RACE DAY

My alarm went off at 4:30!  I did not want to get out of bed.  I could hear Eric stirring across the room.  I lay there thinking about the day ahead of us.  I knew Eric and I would handle our sections of the racecourse without any issue.  I couldn’t help wondering about my new teammates.  I had never been to Baja with a first timer since my first trip, much-less, a whole team of them.  There were so many ways this day could go.  I forced myself to stop thinking negatively and crawled out of bed. 

I dressed in the dark and packed up a few things I would need for the day.  Eric was up and getting ready as I headed down to the parking lot.  Charlie was up and getting the race bike out of the trailer.  I looked over the bike one more time.  Eric joined us shortly and we loaded our gear into my pickup along with Eric’s pre-run bike.  If we had a bike identical to the race bike it was always carried in case we needed spare parts and in an emergency situation the bike could be used to access the racecourse.

The parking lot was soon buzzing with activity.  There were several other bike teams getting ready for the early morning start.  The green flag would fly at 6:30, just after sun rise.  There was a breeze coming in off the ocean making the morning air quite chilly.  Charlie loaded his things into his Isuzu.  I would drive it with Dena while he was on the bike.  Eric would take my pickup and meet me where I got off the bike. 

Dirt bikes started riding by the hotel heading to the start line.  A wave of nerves came over me even though I was not going to be riding the start.  Charlie fired up the race bike and headed down the street to the start line about half a mile away.  Eric, Dena, and I walked down to spectate. 

The start line area was a zoo.  Racers, crew members, and spectators milled about.  Policemen tried to block spectators from getting too close.  We made our way through the crowd and found Charlie in line.  The bikes would start one at a time every 30 seconds.  Our race number, 253x put us in the 53^rd starting spot for the Sportsman class.  Charlie appeared nervous, but he was doing his best to hide it.  A voice started speaking in Spanish over a pa system greeting everyone to the start. 

After a few official activities the motorcycles roared to life.  We stayed with Charlie as long as the officials would allow us.  The starting official energetically threw the green flag in the air with a slight wave and Charlie sped off down the street.  We immediately headed back to the hotel and jumped in our respective vehicles.  We needed to beat Charlie to the road crossing at Ojos Negros. 

Negotiating the traffic on the way out of town tested our patience.  Every bike team had chase trucks trying to do the same thing we were attempting.  Even some of the race car team’s trucks were headed out of town to set up their pit areas even though the race cars would not be leaving for several hours. 

The road crossing at Ojos was packed with chase vehicles when we arrived.  After several minutes I managed to find a place to park about a quarter mile away.  Eric pulled off the road and parked next to me.  We hustled back down the road just as the first bike crossed the highway.  The Honda factory bike looked smooth as always with Johnny Campbell at the controls.  After a few minutes the second bike arrived followed by a steady stream of bikes.  Charlie arrived safely and we waved him on.  We didn’t need him to stop unless there was an issue with the bike. 

With Charlie gone we quickly returned to our vehicles.  Eric would wait for Charlie at the next road crossing, about race mile 75.  Dena and I would head to race mile 95 where I was to take over the bike.  When I arrived at Honda pit 2 my nerves began to kick in.  I began to put my gear on while trying to stay calm.  I don’t know why I was so nervous about this race.  It wasn’t my first race, but I was nervous none-the-less. 

It came as no surprise to anyone that the first bike through the pit was the factory Honda bike.  There was a considerably larger gap to the next bike.  In fact, all the bikes were much more spread out.  I waited nervously for Charlie.  Bike after bike came through the pit and a few of the pro quads, which started after us.  Finally, Charlie rounded the bend and headed toward the pit area. 

The pit guys expertly fueled the bike with the dry break gas can.  We could add about 3 gallons of gas in less than 20 seconds.  Charlie jumped off the bike and I threw my leg over the seat.  After inquiring about how the bike was handling, I shifted the bike into gear and rolled out of the pit.  As soon as I was clear of all the workers, I twisted the throttle.

