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Old 02-21-2008, 09:06 AM   #586
Bronco638
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This reads like a Tom Clancy novel! Awesome.
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Old 02-21-2008, 09:12 AM   #587
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[QUOTE=Meathead] Brilliant description.




This may require an edit. I don't think it's legal for an Englishman to "holler," much less actually say "hollered."

Maybe it is a brilliant use of the rare verb hollo.

holler |ˈhälər| informal
verb [ intrans. ]
(of a person) give a loud shout or cry : he hollers when he wants feeding | [with direct speech ] “I can't get down,” she hollered.
noun
a loud cry or shout.

ORIGIN late 17th cent.(as a verb): variant of the rare verb hollo; related to halloo .

Pyndon is ahead of us all. Captivatingly brilliant writing from all!
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Old 02-21-2008, 09:22 AM   #588
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Meathead
This may require an edit. I don't think it's legal for an Englishman to "holler," much less actually say "hollered."
Wayul, he duz liyuv iyun Texuss nayow...
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Old 02-21-2008, 11:06 AM   #589
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Quote:
Originally Posted by neduro

...The best way I can describe my ride through here is like when I'm driving alone, and a song comes on that I like but don't know that well, and I sing the shit outta the parts I know and sorta hum the rest, that was how I rode this road. When I could see, I went like hell. When I wasn't sure what was coming, I sorta meandered along waiting for the chorus.
...
That's an excellent description!
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Old 02-21-2008, 01:19 PM   #590
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Hey that was me-with no tire

Hi Femmoto, I looked for you guys in Cabo after the race but couldn't find you. I wanted to thank you guys for giving me a lift. As Paul Harvey says "and now the rest of the story"Team Dirt Dogs do the Baja 1000

So, its 12:30 at night, I’m in a Ford van doing 80 mph on a two lane road in the middle of Baja, the gal driving is visibly shaking and other gal is staring at me when she finally says “You are the craziest SOB I’ve ever seen”. Funny, I thought to myself, they should have seen what I had been doing for the last six hours, if they thought that just getting them to pull over was crazy. Racing the Baja 1000 is like that. There are a million wild things that happen in course of the event, so many that you kind of get numb to it and throwing your bike out into oncoming traffic so that they will stop and take you and your bike down to the next pit seems perfectly normal.

This is the story of the 2007 40th annual Baja 1000. This year’s race goes from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas, 1296 miles of zig zagging from the Pacific Ocean to the Sea of Cortez down the peninsula. Our team consisted of five riders, we had a great support crew, the latest in communications and GPS tracking and even had our own blog site that kept family and friends up to date on our progress during the race. All of which, as it turned out, was absolutely necessary for us getting to the finish line.

PRERUN

Thursday Nov. 8 8:00 pm - With everything loaded into my truck. Howard Womack, Buster Seder, Gary Rossi and I leave Petaluma and set off on a 12 hour drive to Ensenada.

Friday Nov 9 8:00 am – Arrive at our camping spot in Ensenada. We rearranged the load, dropped off Gary so he could continue down to the southern part of the course, ate breakfast and headed south with Howard and Buster. Our plan was to get to Race Mile 428 where I was going to take over in the race, unload the bikes and prerun the 60 mile section that ends at the Highway to Bay of LA.

Friday Nov 9 5:00 pm – We unload the bikes at Race Mile 428, it’s the turn off the highway to go to Coco’s corner. Its dark, but that’s OK, if everything goes right on race day this will be about the time I will get on the bike, so prerunning at this time of day should work.

Friday Nov 9 8:00 pm – Race Mile 488, meet up with Howard and the chase truck. Well that took longer than it should have. I got a front flat five miles from the start and had to replace the tube at Coco’s and it turned out the lights on our prerun bikes were none too bright, hopefully the race bike lights will be better.

Friday Nov 9 10:00 pm – We check into a room in Bay of LA. Get a quick bite to eat and although I shouldn’t speak for Howard and Buster, I was a little tired. I recall the mattress seemed hard for about 15 seconds. It’s been a loooong day.

Saturday Nov 10 8:00 am - The plan was to prerun the 180 miles from Bay of LA to Vizcaino today. After getting the bikes ready, I had to fix another flat tire, this would be a recurring theme that stayed with me even through the race, and strapping on two one gallon gas jugs, we were off.

