Part 2: Baja 500 2006..............................

When the sun came up, and another beautiful day was evidently in the making, we decide to start our day as well. Raceday had seen a steady flow of traffic into checkpoint one all night long. We are an hour and a half east of Ensenada where the race starts, and 20 miles from the nearest pavement, and a half mile from the first checkpoint of the race.

Grrrr.......there is a 25 ft mtr home that has parked between us and the race course during the night, but that is really no big deal. We just move out to the side of it with a moto crew that had adoped us, when we pulled in the previous evening, to watch the goings on.

Mike and Chuck are 55 and 65+. they have a friend Jerry (a 40 year old Mexican US citizen) with them, and they have two boys 13 and 17. A nice family. The boys are really into the racing, and can imagine themselves right there on Johnny Campbell's ass contending for the race lead. The 13 year old is eager to help anyone that needs it, and in fact a racer, who he help change a tire for last year for, gave him an autographed 20 dollar bill in appreciation. The kid now get that $20 bill signed by anyone that he can, and has a bunch of signatures on it. Cool.

Mike is a good old beer drinker who often handle pit duties for Ron Bishop. He is helped out by his running buddy Chuck. Both these guys have wives and they live in Mexico full time.

Ron Bishop is the only guy that has run every Baja 1000 so far (at 62 years old), and he is still doing it. He lives not far from me, and I have run a pit for him before, so we had a bunch to chat about. You know, the good old days of early Baja racing, before the world went to hell in a hand cart.

Doug was getting into it with Mike who was sporting a Harley cruiser type tee shirt. Doug is a hardey fan as well, and currently own a annivarsary VRod, that lives next to his 2001 ST1100. Doug still says that of all three of his street bikes he is most comfortable on his V65 Sabre.

Doug is supprised at how he doesn't hurt from the previous day. The first bike get to us at 8:10. It's the Honda team of Rick Bell. Next bike is the Johnny Campbell entry. Campbell's entry has passed everyone in the class but Bell, in the two hours that they have been racing. That is a 50 mph average as we are at the 100 mile mark of the 450 mile race.

Bikes go through for 2hr. The trophy trucks start at 9am, three hours later than the bike, in order to give the cars and bikes some separation. It take them nearly an hour longer to get to us.

In the meantime we notice a suited up rider going up and down the track walking. He's obviously a rider looking for something. We are curious so we get him over to us and he says that he's looking for his bike. It should be here by now, and no one with an FM short wave radio can find anything out about his entry.

He's a 42 year old Limy. He tells us that he isn't really supposed to be in this race, but he got appointed to do this when their real rider contracted an ear infection that made him dizzy when he ride.

But the important thing is, where is his race bike. Turns out they are racing an 86 XR600 with all the trick upgrades. It's bored out to 650cc, has Race Tech White Bros front forks and rear shock, has the bigger cooling fins welded onto the head. I mean these guys are ready. Except there is no bike here and they are two hours late by this time.

Our adopted Limy is scared now as the fast, fire breathing race truck have now caught up to any bikes that come through now. That is a huge hazzard, to be passed by those monsters. You need more eyes in the back of your head than you do to the front when your are in the pack of front running 4 wheeler.

Honestly his bike probably is out of the race, and we take advantage to query the guy about racing in England and the Isle of Man and such. The boy gets him to sign his $20 bill. He's an interesting guy. Jerry coaxes more stories out of him with a trio of ceviche tacos.

Which brings us to another subject, we don't have any food with us, and it's going on about noon or so. When on motos out there in Mex one learns to beg. We, got a couple of those tacos ourselves, but knew that we had to make a more substantial move.

But first I took a walk down the race cource about a mile to see what I could see. There were racers all along the way with tents and such.



The above photos were taken on this walk. the top photo is of a Mag 7 pit crew that is supplying gas and tires and minor work on probably 10 or so cars and bikes. And they will help anyone else if they have time, and they usually do.

This last photo is of just some race spectators. I tried to get a shot of a bike way down there going past the trees to the left of that white pickup, but I didn't time it correctly. All in all there were seveal thousand spectators in the 2 miles along the race cource here. it is a mad house of activity.







These are typical spectator out having a day at the races. These guys get on the race course to move to somewhere else all during the race. Folks rarely get hurt.

Speaking of getting hurt, we heard by radio that a rider was down on the track somewhere before us with a broken leg. They called for a medivac helicoper to get him out. Seems there is nowhere, but on the race course, to put the chopper down,
so they will have to contend with race cars trying to get by them.

Life is kinda harsh out there at times, but that kind of stuff always happens to the other guy.