The Honda XR 650’s engine roared as my right hand twisted the throttle.  The rear tire dug into the desert throwing dirt and rocks behind.  I rounded the first turn past some cheering spectators and disappeared into the desert.  I was a little excited and just a few turns later found myself in the bushes.  In my excitement I had carried too much speed into a corner and crashed through a creosote bush.  Thankfully there were no cacti there and I didn’t tip over.  I slid to a stop and turned back onto the racecourse telling myself to slow down and not do anything stupid. 

The racecourse started climbing toward the Summit quickly.  The desert dirt turned to rocks.  I started struggling with the handling of the bike.  It was bouncing off every rock and hard to keep pointed in the proper direction.  In the steepest part of the climb near the crest the back tire deflected off a rock and turned the bike sideways in the course.  I couldn’t react quick enough and stalled the engine.  I wasn’t happy with the outcome, but it was better than going off the side of the mountain.  I quickly refired the engine and continued up the mountain while making a mental note of how this bike handled in the rocks.  Other than a quick spin on the street I had no seat time on the race bike, which I did not like. 

A handful of spectators had gathered at the Summit to watch the race.  I imagined it would be a great place to watch, but once there you would be stuck until all the race traffic had passed.  I crested the top of the mountain and began to pick my way through the loose rocks on the north side.  The descent was more difficult as the bike continued to deflect unpredictably off rocks.  I was trying my best to ride smoothly and efficiently.  I definitely didn’t want to crash in the rocks.  Finally, I reached the bottom of the mountain and headed down a deep sand wash.  Huge boulders lay under the sand that would ruin a racer’s day if they were hit, so I cautiously rode, watching for any signs of danger. 

Upon exiting the sand wash I breathed a sigh of relief.  I was past the first big obstacle and the rest of my ride should be smooth.  I started twisting the throttle farther and the big bike started eating up the miles.  I caught a few bikes and quickly made passes.  I was really starting to have fun.  The racecourse opened up and became more enjoyable. 

I rode through an area called Cohabuzo Junction.  It was a common pit area since there was an access road that intersected the racecourse.  The spectators and race teams cheered me on as I blazed by.  I am sure I wasn’t the fastest bike in the race, but they sure made me feel like it. 

Shortly after race mile 135 the course turned to the right and skirted a small mountain.  I passed a few more bikes as the course turned back to the south again.  I had settled in and was riding really well.  The bike was running well, and I found a smooth rhythm.  I was having fun. The feeling a racer gets when riding in harmony with the motorcycle is hard to describe. Riding the bike seems effortless and it is as if you are one with the machine. I was tearing across the desert and having a blast!

Honda pit 3 was set up as close to race mile 150 as they could.  I saw the big red Honda sign and slammed on the brakes and pulled in.  The volunteers asked if I needed anything as they gassed to the bike.  I replied that everything was great, and one guy gave me an encouraging slap to the back as they finished fueling.  I eased out of the pit before twisting the throttle.  I had seen too many guys throw rocks and dirt all over the pit guys who were volunteering their time to help us race to do that myself.  A second or two of patience would not affect the outcome of the race. 

After the pit stop, I let the bike do what it did best.  I turned the throttle to the stop and tucked down behind the handlebars for aerodynamics.  I am not sure how fast I was going, but everything was a blur.  The wind rushing over me was trying to pull my helmet back and peel me from the bike.  At one point I saw a man with a giant video camera, like the ones they use for filming movies on the left side of the racecourse.  I moved over to the edge and blew by his camera about 3 feet away.  I knew the bike was capable of 100 mph or more and I was definitely testing the speed limit.

The fun came to an end at the southern edge of the lakebed.  I saw spectators up ahead which always means there is something to be concerned about.  We always knew when there was danger or a difficult section when spectators were present.  And this time was no different.  I entered a large silt bed and carefully navigated my way through about a quarter mile of deep talcum powder like dirt.  The ground under the silt was rutted and unpredictable.  With a couple of close calls, I made it through with an occasional dab of my feet.  The racecourse was noticeably rougher and rockier now. 

Shortly after the silt bed I saw a lone track leading off to the right of the racecourse.  I decided to take a chance and followed it.  I soon decided that this was a slight short cut.  It didn’t save much distance, but it was much smoother than the racecourse.  I realized there were some spectators between myself and the marked course.  I am sure I found a line one of the pro teams had taken.  We didn’t have tracking devises on our race vehicles, and as long as you hit all the check points some course deviations were expected.  I followed this track for about two miles before it rejoined the racecourse. 