Saturday Nov 10 2:00 pm – Wow that was cool, all really fast stuff, no one for miles, we took our time, looked for good lines and the miles rolled by quickly. No problems except I got another flat tire. But that didn’t even bother me, in the loose gravel with an XR650 it’s easy to do 70 on a front flat. We were where we were supposed to be, but where was Howard and the truck?

Saturday Nov 10 3:30 pm – Howard and the truck arrive. It seems that the roads are not that much faster then the trails.

Saturday Nov 10 7:00 pm - We have driven from Vizcaino to Catavina where we will spend the night. Now there are two hotels in Catavina, one is really nice and is full, the other is the pink hotel, not so nice but half the price and they have a room, we stay there.

Sunday Nov 11 7:00 am – Our intention was to go back to Race Mile 428 and ride that section in the daytime, but I was tired of fixing flats and we were out of tubes so I changed the plan and decided to drive back up to Ensenada. We hadn’t checked in with the others since Friday morning and they might be wondering how we were doing.

Sunday Nov 11 3:00 pm – Back at the campground in Ensenada, everybody was glad to see us. Since we forgot to get the Sat-phones, we had been incommunicado and no one knew if we were dead or alive. Rich and Dave Deveau had checked in, they were pre running the southern part of the course and were having a great adventure of there own. The distances involved with this race are so vast that it was kind of weird, the last we saw of those guys was Friday morning and we would not see them again until after the end of the race, hopefully on Wednesday night.

Monday Nov 12 – Today we were able to relax a little. We still needed to put some finishing touches on the race bike, take it through tech and check in at Score registration too get our wrist bands. The tech inspection line is also called contingency row, it’s like a very slow parade through the middle of town. Every car and bike in the race has to go through this long line packed with spectators. At the end of the line Score checks your vehicle, mounts the GPS data logger to the rear fender and checks your helmet for a Snell sticker. The data logger gets downloaded at the end of the race, mainly they use it to make sure you stayed on course but also they use it to make sure you didn’t go over 60 on the paved parts of the race. They penalize you if they catch you going over this speed limit on the highways.

THE RACE

Tuesday Nov 13 5:00 am – Over the next 40 or so hour’s things are going to get wild. The plan is for one chase truck to take the race bike and Dave Froman to the start line, as soon as he leaves the line they will high tail it to Race Mile 204. This is where Dave Callagy will get on the bike. I will drive my truck with Howard, Buster and his brother Brad to Race Mile 368, where we will drop off Brad, the lights and a set of wheels. When the race bike gets here Brad will put on the lights and swap wheels then Callagy will ride 60 miles down the Highway and give the bike to me.

Tuesday Nov 13 6:30 am – Froman starts, the first part of the course is fast but has some technical sections also. It goes by Mikes Sky Ranch where it’s really rocky and chewed up. Fromans the perfect guy for this part and he gets to Race Mile 204 in forth place. So much for just going for the finish, it looks like were racing.

Tuesday Nov 13 11:45 am – Callagy gets on, his section is really technical. Unfortunately during the rider swap, Spot, our GPS transmitter that sends our location to the guys running the blog site gets turned off. It seems that we really weren’t familiar enough with Spot to use it correctly. Callagy does great until he bails in some big rocks. He tweaks his back bad enough so he can’t even pick the bike up or get it started for 20 minutes. Another competitor comes by and helps him and he’s back on the trail.

Tuesday Nov 13 4:56 pm – Callagy arrives at Race Mile 368. They install the lights but for some reason decide not to replace the wheels. The pit guys said the tires looked good, oh well. Now he just has the 60 mile pavement burn to get to me.

Tuesday Nov 13 6:00 pm – Well, it’s been a long wait. I told myself to chill, but I still put all my riding gear on 2 hours early. Some guys had their gear on all day and have been dancing around with nervous energy for the last six hours. But it’s the same old story when the bike arrives it’s all assholes and elbows making the rider swap. Spot gets transferred to me, Dave yells that everything is working great and they decided not to change tires. I think, that’s weird but whatever, I am rather anxious to get going.