While on my walk I came across that tree back there by that bike in the picture. The bikes are coming around that corner with that tree on the corner's outside, and the bikes are really struggling to keep from wearing that tree. A couple of bikes before this rider, a fellow blew that corner and went to his right of that tree, out where those people are. Whatever works is how its done down there.


My hunger was getting to me. The racing action had slowed down and the first racers would be coming back into Ojos Negros on their last thirty miles of the race so we all decided to ride in to Ojos N to get lunch. We first said good by to our new buddies. I made it a point to shake the kid's hands as well. We started to leave about 1pm. First we had to go a 1/2 mile against race traffic to get to the road out. Many others were leaving as well.

So Doug's nightmare was starting all over again. He wasn't confident enough to go at a speed that kept him between the dust clouds made by the cars. So the cars would pass him and dust out his eyes. I followed him down to the turn that took us the final 4 miles to the pavement. He had about had it by then, again, and to boot, we had dropped a couple thousand feet and we were dealing with hot weather also.

10 miles later we were in town having A burrito plate, sodas, and big glasses of water. We felt much better as we left town to go to Ensenada near the cool ocean to get away from the heat.

I got the hint that we really had seen enough racing, and we knew enough about how to outfit bikes to go to Ak. It was about 4pm when we left Ojos. If we played our cards right, we gould get home tonight and sleep in our own beds.

Race trafic was backing up as we approached town. I knew a way around town, so we took that route. Cool, every thing was going good. Then we came to a blocked off road. I decided to go around it to the right as that was the direction that I wanted to go. Well, that took me up into a residential area that I thought was going to close me out, but no...here was a small connecting side street.

I will be saved. Oh, no, these road blockings are for the race course. I come up to the edge of the course, and I have to get across that with my two trailing riders. I looked for racers, and although one had just passed, there were no more, and as in the outback you just jump on the course and cross if you need to.

Well, that isn't exactly how they do it here in the big city. As I pull out into the street there is a foot cop who doesn't want me to do that. Oh Shit, if I stop this is going to get me fined a few bucks. He seems like he doesn't have a car near by so I punch it and hope my boys will do the same. They did. I go a long block down the street and indicate to the next cop that I want to get off the course, and he so nicely open the barricade for me. In the meantime the other cop is hollaring at Arnold to stop, and the cop at my intersection doesn't know that the other cop wants to arrest us or something.

I'm figuring that we should get out of sight as soon as possible. Arnold runs up along side of me, and stops me to tell me that that cop was real mad. I say, well, lets get out of here then. Arnold says ok, but he stalls his engine. I take off, and wonder why they aren't behind me. And all through this Doug doesn't know anything is going on.

I went six or eight blocks and waited for them. Arnold wants to take a break and have a cigarette. I said lets go five or six miles up the road to a gas station and stop there for gas and a break. Arnold agrees. Doug still doesn't know exactly what has gone on. I leave for the gas station. They don't come and don't come. They should be 30 seconds behind me but they are at least 4 or 5 mintues back as I wait along the road. Turns out that Doug has offered a homelss guy one of Arnold's cigarettes.

Well, the cops haven't taken a warrent out on us, cool, and we saved 20 dollars and some time and embarassment. So, much ado about nothing, but we decide to take the free road home so if there is an all point bullitin out for us at the toll stations, well, we won't be there.

We still had to go through Tijuana. TJ is at least a couple million people, and threading your way through there can be a nightmare. I was high on anticipation as we approached the city, but things went like clock work as the boys stayed close. We split traffic as necessary, weaved to avoid entering traffic when needed and avoided all dogs and kids. Right in the middle of all this chaos a Ranger pickup truck, pulling a small tent trailer, passes us and the rider is waving enthustically. I wave back without know who that was, But it turns out to be Jerry and the kids from checkpoint one. Small world.

Crossing town was a success as we pulled up to the border station. I was much relieved to find only three cars in front of us, and a wait of just a few minutes. That was the least traffic that I have ever seen at the border. 2 hours is the longest that I ever waited to cross.

Once across the border we stopped for coffee. Arnold's van was at Doug's house about 30 miles away, and I live another 30 miles north of that.

I tooted my horn as Doug and Arnold pulled off at their exit, and a half hour later I called my wife from the call box at the gate to let me in. I wanted to give her a little time to get whoever she was with out the back door if necessary.

A hot shower looked mighty good. I was really too tired to talk about the trip. But later that night my wife wanted to know why I was home a day early. She asked if I had pissed my buddies off so much that they had ditched me.

Damn, she's good.