Dazed and Confused in the Desert
I went to the desert to race a dirt bike, but I came home with some lessons in life that I will cherish forever. On January 24th, my brother Dave and I raced a Honda XR650 in the 29th running of the San Felipe 250, arguably one of the world’s most physically demanding desert races. It’s part of the Baja 1000 racing series that starts and finishes in San Felipe, Baja California, and 125 miles south of the US border on the coast of the Sea of Cortez. It’s an off road desert race consisting of dirt bikes, trophy trucks and many other types of vehicles. The terrain is varied but the majority is miles and miles of sandy and rocky whoops (think of snow moguls that traverse the entire road).
I started the race at 6:43 am along with 6 other guys in the 40+ class, starting in 1-minute intervals. Typically, teams consist of 4 or 5 riders per team with each guy doing a 50–70 mile section. The plan was that I would do the first 80 miles, then hand the bike to Dave, who would take the bike to race mile 125. I would then do the 3rd leg to race mile 190 and my brother would ride the last 70 miles to the finish.
For a little background, this was my second time racing a dirt bike. The first was last year’s San Felipe 250. I’m now 41, having purchased my first dirt bike at age 27. All of my riding has been in Baja over about 11 trips, for a total of about 50 days. Dave, age 54, has ridden and raced in Baja and the US for more than 25 years, including the Baja 500 and 1000.
The first 80 miles proved to be very challenging with two unexpected issues. First, I got “arm pump,” a condition that comes from gripping the handlebars too tightly. Psychologically, you’re too wound up and so you over-compensate. For a person who rides only once a year, this is fairly common. Five miles into the race, up to the first pit at race mile 37, my hands and forearms had little to no strength, and I couldn’t grip the handlebars. This made going over rocks exceptionally difficult, and that portion of the race extremely tedious. My time up to pit 1 wound up taking considerably longer than it had 4 days prior, when I pre-rode that section, just cruising along so I could see the course to know what to expect on race day. I later learned that what contributed to it was that I went straight down the middle of the course, hitting all the deepest whoops. Most racers on dirt bikes are more strategic, picking lines paralleling the course that are much smoother and easier on the body. The race was off to a miserable and excruciating start. At mile 37 while getting gas, my hands and wrists got a short break, which helped to alleviate some of the arm pump. After that I started going considerably faster and having a blast. The sun was coming up for another beautiful Baja morning and I felt optimistic that the rest of the day would go well. Around race mile 65, I rode off the course about 150 yards into a creek bed with two other racers. Without GPS, getting back on the course took some creativity and luck, picking the right direction and avoiding cactus.
Pulling into Pit 2 at mile 80 I felt great. Even though I knew my time had to be pretty poor, likely putting us toward the back of our group, at least I had made it and the bike was in working condition. I had a brief exchange with my brother and I could tell he was stressed. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the poor position I had put us in or if it was because he was anticipating riding over a few treacherous rocky sections during his upcoming 45 mile section. He got on the bike and took off. I then rode our pre-ride bike out to the highway with our friend John where we met up with our other support guys, Paul and Danny, in the chase truck. We sped off to meet Dave at Race mile 125, hoping we’d beat him there. We pulled in and didn’t see him anywhere, which was a good sign. At this point, I felt good and that all the effort was paying off. I felt more comfortable with my upcoming second section than the first, which was extremely rocky, something I’d never experienced until earlier that week when we pre-rode the course.
Dave arrived about 10 minutes after we pulled in, meaning that he must have ridden his section issue free. The exchange was quick, and I took off. A few minutes later, Ricky Brabec, winner of the 250 and entire SCORE series the year before, rode by me. Clearly, his team must have had significant issues at some point earlier in the race to be as far back as we were. It was great to see what a real dirt bike rider looked like dissecting the sand whoops, flying over the course, making it look so easy. It was awesome and quite humbling at the same time as I worked through the whoops at a much slower pace. As he quickly vanished, so did the awareness of my inferior ability. I was having the time of my life at that point. The sun was up, my body felt good and for my standards, I was going fast. Riding through varied-sized sand whoops is like being a kid on a free roller coaster that always changes and goes for as long as you want. All was well until race mile 135, where I noticed that the tracks I was riding over weren’t fresh and that I hadn’t seen a course marker in quite some time. I went a bit further then decided to turn back as I was clearly off the course. This realization was unbelievably frustrating and I was overwhelmed with desperation. While I knew we weren’t going to be competing for a top finish, making our situation even worse was tough to deal with. After all the issues in the first section, now I was doing what I could to dig us an even bigger hole. I rode back to the course and later discovered that my 5-mile diversion added about 12 minutes on to our time.