Tuesday Nov 13 8:00 pm – This is so cool. I’m at Race Mile 520 just leaving the town of Bay of LA. The dual headlights work awesome. I had been really nervous about racing in the dark, but after I got going, it was a blast. One thing that struck me was, you are racing out in the middle of nowhere and you come across a great big bonfire with 10 or 20 spectators cheering you on. You go another mile down the road and there is another bonfire and it goes like that for the entire course, there are just people everywhere. The dust at night is like really thick fog and every time I closed up on the guy in front of me, even though I couldn’t see him, the “fog” would get thick and I would have to back off. So I was getting kinda frustrated.

Tuesday Nov 13 10:30 pm – Race Mile 645, OK this is turning into a real race. I’d passed one guy about 40 miles ago but because of the dust I couldn’t shake him. Every time I would back off, I would see the flicker of his lights. So my race brain took over and the whole, just finishing thing, went out the window. I needed to get out of this dust and the only way to do that was to pass the guys that were making it. Who would have thought that 600 miles into a 1300 mile race we’d be battling elbow to elbow?

Tuesday Nov 13 12:00 pm – Damm, I passed a bunch of guys, but now I’m going to have to pay for it. I’m at Race Mile 685 and my rear tire is flat. The last couple of miles have been wild. I’m near the town of Vizciano and there must be 5000 people standing along the course. The trail is really silty and with the flat I can’t really tell what way the bike will go next and there are people right at the edge of the trail, I don’t know how I kept from killing any of them. But I make to the paved road, now all I have to do is ride 12 miles down the road to get to the Honda pit where I will hand the bike off to Froman. As I go down the road my brain is going a million miles an hour. How long will this tire last? How fast should I go? Should I go 60 or should I go 30? If I go 30, it will take me twice as long. I can feel the tire starting to come apart. What happens if pieces of the tire get wedged in the swingarm, will I slide under that oncoming semi? Crap, something is hitting me on the back, its pieces of the tire. After 8 miles of this, the bike suddenly slows, the bead is breaking and has cut off the rear fender and part of the seat, I have to stop.

Wednesday Nov 14 12:15 am – My only job was to get the bike to the end of my stint and I’ve failed. I can’t fail, so I begin to try to wave down every truck, van or bus that is coming down the road. No one will stop. The thing is that while race vehicles are limited to 60 on the pavement, the chase vehicles are under no such restrictions and are going as fast as they can to stay ahead of there racers. So I’m trying to wave down trucks that are doing 80, 90, 100, on a two lane road. Of course, none of this occurs to me at the time, I just need a lift. After the fifth or sixth truck went bye I was starting to panic. They are just pulling into the other lane and passing me bye. Well, I can fix that, so the when the next set of headlights starts to veer into the other lane I ghost ride the bike into that lane and stand their with my arms outstretched. They didn’t have a choice, they had to stop. After a screeching halt, I just yelled “GIVE ME A RIDE” they grumbled and groused about letting there rider get too far ahead, but in the end, they let me load the bike and we headed off to the Honda Pit. It wasn’t until she said “You are the craziest SOB I’ve ever seen” that it started to dawn on me just how crazy this whole deal was.

Wednesday Nov 14 12:45 am - But I didn’t have time to dwell on it, here was the pit. I jumped out got the bike unloaded and pushed it into the lights of the pits. Dave and Brad were so surprised to see me pushing the bike in, but as soon as they saw the rear tire, or lack thereof, they jumped into action. A quick assessment showed that the front tire was also flat, the rear fender was ripped off, and part of the seat was shredded. What we didn’t see was that a piece of the tire had pierced the air box. This would cause major problems for the rest of the race.

Wednesday Nov 14 1:30 am - Froman was back on the bike. He rode the first 204 miles and would now get on for another 100 mile stint and because of our delay, the trophy trucks were going to be passing him, fun times. I was way too amped up to sleep and Howard, Brad, Buster and I still had to chase the race the rest of the way to Cabo.

Wednesday Nov 14 4:00 am – Froman hands off the bike to Rich at Race Mile 820. He reports that it’s running a little funky and he replaced the air filter but it didn’t seem to help. The four of us in the chase truck are getting very tired, so we pull over and try to sleep. An hour later we are back awake enough to drive some more.