I continued south toward my destination as fast as I could.  The inhospitable terrain was unforgiving.  Rocks and sand with bushes and cacti seemed like they were trying to halt my progress.  I was beginning to feel fatigued.  I started to lose focus, which is not good.  I was no longer in harmony with the bike. I entered a sand wash right behind another bike and started to make a pass when I overshot a corner.  The bike flew up and over a sandy berm and I laid it down.  I landed on my side and rolled a few times before coming to a stop.  I jumped to my feet quickly.  I felt like an idiot and started telling myself as much with a few words I will not repeat here.  The bike I was passing motored on by when he saw I was fine. 

I picked up the race bike and after a quick assessment started kicking the kick starter.  After a few frantic kicks the engine roared to life.  I slammed it back into gear and rode back up over the sand berm to the racecourse.  “That was embarrassing” I said to myself as I got going again.  Shortly after my off-track excursion I came to the spot I had run out of gas a few days before.  I knew I only had 5 more miles, so I put my head down and charged hard.  I caught back up to the guy I was passing and made a smarter pass on him. 

Soon I could see spectators ahead in the distance.  I knew I was arriving at Borrego.  There was also a checkpoint shortly before the road crossing.  I pulled to a stop next to the workers and they put a small piece of cardboard, we called a “pill”, with a number printed on it into a special little can we attached to the handlebars.  At the conclusion of the race the can would be emptied and if any of the check point pills were missing, we would be disqualified.  I thanked the workers and headed toward the crowd of people in the distance. 

Spectators lined both sides of the racecourse and littered a rocky hill next to it.  There was a bump that could be used as a jump, and everyone wanted to see some action.  I was not aware of the jump and proceeded to disappoint them as I caught a very small amount of air.  I approached the road crossing where a course worker dressed in an orange vest was frantically waving me across with an orange flag. I cleared the pavement and saw Honda pit 4 about 50 yards ahead. 

I pulled into the pit stop and jumped off the bike.  Brent and Eric were there waiting for me.  The pit guys gassed up the bike and I glanced over it to make sure I had not damaged it in my fall.  Brent was ready and waiting for me and jumped on the bike as soon as the tank was full.  I gave him a few words of encouragement and slapped him on the back as he left the pit. 

Eric gave me a high five and asked how my ride went.  I was embarrassed to tell him about my small crash but did anyway.  Other than the few mistakes I made; I was happy with my ride since I wasn’t passed by anyone, and I had made at least a dozen passes. Eric gave me a bottle of water and I sat down in a chair that was offered to me.  Eric and I did not need to rush off.  We had at least 5 hours until we needed to be at Honda pit 8, which was located just a few miles down the road. 

There were many pits set up at Borrego.  Many car and truck teams would be changing tires and drivers here.  Some of the teams had semi-trucks with huge pits reminiscent of a NASCAR event.  Eric had made friends with one pit crew located near the Honda pit and they allowed us to climb on the roof of their trailer to watch the action.  About an hour after I had turned the bike over to Brent the first Trophy Truck came through. 

The first sign of a Trophy Truck approaching is the sight of a helicopter in the distance.  The top teams have helicopters following them and watching over them.  We could see the chopper in the distance and soon we could hear the fire breathing engine screaming through the desert.  It is hard to put into words a description for a Trophy Truck.  They are completely custom-built race vehicles with 800 plus horsepower engines.  The suspension is like nothing you have ever seen on the highway.  The tires are specially designed for the desert.  The body is fiberglass without windows.  They have one purpose, and one purpose only…go as fast as possible across the desert!  The spectators whistled and cheered as the truck roared over the highway and around the first turn.  It didn’t stop at a pit and roared away leaving everyone covered in dust.  A few minutes later the next truck arrived and pulled into a pit for a driver change.   