Somewhere around race mile 145 I had my first crash. I think the amount of riding I had done must have made my body so fatigued that I just lost concentration. I don’t remember crashing at all but I do sort of remember someone helping me back on my bike. I took off and soon realized that I must have hit my head pretty hard. For the next 15–20 minutes as I sped into and through a dry lakebed, I couldn’t figure out if I was pre-riding a few days before the race, or if it was indeed race day. Also, I couldn’t remember the next race mile where Dave and I agreed to meet. This was obviously a bit concerning but I kept moving. Trying hard to concentrate on what exactly was going on — without success — was quite an eerie and lonesome feeling. As I exited the dry lakebed, things started coming back to me. Yes, this was race day, next meeting point was race mile 190 and the next pit was at race mile 175.
At Baja Pits, Carlos the director confirmed that he had seen Dave and that he’d be waiting at race mile 190 for me. It was a grounding experience to connect with another person at that point, even if for only a few seconds. Around Race mile 186, I crashed again. I came through a creek bed, hit a large rock, and catapulted off the bike. My body hit the side of the creek and I cracked a couple of ribs. After getting help from a quad, which towed me to start the 650, I got going again. I handed the bike to Dave at race mile 190 and yelled over the noise of the 650 that I loved him and he reciprocated. The extreme events and large swing of emotions that transpired earlier that day brought out the sentimental side in me, not the norm for my family.
I got back on our pre-ride bike and rode back to San Felipe to meet Dave at the finish. Riding up Zoo road back to town seemed to be even more hairy than being out on the racecourse. Hundreds of cars were driving to get good spots to watch the trophy trucks, which start 4 hours after the bikes. Many of them were passing the slower cars on the narrow road so going the opposite direction on a bike was pretty sketchy. I threw up my arms at a couple of the out of control oncoming cars but later regretted it. After all, there are different rules in Mexico.
I continued on and went to meet Dave back at the finish. We wound up coming in 4th out of 7 teams in our class. I congratulated him on finishing and we shared in the elation and camaraderie that is hard to describe. What can I say about it: it’s priceless and it’s what makes it all worth it. A few minutes later, Don Lewis arrived. He’s a 71 year old guy from Connecticut, looks like an Ivy League school professor, and has been busy beating age related records on many activities, including racing dirt bikes in Baja over the last few years. Dave and I had the pleasure of meeting him for the first time out in the middle of the course the year before while pre-riding. We were amazed to hear his story. At one point, I asked Don what I should tell Dave, who a week prior had told me that he was too old to race the San Felipe 250. He answered: “I’d tell him to shut the %$#* up.” The three of us shared a laugh and we thanked Don for helping us to put things into perspective. At the finish, we discovered that Don had done the first 130 miles ironman (solo), which is a huge feat for anyone, let alone a guy in his 70’s. Those 130 miles included a very technical rocky section around race mile 110. As Don answered a few questions while being interviewed at the finish, he mentioned that there were 9,999,999 guys his age who were sitting at home on their couches. He noted that he however, was not. He was racing a dirt bike at the San Felipe 250. Listening to Don’s words made me think of the line from Shawshank Redemption, “Get busy living, or get busy dying.”
I will go to Baja again but it won’t be to race. As fun as it was, riding around in the desert with a concussion, with a wife and two young kids at home, I suppose may be a bit selfish. I am grateful to my beautiful wife Louise for letting me do these two races. It was immensely rewarding and unforgettable. The feeling of camaraderie you experience before, during and after a Baja race is real and powerful. I haven’t felt this alive in quite some time. When you share all of the same emotions, experiences and hardships with teammates, it’s an amazing feeling, especially when you reach a goal. We came to Baja with Paul, John and Danny and we could not have done it without their support. Their selflessness and eagerness to help was inspirational. It is truly a team effort; it’s not just about the guys racing on the bike. I am grateful to Dave for putting his ego aside and partnering with a teammate with lesser ability. We had a great time and it was worth every cent, the 800-mile drive and all the stress. After the experiences of having my 2 kids and marrying my wife of 12 years, the two races in Baja have been the best experiences of my life, since my days of playing rugby for Cal Berkeley 20 years ago. The exhilaration I felt on the morning of the race and during was nothing short of euphoric. The challenge of getting the bike to the next agreed upon location is huge and is one of the main reasons why the race is so great. It’s a significant gamble and you just don’t know what things might happen that could keep you from getting there. Flat tires from cactus or sharp rocks, a broken chain, and crashes, among other mishaps, are common. It requires a level of mental toughness throughout the day, not to mention all the nerves and sleepless nights you have leading up to the race.
One of the many great talks Coach Clark gave us during my time playing rugby at CAL was on the importance of humility. I didn’t fully understand the message at the time, but later in life I did. Being confident but not too cocky is vital to one’s success in life. Being secure enough in yourself to display your own imperfections and weaknesses to the rest of the world makes for a better life and more meaningful relationships. My experience in Baja last weekend was extremely humbling and great at the same time. I’m grateful to have experienced Baja and I’ll never forget it.