Wednesday Nov 14 6:30 am- Rich hands the bike off to Dave Deveau at Race Mile 920. So much silt was going into the engine from the hole in the airbox that it would make the throttle stick. They forget to exchange ‘Spot’

Wednesday Nov 14 12:00 am – At Race Mile 1160 Dave hands the bike back to Richard, who will take it to the finish. Dave reports the same problem with the throttle and also it needed one quart of oil at the last pit stop. Now all the chase trucks continue to Cabo.

Wednesday Nov 14 2:33 pm – With the finish line only 50 miles away Rich sends out a call for help on ‘Spot’. The bike quit one mile past a pit stop, so Rich pushes the bike back to the pits. Because his location was transmitted by ‘spot’ we know exactly where he is. It’s just a matter of getting there to see if we can fix the problem.

Wednesday Nov 14 3:30 pm – Dave Deveau in the other chase truck gets to the pit and he and Rich exchange some key parts and Rich is going again.

Wednesday Nov 14 5:30 pm – Rich crosses the finish line and we have officially completed the 2007 Baja 1000. 12th place in Class 40. With our combined finishes from the 250, the 500 and the 1000 we earn a 4th place in the season standings. Now it’s time to party.

All the crazy things you ever heard about the 1000 are true. No one could over-exaggerate any stories from this race, as any description of it, including this one, can never do it justice.

A few people I want to thank for all the help:
Chasers: Brad Seder, Buster Seder, Howard Womack, Gary Rossi, The three Johns.
Stateside Bloggers: Scott Gordon, Tim Kelly, Steve Ginthum
Support: Jason and Nettie at Moto Meccanica, Paul Kellogg – MSR, Brian Pecore – Bell Helmets, Ted Cabral at Cycle West, Dean Joyner, Brian Manly

Oh yeah, did I mention we want to do it again next year?
By Colin Macdonald MCMA #11
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Old 02-21-2008, 01:32 PM   #591
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Woohoo! Thanks for that addition to the thread, Colin! Great description of the insanity.

As you pointed out, the chase vehicles are NOT limited to 60mph- it's a race for us chase crew people, too.
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Old 02-21-2008, 05:18 PM   #592
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This IS way better than Tom Clancey, except there are no pages to turn...

It's liike reading a really, really good book on Sunday at midnight and I have a 6:00 AM telecon... I'll just grab an extra coffe and be fine.

Great job all!
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Old 02-21-2008, 05:50 PM   #593
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Quote:
Originally Posted by c1m3

*snip*
That's a great read and an excellent addition to the overall story.
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Old 02-21-2008, 06:34 PM   #594
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Originally Posted by c1m3
Oh yeah, did I mention we want to do it again next year
Nice sidebar. Just curious . . . did you get dinged by SCORE for hitching a ride to get your bike to the next pit?
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Old 02-21-2008, 07:47 PM   #595
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Quote:
Originally Posted by c1m3
Hi Femmoto, I looked for you guys in Cabo after the race but couldn't find you. I wanted to thank you guys for giving me a lift. As Paul Harvey says "and now the rest of the story"
Glad you finished safely!
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Old 02-21-2008, 10:38 PM   #596
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Bronco638
This reads like a Tom Clancy novel! Awesome.
It's times like this that I wish that I had learned how to read.


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Old 02-22-2008, 09:04 PM   #597
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13TH November 2007 continued

The ride to the last pit before the before the hand off was pretty much just an extension of the one prior, as was the pit experience itself…only this one goes to 11.

The pit area was just a few yards off of the road where the course entered the highway for a good spell and was on the outskirts of a small town whose whole populous was out in force.
The last desert pit experience had been about all we could make sense of, this one was off the radar.

Finding a gap in the cars double parked on the road, we busted a uturn and squeezed the Gobi’s between the bumpers, and promptly dropped off into the darkness of what turned out to be a fairly high ditch embankment, terminating in sugar sand. Too tired to fight the weight of the loaded bike, and not wanting to snap a leg underneath it, I roll off into the roadside brush.