Eric and I hung out for a bit longer before heading out.  While we were there, I had noticed an older racer standing around the Honda pit.  He looked like he was waiting for someone.  He still had all his riding gear on, and he had clearly been off the bike for a while.  I approached the man and asked if he needed a ride.  He answered to the affirmative.  His crew must have forgotten to pick him up.  He needed a ride to San Matais pass.  I knew we had room, and although we were not going there until later, it wasn’t far out of the way to give him a lift.  

I cleared a spot on the back seat of my Dodge pickup and the grateful stranger climbed in.  He looked familiar, but I didn’t know his name.  As I turned out onto the highway, I introduced Eric and myself.  He informed us his name was Gene Dempsey.  I sat there stunned for a minute because the man I just picked up was a legend in Baja.  There were not many bike racers that did not know the name Gene Dempsey.  His brother Sam was just as known.  They had been racing Baja since the beginning.  Unfortunately, Gene lost his batter with cancer about 4 years later.  He had more than 40 Baja 1000 races on his resume when he passed away. 

We had a great chat as we cruised up the highway about 30 minutes or so.  I could have listened to Gene’s Baja stories for days, but we didn’t have time for that.  San Matais pass sits at the top of a canyon. The highway snakes along the south edge with a wide sandy wash to the north.  The racecourse crossed the highway just before the bottom of the canyon and at the top of the climb the racecourse would cross the highway again.  There were several pits set up along here.  Gene found his crew and we stopped to let him out.  He was extremely grateful for the lift, and Eric and I were more than happy to have such talent in our presence. 

I turned my pickup around and we headed back down through the canyon toward Honda pit 8 at race mile 395.  I turned off the highway and headed down a wide smooth dirt road toward another large dry lakebed.  This one is called Laguna Diablo.  Rumor had it the cartels used this lakebed as a runway back in the day to land their DC-3 on and unload their contraband cargo that was headed to the United States. 

The sun was just about to set as we arrived at the Honda pit.  We knew we still had several hours to wait.  Shortly after we arrived, Charlie and Dena pulled up.  Charlie told us about his time on the bike and I told him about my ride.  I left out the part about the small crash.  What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  In fact, I don’t think I told anyone other than Eric. 

About an hour after the sun set, the first Trophy Truck came roaring by.  The dust choked us.  There was no escaping it.  With little wind the dust did not settle for a long time.   

There was no moon, and other than the small lights at the Honda pit, it was pitch black out.  We could easily see the racers approaching when there was no dust.  But most of the time, the dust hung blindingly in the air. 

Brent arrived at the pit to wait for his brother Brad.  He had an uneventful ride on the bike.  He managed to finish his 65 miles before any Trophy Trucks caught up to him.  He said the bike was running well when he passed it off to Brad.  They installed the headlights without any issues quickly during their rider change.  I knew we needed to really check the bike over at this pit stop.  With all the added dust of the passing race trucks we would need to change the air filter.  Honda planned for this had had more than enough air filters for every Honda bike using their services. 

Brad cruised into the pit around 7:30 PM.  His progress was greatly slowed with the dust in the dark.  The big headlights were almost a detriment in the thick dust.  We all began to check the bike over.  One of the Honda guys expertly changed out the air filter, while another added gas to the tank.  Eric was ready and waiting and as soon as the service was complete, he pulled the bike off the bike stand and threw his leg over the seat.  He made a couple of quick adjustments to the controls before starting the engine.  I gave him some words of encouragement and reminded him to be safe as he pulled away into the darkness.  

The big Honda accelerated into the distance.  I had complete confidence in Eric.  He was an expert in Baja and one of the smoothest riders I had ridden with.  I headed back to my pickup to pack everything up.  I didn’t need to rush.  By my calculations, Eric would be on the bike for 5 or 6 hours.  And then Mike would be on the bike for more than an hour before handing it back to me. 

I congratulated Brent and Brad on their successful rides and headed out.  Brent and Brad were returning to their hotel in San Felipe.  Charlie and Dena would return to Ensenada to meet me at the finish line.  I had about 3 hours of driving ahead of me.  I returned to Ensenada where I grabbed some tacos from a roadside taco stand.  I knew the owner and they were great like always.  He asked about the race and Eric.  I explained what was going on and he wished us luck.  I paid my tab and headed south out of town.