all Baja veterans.  They could dump 3 gallons of gas into a bike in 20 seconds with the “dry break” gas cans.  Usually, a few wives tagged along, and they kept sandwiches and snacks ready for those that needed them.  Tires and parts were also available to us if needed.  Another great aid to the racers was the radio.  Most pits had a dedicated radio operator that could communicate to the other Honda pits and with the SCORE officials in the event of an emergency. 

I preferred to do rider changes at the Honda pits whenever we could because we could check the status of our rider as he came through the previous Honda pit.  Occasionally, because of the mountains in Baja, communication would be poor or non-existent.  However, for this race, the Christ brothers would be making a rider change in the middle of nowhere without any form of communication.  I also had no way of telling them how to find this location.  I knew how to get there, but I couldn’t tell them without going there first myself. 

I loaded my gear, tools, and dirt bike into my 1995 Dodge Ram 4×4 pickup and headed west from Phoenix on November 9^th.  After a brief stop at the Mexican border to purchase vehicle insurance for Mexico (U.S. insurance does not cover vehicles in Mexico) I crossed the border at Mexicali.  I drove south down the narrow, pothole filled road to the town of San Felipe about 100 miles from the border. 

San Felipe is a town located on the Sea of Cortez, on the east side of the Baja peninsula.  The locals welcome the racers because it brings quite a bit of revenue into the sleepy town.  Fishing is probably the largest industry. 

The pavement deteriorated even more south of town.  I was looking for an access road that I had used in the past, but I couldn’t quite remember where it was located.  I found one and turned right into the dirt and drove about 5 miles to the racecourse.  This wasn’t the exact spot I wanted, and the dirt road was on the rough side with deep sand.  So, I returned to the pavement and continued farther south.  Suddenly, I spotted the access road I was looking for.  Calling it a road is a bit of an over statement.  It was nothing more than some tracks through the desert that could be used to access the racecourse from the paved road.  I knew the Christ brothers would be driving a 2-wheel drive rental van and I didn’t want them to get stuck in the sand.  This road was better than the first one I looked at and it intersected the course where I assumed a few more teams would set up pit stops.   Years earlier, someone painted a bunch of rocks white and spelled out the word “JIMCO” (an offroad race car builder) on a small hill next to the racecourse.  And two years before my team owner at the time was named “Jimbo”, so naturally, we had to rearrange the rocks to spell “JIMBO”.  I had found the spot I was seeking. 

I tied some strips of yellow “caution tape” to some bushes to mark the rider change spot.  As I returned to the pavement, I tied additional strips of caution tape to some bushes along the dirt road.  And I added more strips to bushes at the pavement marking the entrance to the road.  I also wrapped the only road sign I had seen for miles with more tape for visibility.  I wanted the guys to find the road easily.  It was about 2 pm by this point and my stomach had been growling for quite some time. 

I returned to San Felipe and ordered lunch at a favorite racer hangout called Rice and Beans, located on the waterfront.  The proprietor was a racing fan and often had racing videos playing on a small tv in the restaurant.  After filling my belly, I made the 3-hour drive through the desert and mountains to Ensenada on the Pacific side of the peninsula. 

It was dark when I arrived in Ensenada.  The roads in Baja are treacherous in the daylight and downright dangerous at night.  I didn’t like driving at night, but sometimes I had no choice.  I was inching my way through traffic in downtown when I heard a voice yelling my name.  I looked out my window and saw a guy I didn’t know running up to my pickup.  A guy shoved his hand through my open window and introduced himself as Brad Christ, beginning my introduction to a group of guys that would very quickly become friends.  I pulled into the Bahia parking lot and met most of the team.  Mike and his family were staying in a rental house south of town, but the rest of the team were staying in the same hotel.  Charlie, his assistant Dena, the Christ brothers, and their wives had arrived earlier that day.  Eric would be coming down the next week, just a few days before the race.

The next morning, we met up for breakfast at the hotel restaurant.  I translated the menu and made suggestions on what to eat.  None of this team spoke Spanish and they were not familiar with “real” Mexican food.  After getting to know one another for an hour or two we decided that we should head out on a short “pre-run”.

The racecourse is marked about a month before the race and open to anyone that wants to pre-run.  In fact, SCORE encourages participants to learn the course for safety reasons.  Often locals will change course markers on race day for their entertainment and they will occasionally build a “booby trap” for excitement.  Most of the time they mean no ill-will, but rather want to see some more action than just the racers passing by at a high rate of speed. 

We loaded three bikes into Charlie’s 94 Chevy crew cab and the Christ brothers loaded theirs into their rental van.  I showed them the easiest way out of town on the road toward San Felipe.  The road begins to climb through the mountains immediately.  A few miles out of town we unloaded our bikes and donned our riding gear.  The Christ brother’s wives would take over driving duties and I showed them on the map where to meet us just over the mountain range in the town of Ojos Negros (Black Eyes). 

The 5 dirt bikes headed off on the dirt road that doubles as racecourse and a ranch access road.  In fact, much of the racecourse is on roads that ranchers use so during pre-running we needed to be cautious.  After about 20 miles we arrived at the rendezvous point where the racecourse crossed the highway.  We topped off our gas tanks and I showed the ladies where to meet us before we headed out onto the racecourse again. 

