I woke early very concerned about Charlie.  I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t have anyone to ask for advice.  I grabbed a quick breakfast.  Mike and I planned on pre-running more, but we needed to find Charlie first.

After breakfast I was organizing my pickup when I heard a dirt bike approaching.  I looked up just as Charlie was turning into the parking lot.   I was extremely relieved to see him.  He looked tired and cold, but he was alive.  He wasn’t happy with any of us, and to some degree, I didn’t blame him.  I had been wishing all night that I had gone back out looking for him.  I knew there would be a good story and since he was safe, I was eager to hear it.

Charlie proceeded to tell me what transpired.  When we stopped at race mile 90, he did not hear me talk about the upcoming  turn.  He also had not heard me talk about it the few times I mentioned it earlier in the afternoon.  As he was leading the group, he continued past Nuevo Junction following the racecourse.  After Nuevo Junction the racecourse turned up into the mountains and traversed a mountain pass known to the racers as “The Summit”.  The Summit is not for the faint of heart.  Both the climb and the descent on the north side are not easy.  At some point, Charlie realized he was by himself.  He came across a crew member for another team who gave him some gas.  It was at this point Charlie discovered his headlight was inoperable.  The sun was setting fast.  Riding backwards on the racecourse is not advisable in any way shape or form for safety reasons.  Charlie was not only riding backwards over the Summit, but he was also doing it in the dark with no headlight!  When he reached Nuevo Junction, he didn’t know to take the access road to the highway, and it would have been near impossible in the dark without a headlight.  He continued riding backwards on the racecourse to the previous highway crossing.  He met several pre-runner vehicles along the way and was nearly run over.  Finally, he arrived at the pavement and began looking for us.

We were long gone by the time Charlie arrived at the highway crossing.  He found a sweet Mexican lady and tried to communicate with her.  She did not speak English and Charlie’s Spanish is very limited.  However, they were able to communicate well enough for Charlie to understand that she had a place he could sleep in the village of Heroes de la Independencia, about 10 miles away.  Charlie followed her in her car to her little restaurant.  She then loaded Charlie in her car and drove him into the town of Valley T to look for us.  When we were not found they returned to her restaurant, where she fed him.  He slept on the floor with some blankets she gave him.  In the morning, she gave Charlie some gas and a jacket to help keep him warm on his ride back to town.  Charlie and I stopped by a few days later to return her jacket and he forced her to take money for helping him.  After this woman’s kindness to a total stranger, Charlie and I would stop there for a meal every time we drove through in the future.  Even if we were not hungry.  It usually didn’t matter what she made; a $100 bill was left under one of the plates as we slipped out the door.  I would gather clothes in the States between races and take them to her to give out to those in need in the area.  She was always extremely grateful for the donations and did everything she could to refuse our money. 

At the conclusion of Charlie’s adventures Mike and I loaded up in my pickup to headed out to pre-run.  We had talked to Brad and Brent, and we planned to meet up that evening where we would end our pre-run.  Mike’s wife Laura and best friend Robert would also be going with us in their vehicle.  We had not repaired Mike’s shifter, and we needed to trade motorcycles with the Christ brothers, so Mike opted to ride Brad’s Honda XR 650.

We arrived at Leyes de Reforma around noon.  I didn’t like to start pre-running this late in the day, but we only had 100 miles of racecourse to traverse.  I knew gas was going to be an issue for me with my bike.  I had calculated my mileage the day before and it was worse than I thought it would be.  I had a 4-gallon tank on my bike, which should have given me a range of 70 miles.  I had a 2-gallon gas can and a 1-gallon gas can.  I stacked them in my backpack.  I also carried a fanny pack that was designed to carry tools.  I estimated I was carrying about 30 pounds of weight on my back. Our route for the day was 105 miles of desert somewhat in the shape of a horseshoe.  We would head north over the Summit to a place called Cohabuzo Junction.  From there we would turn east before turning south back to the highway at Borrego. Before heading out, I showed Robert and Laura where Borrego was on the map.  Mike’s dad would drive my pickup to our rendezvous spot. 

We used the access road to Nuevo Junction and joined the racecourse.  As we headed toward the Summit the terrain became extremely rocky.  Loose rocks would roll under our tires making the riding difficult.  We stopped at the Summit to admire the view for a few minutes.  It was like we were at the top of the world.  We looked north across the vast expanse of the desert below us.  The desert was endless, mountains littered with rocks and the desert floor with scattered cacti and small trees and bushes.  The rock varied in color from white to dark brown.  I took the opportunity to top off my gas tank which was a nice relief for my back.  I had already used almost a gallon of gas.  I did the math in my head and knew I was not going to make it to Borrego.  There was nothing I could do at this point, so we pressed on. 

