Well, it looks like I have gone from doing one episode a month, to one episode a year. The PADDY WHITE’S NOT DEAD YET series has been taken off the Kona website, but since I am being asked by everyone about my experience at the Baja 1000, I figured I’d save myself all the return calls and e-mails with another episode for you “special” people.

As far as the past year goes, I raced quite a bit of motocross and a handful of other off road races. I also did the World Masters MTB Downhill Championships again since it was only a few hours drive away this year.

Of all things, I started motorcycle road racing this past year. All I can say is that it is like being shot out from a cannon while trying to thread a needle. The amount of concentration needed when you start going speeds of that nature for the first time is incredible. The first time your knee gently kisses and glides on the asphalt as you lean the bike to the limits of the tires, you are hooked.

“Motorcycle road racing makes heroin addiction look like a mild craving for salt.”
-Peter Eagen

The finale for the year was racing in the Baja 1000.

Honestly, I don’t know where to start when asked about doing the Baja 1000 for the first time.

It all started when 4 guys watched a movie called “Dust to Glory” about the Baja 1000 and decided they wanted to do it themselves. At some point one of the original riders in their plan had to drop out, so they were looking for another rider. Friend of friend sort of thing happened and they got a hold of me to see if I would be interested.

Why not? Could be fun.

If you have not seen “Dust to Glory”, and you have any interest in what the Baja 1000 is about, you should see it. It is something of a documentary, but it is a bit over dramatized for my tastes. However, the filming is good and it paints a pretty close picture.

First interesting story of the trip was when we picked up our 12 passenger van at the San Diego airport. As I opened the side door and stepped in, an overwhelming odor pushed me right back outside.

“It’s a bit funky in here”
-From the movie ‘Snatch’

There were fresh smears of dog shit on the floor in the back area of the van and the warm sun was really bringing out the flavor. Get what you pay for I suppose. I had a good time making up songs and poetry about canine feces and rental vehicles, but my teammates were beginning to wonder about me.

We then picked up the bike from Chris Haines at his shop. I won’t say too much here, but the bike was awesome. Couldn’t have done better and anyone doing the Baja for the first time would be crazy not to get a bike from Chris.

Driving into Ensenada and getting a tourist visa is a true testimony to the lack of organization the country of Mexico wallows in. 5 hours of back and forth and back and forth between 3 different offices really makes you question whether you want to race in another country again.

“Stupidity is like hydrogen, it is all around us.”
-Frank Zappa

The scene before and after the race is like a cross between a carnival, an NFL football game, and an AMA National. Or, like one of my teammates said, “It’s like a country version of Formula 1 racing.”

It was decided amongst the group that I should be the first rider out since I had done over 30 motorcycle races in varying disciplines since April. The idea was to get as far in front of the trucks and buggies as possible. The attrition rate is high in this race and the further ahead you are, the fewer trucks and buggies are likely to pass your riders toward the middle and end of the race. That also meant that I had to do the first 333 miles of the race before handing the bike off to the second rider since that was the only place we could do a rider exchange with only one chase vehicle.

The worst part of being the first rider out is bearing the pressure of whether or not the other 3 riders get to ride at all. If I crash the bike, or am unable to get to the first rider exchange for any or whatever reason, the race is over and their chance to ride is over.

The night before/morning of the race, our chase van driver and other team members departed around 4am to ensure that they would get to the first rider exchange in plenty of time before I did.

They talk about “The other race” when you come to the Baja 1000 and they are not kidding. Chase vehicles are for the most part paralleling the off-road course on the only paved road running the length of the peninsula. Their “duties” include anything from transporting riders/drivers to assisting with repairs and parts replacement. Our driver Maurey is anything but a “reserved” driver and he was constantly being passed by these modified chase trucks that were going over 100 miles an hour on narrow winding roads at night. We nearly decapitated a cow at one point and dealt with stray donkeys, overturned semi trucks, dogs and drunk drivers. Nuts.

After the crew had left the hotel, I could not get back to sleep. I got up and started to gear up and put a little food and water in my system before the long ride. For the first time in probably 7 years, or at least since I can remember, I actually got butterflies from the nervousness that morning in the hotel room. As soon as I stepped out of the hotel and towards where the bike was being readied, I was fine. It was showtime.