I was trying to ride close to each guy to see their skills and get a feel for their abilities on their dirt bikes while ensuring no one took a wrong turn.  Brad and Brent seemed to be the best riders.  Charlie was pretty good.  Mike was not bad, but he didn’t seem too comfortable on the motorcycle.  He didn’t have a problem attacking obstacles and twisting the throttle, but something seemed a little off.  Later I learned that he had only started riding dirt bikes about 6 months earlier.  In that light, he was doing awesome.  Everyone on the team seemed to be in good physical condition.  Mike was probably the fittest person I had ever met.  He had competed in numerous Ironman competitions and raced bicycles for years.  This guy’s pastime was something most people, including myself, dread.

We were making decent time in this section until Mike’s front tire dug into the soft sand in a corner and he laid his bike down.  He wasn’t injured, but his bike was.  Mike picked up his bike to find the gear shifter took the hardest hit and broke the tip off the shifter shaft leaving his shifter laying on the ground.  I think Mike was embarrassed, but I did my best to assure him this kind of thing happens and not to worry.  Everyone was standing around wondering what to do.  I was the only one in the group with any tools.  One tool I always carry is a small pair of vice grips.  I gave them to Mike, and he clamped them on the remaining shaft so he could continue to shift gears.  It looked awkward at first, but before long Mike was shifting just fine with his vice grip shifter. 

Thirty miles down the racecourse we intersected with the highway again at KM77.  We found the ladies waiting patiently.  They were making friends with the other chase crews waiting there, which is a smart move in Baja.  You can never have too many friends.  I topped off my thirsty two stroke and grabbed a drink.  I discussed the next section of racecourse with the guys.  I explained that we would leave the racecourse at Nuevo Junction, which was at race mile 95.  Nuevo Junction was nothing more than a “crossroads”.   If you didn’t know it was there you would go right past it.  I didn’t know if there would be any mile markers there or anything showing the access road out to the highway.  I did know the course turned left.  If we went straight, we would drop down the “Goat trail” into Valley T.  We needed to turn right and follow an access road out to the highway.  While we were resting Brent realized his bike had a flat rear tire.  We loaded it in the van, and he planned to repair it later.

I showed the ladies and Brent where to meet us again on the map and we headed out.  Charlie had been riding the race bike, which I did not like because I wanted to save it for race day.  So, the guys had been taking turns on it to get a feel for it.  We only had 20 more miles of racecourse till our turn.  We clicked off the miles quickly.  We spread out so we were not eating too much dust.  All the guys were riding better and getting the hang of riding in the desert.  I made my way to the front of the pack and stopped next to the 90-mile marker.  I waited for everyone to catch up and I reminded them that we would be turning right off the course in 5 miles.  Brad had traded bikes with Charlie and was now testing the race bike.  As we started to leave, Mike stalled his bike, and it took a minute or two to get it re-started.  I stayed with Mike until his bike was running, but I decided to catch up to Charlie who was leading.  The course was smooth and fast through there and I rode as hard as I could.  It felt good to twist the throttle and that KX was ripping.  I passed Brad before I arrived at the turn and waited for the others. 

While I waited, I thought for a moment that I must have passed Charlie at some point also.  Brad and Mike arrived, but Charlie did not.  We determined that Charlie was in the front still.  I had mentioned at least 3 or 4 times that we needed to turn right so we assumed that Charlie was already headed out to the highway. 

I led the group out to the highway to a little village called Leyes de Reforma.  It was not much other than a few houses and one small store.  I drove by there for years before I knew it had a name.  We found the ladies and Brent right where I told them to be once again.  They were quickly becoming good chase drivers.  Unfortunately, Charlie was not there.  I immediately began to worry.  I knew that if Charlie had continued following the racecourse he was going to run out of gas and spend a cold night in the desert.  Brad and Brent didn’t seem to be too worried.  We waited about half an hour and the two of them announced that they were going to take the race bike with them since Charlie was on Brad’s bike and head to their hotel in San Felipe so they could start pre-running their sections the next day.  I was not happy about that, but once again, it was not my “show”, and I didn’t voice my opinion.

Mike and I loaded our bikes into Charlie’s pickup and headed back down the access road to look for Charlie.  We didn’t have a way to communicate with him.  Cell phone service in that area was about 10 years away.  So, we waited at the racecourse until dark.  In November in Baja, it is full dark at 5 pm.  I did not know what to do.  I didn’t have my headlight on my bike, so I couldn’t go look for him and we didn’t have much gas for either bike. 

Mike and I made a collective decision to head back to Ensenada.  We based our decision on the fact that Charlie’s two best friends had already left and didn’t seem too worried about him.  Mike knew his wife would be worried about him, so he called her as soon as his phone had service.  Mike and I planned to meet up the next morning before he headed out to his rental.  I stayed at the hotel trying to decide what to do.  Finding Charlie in the dark in Baja would be like finding a needle in a haystack.  I did not know where he was, but he knew where the hotel was. 

Finally, I went to my room to catch some sleep.  I was feeling better about our chances of being successful as the day wore on, but now with Charlie missing and clearly not listening to me I was really wondering what I had gotten myself into.