We needed to find the Baja Pits, but the gaps in between the spectators was and endless labyrinth of dead ends.
We tried following the largest swath of sand, which ultimately meant we are going the wrong way on the live course.
As before, the hordes of well lubed spectators, thinking we’re in the race and just lost, try to grab anything they can as we ride by and turn us in the opposite direction.

It was hopeless.

We sat there half tangled in barbed wire and look at each other in bewilderment..then decided just to get the hell out of dodge.

Back on the highway we spot the 20X board at the end of a long line of makeshift pits and pull in to the welcoming sight of Femmemoto and Buhly.

Tim’s flat out in the back of the truck getting some well earned kip…when the girls tell us the tale of the topes and the tiedown.
It’d happened hours ago, but just in retelling the story, I could see Femme’ was still feeling a little upset about it whole ordeal.
Well, best to just try and forget about it for the time being, concentrate on the here and now, a few more hours and we’ll be done.

Standing around in the cold night air, we hear the 950 before we see the lone headlight. Ned’s down in a full tuck trying to keep warm, but apparently everything’s alright as he sails by and gives us the thumbs up.
Well, if there’s anything wrong with the bike, he’s evidently comfortable that it’ll hold together ‘til the handoff…it looks like our job is done.

The van pulls out ahead of us as Eric and I re-don every piece of kit we own, but it isn’t long before we pass them and a gaggle of riders who are hamstrung to 60mph and slip streaming each other to try and beat the windchill.

Passing the bikes was kinda funny. Here were these weary warriors who’d battled everything Baja could throw at ‘em loping down the highway as the cold air combines with the sweat of their efforts to chill them to the core. Everyone one of ‘em was riding in the fetal position, most all with their clutch hand down around the engine in an effort to wick whatever warmth they could.

Seeing the lights bearing down on them, they’d nervously check their six over and over as we got closer.

You could almost read their minds.

“Why are they gaining on me?”
“Are they doing more than 60?”
“Maybe I’m going slower than 60?”
“They’re gaining way too fast…those cheating bastards”


And then to have their doors blown off by two road tankers, they probably thought they’d finally lost their minds.

We eventually caught Ned and pulled up alongside.
The look of relief was beaming from inside his helmet.
The north/south handoff was a massive milestone psychologically, especially running the Plan B of a three rider team in a race that had been extended from 1000 miles to 1300 brutal miles for the races anniversary.

After a few second, I banged down a couple of gears and watched fetal Ned disappear into the mirrors, happily knowing that I’d done it…I’d finally beaten Ned.

Periodically checking back, I could see Eric following at a good safe distance.
When I say good I mean, far enough back that, should I inadvertently torpedo a cow, he’d have time to stop without running into the ensuing carnage, but close enough that he could document it digitally for all to see before I’d have chance to come to.

Everything was just a blur at this point, but the promise of sleep just over the horizon was dangling like the proverbial carrot.

And in true Baja fashion, just when you think you’ve got every scenario covered, she'll throw you a curve ball.

The odd silhouette started to come into sight and I initially dismissed it as my mind playing tricks but I covered the controls none the less.
Body and bike, but not together.
The light pointing off high into the left tree line.
Sparks.

Before we knew it we were on him. A rider, seemingly OK, wrestling his tyreless bike into the middle of the road.

And just as quick, he was gone.

I turned around and gave Eric the international shoulder shrug of WTF, and received the internationally recognised sign for loco.

We knew we were close when we flew passed the BF Goodrich pits.

We started to slow for the Military checkpoint but this one had been opened completely up for the race and people were frantically waving us through. The cones made a chicane from asphalt, to gravel shoulder, then back to asphalt.

Only in Mexico can you go through an armed checkpoint at 60 mph in a two wheeled drift.

After pulling over to the right after entering San Ignacio to check the GPS we noticed a small commotion a few hundred yards up on the left and heard Pyn “hollerin”
There they were, Duke & Ganshert waving the 20X reflective pit board, and Pyndon with his glow in the dark head.

We’d made it. Cold, tired, hungry and dirty. We’d only been on the road for something like 17 hours…but they were Baja hours.
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Old 02-22-2008, 10:26 PM   #598
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South by Southeast...