The descent from the Summit was just about as treacherous as the ascent.  I kept thinking about Charlie riding backwards over this mountain in the dark without a headlight.  At the bottom of the mountain the racecourse dropped into a deep sandy dry wash.  Deep sand requires a lot of throttle on a dirt bike.  And the more throttle, the more gas is used.  At the end of the wash, I saw a couple of guys I knew working on their pre-runner Baja Bug.  I stopped to chat and dump more gas out of my backpack.  Mike pulled up and I told him to continue, and I would catch up in a bit.  After a few more minutes with my friends, I headed out to catch up to Mike. 

The racecourse was much smoother and faster through here as we headed toward the northern most part of our ride.  I made good time and was having a blast twisting the throttle on my bike.  I followed the racecourse as it turned east and then back to the south.  I then crossed Laguna Salada, a large dry lakebed.  I decided I needed to fight temptation to go fast and slow down to conserve gas.  Right after the lakebed I found myself in a silt bed.  For those that are not familiar with the desert, a silt bed is like bottomless talcum powder dirt.  Traversing silt beds is quite treacherous.  The deep powdered dirt hides rocks and ruts underneath that can throw a motorcycle to the ground.  The dirt gets in everywhere and clogs air filters quickly. 

Shortly after the first silt bed I caught up to Mike.  He was slumped over the handlebars of his motorcycle.  I pulled up and shut off my engine.  I asked him if he was okay.  Mike looked up at me slowly and asked, “How do you do this?”  I didn’t understand what he meant.  He repeated his question and added “this is so difficult, dodging rocks and ruts and silt beds.  This is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done” I didn’t understand how this could be difficult to a guy that did the things he did.  But he explained the difference between the two disciplines, and I began to understand what he meant.  I was used to riding in the desert like this and didn’t think much of it.  I poured the rest of my gas into my bike while we rested.

After a few minutes we continued following the racecourse south toward Borrego.  Watching the level of gas drop in my gas tank was beginning to be very concerning.  We began to encounter rougher terrain and many rocks.  Patches of deep sand with embedded rocks were frequent.  We dipped through sand washes and weaved through the hills.  Mike picked his way along at a decent pace, but I could tell he was tired. 

After another brief break I knew, I was not going to make it to Borrego on gas.  I told Mike to go ahead and see if someone could bring some gas back to me.  I knew there would be other teams there waiting on their pre-runners and most guys are willing to help other racers when in need.  I would go slow and warn anyone passing me to watch for oncoming traffic.  Mike disappeared into the distance, and I continued south at a much slower pace.  I approached a steep hill and had no choice but to speed up and just as I approached the top of the hill my engine sputtered to a stop.  I jumped off my bike and tried to push it over the crest of the hill.  The loose gravel and rocks made it impossible to push my bike any farther.  I turned my bike around and coasted back to the bottom of the hill and off to the side of the racecourse next a few large cacti.

A pre-runner truck stopped a little while later to check on me.  They had a radio and called their crew at Borrego.  I described my pickup and they found Mike had just arrived was planning to send me some gas.  Brad and Brent were there and one of them would be headed my way shortly. 

I watched the shadows grow long and fade into darkness.  The silence of the desert was crazy.  The temperature began to drop, and I was thankful for my jacket.  Nighttime in November can be quite chilly while the days are warm and sunny.  I also learned my lesson from the day before and I mounted my large headlight on my bike before we headed out. 

After what seemed like an hour, I am sure it was less, I heard a motorcycle approaching from the south.  I saw a headlight come over the hill and descend toward me.  Brad pulled up and I was extremely grateful for the help.  I quickly poured the gallon of gas he brought into my tank and fired up my bike.  My headlight was very bright compared to the Honda headlight. 

Brad and I rode side by side the final 5 miles to Borrego.  Brad liked my bright headlight and took advantage of it.  Mike and his crew were long gone by the time I arrived, and I was perfectly fine with that.  I loaded my bike and the race bike into my pickup and helped Brad and Brent load the bike Mike was riding into their van.  We hung out and talked about their day of pre-running on their own. 

They had found the access road I marked quite easily and picked a spot to do the rider change.  They then pre-ran Brad’s section from there.  One of them punctured a tire and they learned how to change a tube on the side of the racecourse.  This set them back some time, but they were able to meet up with their wives on Laguna Diablo, another dry lakebed we would race across.  They had some snacks and drinks I took advantage of before we parted ways. 

Brad, Brent, and their wives headed back to San Felipe about 45 minutes away.  I headed out to make the two plus hour drive back to Ensenada in the dark.  As I drove, I contemplated on the day.  I wanted to give Mike a good section of the racecourse, but I was also concerned about him racing the Summit section.  I didn’t think he was quite up to the task.  I needed to find a section that suited his abilities and one that he would actually enjoy.  At the end of the day, we were there to have fun.  And if he crashed and injured himself, I would feel horrible.  But at the same time, I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries when making suggestions.  While I had some concerns about my new teammates, I was also impressed with how quickly they adjusted to the way things went in Baja.  I finally pulled into the hotel parking lot and secured my gear before heading to the taco stand down the street for some dinner.