Day 2 San Felipe to Guerrero NegroAwake at 445a, we geared up and hopped on the bikes. Based on intel from Race Director Jimmy, the plan was to ride pavement around the first sand section and hop in at the point where the track left the coastal dunes and headed westward over the mountains toward the Pacific. As Jimmy would explain in the riders meeting, this was another section where trucks would be on our tail, so a couple teams took the bypass. The short ride to the staging area showed that my oil leak was not so much “repaired” as it was “much worse and dripping every 3 seconds”. We agreed to load all bikes in the trailer, haul ass to the drop in point, I’d scramble to repair the oil leak and see if we could get out ahead of the sweep. My nerves were thin after waiting the ~30 minutes from rider’s meeting to my start time, wondering if and how I’d fix the leak. When the time came, my bike started then died, then barely started, then died again as the last 30 seconds ticked down to my start time. My mind raced…did the kick starter feel softer than usual, did I run low on oil, burn up a ring and lose compression? When I checked the plug, did I not re-tighten it? Or worse yet, did I let dirt fill the threads and cylinder because of the unusually poor design on the Honda? I sadly pushed the bike past the green flag to officially start the stage, then rolled off to the side.
I kicked with choke on, off, throttle cracked, no throttle, a little accelerator pump squirt…until I realized the obvious and turned the petco*ck to reserve. I knew I turned the fuel on, but didn’t think that I was empty on the main tank since it didn’t die while riding. This petco*ck is very tall for the scrambler tank design and turns out reserve comes on at about ⅓ of tank, well before I anticipated.
See AlsoIs Riding in the Bed of a Truck, Legal?8.2: Henry David Thoreau, “Walden,” 1854Google Pixel 8a review: the affordable phone to beatThe exact moment I flipped the fuel valve on and dopamine flooded my synapses.
MJT and J-town had each taken the start, rode back to the trailer and then MJT was walking back to help me in his usual manner of always looking out for others. I rode back to the trailer to find a yard sale in an RV camp spot. A lesson we learned about baja rally logistics: have an open trailer and be able to load a bike quickly. We were working with what we had. Pilot James brought his toy hauler with living quarters, which on one hand was great because he didn’t need a hotel room and could keep the bikes company at night. On the other hand, as I described it, we had to move in and out of a 1 bedroom apartment every day in addition to riding Baja. This trailer had a bed that lowered into the space where bikes were strapped. So the yard sale was J-town unloading all the totes and tires and spare Honda MR175 head, flywheel, and tank for some f*cking reason, so we could load three bikes in a two bike trailer. We couldn’t find the straps, we argued about how to load the bikes, Pilot James painstakingly seasoned the eggs he was cooking and I dropped a few choice yet regrettable passive aggressive comments, but an hour later we were on the road for a rather silent drive.
Arriving at the drop-in point, we were still ahead of a good portion of the field. I scrambled to replace the o-ring that was the cause of my leak, fueled up and geared up, and MJT and I got on the bikes. J-town admitted that he still wasn't feeling well and the drive down only made him more sickly, so he’d be running chase.
The course started as rocky two track through the scrub brush into the foothills, switching off between sandy washes in the valleys amongst the sea of saguaros and steep, winding routes with daring cliff side exposure as the mountains gained in elevation. We were making decent pace, but MJT was nearing his limit on the sandy terrain on that bike. I lost focus at one point while scrolling the road book and let my front tire climb out of a rut, nudging the bike into a slow fall that bent my luggage rack and pulled the mounting rivet out of my carbon fiber aux fuel tank. We scrambled to get the fuel into my main tank and I cried a little tear for the 100 hours I put into making that tank. It was stupid anyway.
We kept at it for a while, MJT took a minor fall that banged up his shin and shoulder. There was definitely some gnarly and technical terrain that he conquered on that little bike. I’d get out ahead of him a bit and it would take a little longer each time to see his little headlight come around a bend, until one time it was long enough I turned back to investigate. His bike had just quit running and the sweep jeep was upon him. We pulled the plug boot, put in a spare plug and verified…no spark. He wiggled some wires and checked a few connections and grounds, but MJT was not having type 1 or type 2 fun so he decided to load up with sweep rather than let the sun get hotter chasing an electrical gremlin.
I set out on my own, for the first time getting to push the bike. The XR400 is a pretty capable bike, even for a 1996 vintage, plus the front end is a CRF450 swap. The track wound down into the foothills to the coastal flat lands, opening up into fast two track and into even faster gravel road. The path slowed down through the seaside village of Santa Rosalita where I met the chase crew for a gas splash since I lost some fuel (one of my many penalties for outside assistance) After riding at sustained race pace for the first time, I had a bit of chafing from my armored shirt. No worries, J-town goes above and beyond as pit crew. Nipple balm applied, I got back on track heading onto packed sand routes down the coast, and finally finishing the stage just before hopping on Mex 1 for a cruise into Geurrero Negro.
J-town and Pilot James had to wait on MJT to arrive via the sweep jeep, which unfortunately had to also pick up Lyle who had been thrown from his 3-wheeler and broken his collarbone. Those guys on the 3 wheelers were super nice and super quick. I arrived at the finish line fiesta, drank a cold Tecate, handed out stickers and tried to talk with some locals, then downed two margaritas and a few tacos. I had ways to track the guys, but it wouldn’t change much knowing where they were, so I took my time talking with the other late arrivals. Eventually I headed across the street, checked into the hotel, talked with more racers at the bar and thought about all the events of the day. Eventually the guys arrived, I showed them to their rooms, then we grabbed decent dinner at the hotel restaurant. I laid out my gear and hit the bed, ready to do it all again tomorrow.
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