I know that before I pulled in and got gas from my long-lost high-school buddies, we were caravanning soutbound. I just know it felt that way, and I had failed to ask or percieve where we were and that the pit I stopped at was an intersection. GIven that I was only operating on a limited number of synapses at the time - the rest devoted to the pleasant beauty sleep I was getting int he back of the stalker van before this all started - I know now that this was logical, but not logically sound. TO put in it simple terms: I did not have all the facts to make proper decisions, and the decisions I made brought me slowly towards the facts. This is in opposite order from the way it was supposed to go. (duh...)

~25 miles roll by real fast at near-triple-digit speeds, and traffic was minimal. IN retrospect, this should have been a big clue: I wasn't catching race traffic, or chase vehicles - just a few misc cars and trucks, puttering along. In my delerium, I was waiting for A) light onthe horizon indicating populated places and pits or B) a Honda Pit where Femmemoto and Buhly were waiting after having delivered their sleep-starved "crazy SOB" to the rest of his fate.

I'm freezing, tucking in the fairing and warming ly left paw behind the radiator vent on the Adventure. MY feet have bare skin exposed between the straps of my Merrel sandals, and the engine cases have become footrests in the windchill of my catch-up pace.

No van.

No lights.

No Honda Pit.

No debaucherized XR650R.

Nothing. I pull off after ~38 miles, and try to think what happened. My recollectin of the moments I pulled out after bumming gas has people waving at me - but int he pandemonium of the Baja 1000 that's really nothing notable. I can deistinctly recall out mystery friend thinking there was a pit not 20 miles away, and I'm way past that.

Ther are no trees to hug, only cactus - and I'm supposed to be headed south.

The best thing to do, given that I have gas to do it, and I know there is more gas there, is to backtrack.

180.

95mph.

Freeze and wait. Reheat feet.

A lone vehicle approaches me, and I see the headlights dive as they grab the brakes HARD. He's stopped when I go by(flashbulb: beat to hell Nissan Pathfinder with one headlight blinding me as I approach...), and I flip a bitch real fast thinking maybe he has been sent for me- and sure enough he says in broken English: "San Inacio! San Ignacio!" and makes enough hand gestipulations for me to deduce that I missed the turn back there. Who dispached him, or why he drove that far on his own precious gas to fetch me was unknown.

I salute him and yell "Gracias, senor!!!!" and wick it waaay back up, knowing that the road is nearly straight with only dips and rises and cattle and coyotes from here back to the BF Goodrich pit and advice and a little sanity check.

BFGoodrich pits lights are like a beacon of safety on the horizon as I crest the last rise. Pull in, find Ryan and have a good laugh about being a *little* disoriented, promise to tell the story later, and head in the right direction towards San Ignacio where they all saw the van head...

Feeling like a complete squid for not asking at the second stop how FAR San Ignacio was away, I decide that steady progress beats speed at this poitn because at least my desicions(or lack of ability to make them) won't make such big mistakes so fast if I slow to 60% pace. I drop in behind what is clearly a race chase truck, tuck in and try to draft him NASCAR-style to mitigate the air that is getting colder as we head SouthEast on Hwy 1.

rrrrrrrrrrrroooooowwwwww! Someone with complete disregard for their rallylogger goes by us at a buck-plus. Their chase vehicle weaves by, kicking up dust onthe lefthand side as they drop wheels off the pavement in a rare, but safe place to do so. They really shouldn;t be chasing at this point, IMO...

COLD! stay tucked and think...how will I identify the van? Don't we have a ...oh yeah...a pitboard! But will they hear my stock-silencered 990 coming? What I get there and they have all moved on? Who will ride my leg of thenest section? DO I stay on the gas and make Loreto by morning to see who's there and if I'm still able to race?

A single, unique headlight zings by and the doppler effect can't hide the steady lope of a v-twin. Even so, it takes several miles to occur to me that that must've been one of hte 950 chase crew that had been dispatched back to fetch me, and here I go by tucked in behind a chase vehicle where he can;t see me. I know he'll see that pit I stopped at the second time and know I went the right way, but Ican;t stop and chase him now - I'm nearly an hour behind the van at this point. Even I know, through the lucid dreams and hallucinations, that I'm on borrowed time now.

Finally, I see the van, the pitboard, ganshert's Cherokee, and a very concerned group of distantly-familiar folks.