Just like in the movie, the race promoter Sal Fish shakes the hand of each starting rider/driver at the start line. “See you in La Paz, good luck.” I thought I heard him chuckle as he went to the next rider. Whatever.

The countdown, the green flag, and it’s a mile or so through the crowded streets of Ensenada at 7:30 in the morning. Down into the flood canal and over the artificial “photo” jumps. Clicking through the gears, the big XR650R growling right along begging for more throttle. Eatin’ up real estate on two wheels and the wind singing in your helmet. Nothing else could ever feel so good.

“Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That is why God made fast motorcycles Bubba…”
-Hunter S. Thompson

Back out onto the streets briefly and then into the surrounding hills. Here is where the shit hit the fan, vaporized, and turned our world into a cloud of dust so thick you could sell it.

The next 40 miles of riding is probably the most dangerous thing I have ever done in my life. We passed through gullies and hillsides in dust that would not settle or blow away. On top of the hills and flat sections the sun was directly in our eyes. At best moments, I had 50% visibility. Other times I could not even see the handlebars of the bike. A few times I simply stopped dead until I actually felt hands on my arm guiding me back on the course. Nearing Ojos Negros, you could barely see the sides of the dirt road where it opened up to a fast dirt road and you really had no choice but pin it since there were stacks of riders ahead of you and behind you. 50-80 miles an hour in 30-50% visibility.

Finally the riders got spread out enough and the course got into some areas where the wind would get rid of the dust and allow better visibility.

Started to get into the first of the mild whoop sections. These were the milder, soft sand versions that are actually fun as the trail winds through the brush.

Riding whoops is like dancing. It’s all about rhythm. Just like there are different ways around a dance floor, there are different ways you can do whoops whether it be jumping multiple faces, manualing, or simply skimming across the tops. Usually it is a combination of the techniques as you ride through the section. Always reading what is in front of you, choosing your technique and piecing your timing, body position and acceleration in order to gain the most ground in the most efficient manner. Get it right and you can really gain ground on your competitors. Get it wrong and you can really loose ground and usually end up on the ground.

Just before Honda pit #1 around the 50 mile mark there were the first of a few short silt beds. Fortunately for me, I had a gap and not much dust in front of me at that time. I passed a rider who was laying on the side of the trail with just half of his handlebars and part of his gas tank sticking up out of the silt.

Up over a few rocky hillsides and it was back into some fun tight trail with soft whoops.

Onto a short stretch of pavement and back onto a trail that mostly seemed to be in a dried out creek bed until we came into Valle de Trinidad at race mile 111.

It was around race mile 100 that I had the big scare. The course was bending right and going through a short section of steep 4 foot whoops. I was doubling the whoops when the front wheel came down on the backside of one of the landings and hit a hidden rock. The bike immediately veered left as I was accelerating hard up the face of the next whoop and I shot straight up into the air, hard left, and off the course.

As I sailed over a 5 foot high bush I said to myself calmly “Well that’s it, the race is over, no way I’m getting out of this clean.” The sides of the course are littered with rock piles, boulders, cactus and these things the Mexicans call “bushes” that are more likely green and brown bundles of steel cables wrapped in barb wire.

For some lucky reason I landed right in between all the hazards and had a straight path for just enough time to get the bike slowed down. You don’t realize just how fast the big 650 goes in the desert until you need to slow down. I got lucky. Real lucky.

The big man upstairs had a chuckle, gave me a wink, and did a “high five” with Buddha. I was back on course and eating up real estate once again.

I had a flashback from my childhood at that moment. I was probably 13 years old and had told my father that I just went 50mph on my little Yamaha DT100. He became livid and told me he was going to have me stand in the trail while he rode the bike by me at that speed and for me to imagine I was a brick wall. He never actually did that, but I got the point. Did I learn? Of course not.

Shortly after that I saw some kids all along the side of the course throwing things. Just as rode by I felt a small branch bounce off my chest protector and a rock ping off of my helmet. Didn’t hurt or anything, but I was like, “What up Amigo?” I heard later of riders and drivers being urinated on by spectators and having fireworks shot at them. For the most part the locals and spectators are helpful and very encouraging. In fact, if it wasn’t for most of them, most of us would have no direction through over 80% of the course as they are almost always pointing us in the right direction at any intersection, crossroads, or fork in the trail.

More whoops, a long fast 100mph section across a dry lake bead, and typical desert racing as I got into the garbage dump at San Felipe. Imagine riding 10 miles through a dumpsite. Ah, the memories I will have.

At this point I was thinking to myself, “This is NOT a tough race compared to some of the Enduros and Hare Scrambles I have done in the Pacific Northwest.” It was certainly dangerous, fast, and fun, but tough?

Then I hit the infamous 28 mile whoop section sometime just out of San Felipe. These are not the normal whoops that I had been riding up to that point. These are not that big at all, but the spacing and compound are the worst. Black and gray gravel that is so loose it will bury your wheels if you slow down. Top that off with mixed cabbage head sized boulders that are and are not visible and you simply cannot get a good rhythm for any length of time. I was dehydrating badly to top it off. I managed to pass 2 more riders in this section, but it was taking its toll on me. The Baja was starting to kick my ass.

Finally the section ended and popped me back out onto some fresh pavement. Just a bit up the road was the next Honda pit.

At Honda Pit #4 I did a short television interview with SpeedVision while the Honda pit crew changed my air filter and refueled the bike. I can’t recall a single word that was asked of me or what I said, but it was friendly and every one was smiling. I knew I was badly dehydrated at this point so gulped down a liter of water that was offered.

Sometime after Pit 4 the pavement ended and the rocky dirt roads started again. The ocean was to my left as the rough road meandered along the rocky hillside. I believe it was near Puertecitos I could see little islands just offshore and the water was beautiful. It would have been a spectacular view had my tongue not been dragging 5 feet behind the bike. There were some tall flat rock outcroppings with spectators perched up on them along the road and it was sometime along this road that I noticed a very nice looking woman dancing naked with nothing but a blue thong and a large silver wig on. I am still trying to find other riders that did this section to confirm that they too noticed this and that it was not a mirage. I had to slow down and give some applause of course. Wouldn’t you?

I continued on the rough road at a very reasonable pace for quite some time as the effects of the dehydration and effort of the section after San Felipe had really taken it out of me. I still could not quite recover. A couple of bikes in the other classes that I had passed earlier passed me back during this time simply because I did not have the energy yet to get on the gas hard.

Ever heard of the “uvula’? It’s that dangly thing in the back of your throat that is also sometimes referred to as the puke stick. Anyway, mine gets irritated when I do long dry dusty races. It swells up to the point where I can trap it against the roof of my mouth with my tongue. Feels like the world’s biggest lung nugget stuck in your throat that will never cough up. Had I not experienced this in my life before, I would have been really worried. It felt like it was the size of quarter at this point.

At Honda Pit #5 I refueled and downed another liter and a half of water. My hydration system had already been empty for a couple of hours. Soon after that I started feeling better and recovered. Popped the bike into top gear and pulled the wire. Flat out. Let’s grab some more ground quickly.

At race mile 300 I came into what is called Coco’s Corner for a checkpoint. Lot’s of guys standing around the checkpoint that looked like Coco, but they all had both of their legs. Hmmm…

Some fast winding roads, a little double track, more whoops and into a creek area that still had some water.

I knew at this point that the end was near for my part of the race. No need to conserve my energy anymore. Forget the fatigue, lean forward and pull the wire.

“Every man must be tempted to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”
-H.L. Mencken

The last section I rode into Honda Pit #6 was actually quite fun. Tall eerie cactus all around me and nice flowing whoops in soft sand. Breathing was starting to become difficult with my uvula swelling more and more, but the speed, the flowing of the trail, and my effort were putting me into a kind of trance.

And there it was. Honda Pit #6. Race mile 333. My day was done. Bike up on the stand. Transfer the tool pack to Tom. Collapse onto my knees. I must have drank 2 liters of water and Gatorade and I was still dry heaving.

Bit of a blur after that. Hopefully some of my teammates will have stories to tell of their own rides. Rider #2, Tom, came in with a crack in the gas tank that we had to fix at his last pit stop/rider change. Rider #3, John, had a hell of night with getting lost and having the clutch go out on him. All in the middle of the night. Rider #4, Jayson, carried the flag in to the finish in some of the worst heat I can imagine riding in.

The race started with almost 500 teams entered. Almost half of them never finished the race. We finished 21st in a class of around 80 teams.

Would I do it again? Probably. I’m still waiting for the “dust” to settle…..