ALl I remember past that is that I pulled it, yanked off my helmet, and proceeded to to make about half the sense that our mystery frind did when we were in the process of rescuing him. Flashbulb memories of: Karen wiping up tears, Buhly wide eyed and atypically worried, Ned shaking his head and looking concerned, gansherts scrambling toload my bike on his trailer, and Hayduke with a big grin. At least someone was happy to see me!

I remember having some sort of epiphany where everyone seemed to acknowledge that I had really woken up, and made a vaild reply that convinced them that I knew what was goin on and where I was at. I think Buhly made some sort of comment about me acting awake but noe being awake.

I just remember feeling fuzzy, and listening to gansherts and Hayduke yammer on about the case of RedBull under the seat in the van after we had gotten underway again.

Few more details exist in my memory, other than that the pictures of Pyndon waiting bring back al the walls, dirt, pit layout, and backdrop - but not much else...

Back in the van with a fresh chase crew, and it was lights out until Loreto...and the dump.
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Old 02-23-2008, 04:48 AM   #599
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13TH November 2007 continued

Knowing now that Ned was just minutes away, the lads laid out a tarp and we got ready to go to work on the bike.
It’s pretty remarkable that all we’d had to do up to this point was a front wheel swap due to a flat.
No missing spokes, no problems with the added electrics…and amazingly, still running the original air filter.

Ned railed in in a cloud of dust and stepped off the bike for the last time. His race was done, fini.

The wait for the van is already well documented, but needless to say, there was a lot of pacing going on.

"Where could they be…they were right there behind us."

Ganshert has the last word.

“When the van gets here, we’ve still got a lot of work to do. So whatever’s happened, this isn’t the time or place, we’ll discuss it in Cabo…agreed?”

We collectively look around at each other “OK, agreed”

The relief felt when the van showed was short lived when it was realised we still had no Hilslamer.

“Tim’s not far behind, he’s following on the 990”
“The 990?....the one with no fuel?”

We kept ourselves occupied working on the bike and swapping the contents of Ganshert’s jeep into the van.
Gear, food, supplies, Dukes security blanket and his picture of Bonnie.

Then the pacing started again.

I strapped the spare Kolpin fuel cans we’d borrowed from Ignore Amos back in Arizona, and headed back in search of Tim.
Out of town and back through the military checkpoint.
The oncoming traffic was insane. Racers running 60 mph, chase vehicles running triple digits.
Bikes, trucks, vans, busses, big rigs…the lot…all running state of the art HID’s.
I was essentially blind and suffering from what felt like welders flash or arc eye.

I think I recognise a KTM headlight sandwiched in between a freight train of trucks, but with my head tilted down, using the peak to block the lights, they blew passed in a wall of light and sound so bright and loud it left you feeling assaulted..."bloody hell"

A glance over my shoulder reveals nothing.

“I know that was him”

It’s freezing, and I decide I’m trying to convince myself it was him for the purely selfish reason that I want to go back and park the bike for the day.

“Stop yer whinging”

It’d be stupid to turn around now, and if it wasn’t him I’d have to come back and go through this all again so I kept on goiong.
The only thing to do is to make sure the loop is closed by stopping by the BF Goodrich pits, the last place Femmemoto and Buhly had seen him.

“Hey fellas, have you had a bike like this come through?”
“Eeerrrrr…no…don’t think so”
“You sure? Big orange thing, KTM on the side”
“Eeerrrrr…no”
“Have you had a bike like this, big orange thing, KTM on the side…but without all the luggage?”

“OH…yeah, yeah, we gave him some fuel but he left ages ago”

“Cool, thanks a lot guys”

Fooking tyre monkeys.
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AntWare screwed with this post 02-23-2008 at 05:07 AM
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Old 02-23-2008, 05:38 AM   #600
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Hayduke
As you pointed out, the chase vehicles are NOT limited to 60mph- it's a race for us chase crew people, too.
A sobering thought...everybody killed in this years race was chasing, two in a head on, two in the 'copter.
__________________
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family.
Choose a fucking big television.
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows,
stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth.
Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home,
nothing more than an embarrasment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself.
Choose your future. Choose life.
I chose not to choose life, I chose something else instead.
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