(2005 Baja 1000)
Against everyone's best advice, the 2005 Baja 1000 was my first race....ever. Many people wondered why I chose this race for my first one. The truth is, it was never meant to be my first race. According to my plans, I was supposed to have completed several Baja races thoughout the 2005 year, but I had ongoing problems with the bikes I owned and it could never be timed right for me to have a bike ready to race when my next scheduled race rolled around. So I trained as hard as I could when I did have a running bike and went to watch some of the races I was meant to race when my bike was in the shop. That was the best I could do given the circumstances of just not being able to afford anything else other than to wait until my bikes get out of the shop. Little did I know, I already had my first clue that my first Baja 1000 was not going to be as successful as I'd hoped.
But those who know me, know that I was not going to be stopped from attempting this race no matter what. I work at least 65 hours, Monday through Friday, as a school principal, I have a husband and two kids who need their tending to, I had a brand new bike that was in the shop (under warranty) for 13 months out of the 19 I owned it, I didn't have enough money to afford all of the expenses of prepping for this race, I had never raced before, and I was the only girl to ever attempt this particular race in the way I wanted to do it. With all odds against me, I still believed I could do it. And so, on Nov. 17, 2005, I entered perhaps the biggest race I could possibly enter as a racer on a quad.
A promise that my husband, Tim, and I try to keep for each other is to spend at least one long weekend each year away from home together on our anniversary weekend (Labor day weekend). This is a time where we do not let anything distract us from focusing on just each other. This year, however, our anniversary weekend was only two and a half months away from "the big race" and we could not afford to do what we usually do; find some nice hotel somewhere where we have never been before and just be alone together while exploring the new area. But while pre-running the Baja 1000 course, I got to spend about 6 weekends alone with Tim, and each time we had experiences that brought us closer together and gave us incredible stories to tell when we got home. I have to thank all of the people we found to watch our kids during the weekends we went away; it took double the amount of people to help out because our two kids cannot stay in the same place together without fighting all the time. While I missed my kids greatly, and worried immensely about whether or not I would get hurt and not be able to return to them, I enjoyed the time alone with my husband and I was able to have many anniversary trips away.
Everyone knows that the course map does not come out until about a month before the actual race because they don't want people pre-running the course through all the villages of Baja for more than that amount of time. For someone like me, this is an incredible challenge. Since I was planning on Ironwomaning the race, I had to get to know the entire course intimately, not just one section of it, and I only had 4-5 weekends to do that because I can't take off work during the week. In addition to this, I never raced before and so I did not have a repertoire of courses to fall back on. But since I knew the 2005 Baja 1000 course was going to be a loop, I talked with experienced racers and relied on Tim's memory of Baja courses he experienced. I managed to figure out some of the typical areas the course could go through, and started pre-running before the course map came out.
The following pre-running experiences gave me an opportunity to learn about the challenges of the race course. Starting with Part 1 and moving through Part 10, I grew through these valuable experiences that brought me closer to the start line of the race.
We arrived in Ensenada on Tuesday evening, 3 days before the race. After the race was to be over, our plans were to have a family vacation during Thanksgiving week in San Felipe to pay back some time with our kids after all that pre-running. This meant we had to pack for a 2 week stay in Mexico and we brought every toy we owned with us. We were relieved to find that the street where we wanted to park all of our stuff was available for us. We had the motorhome, the big trailer, the Suburban, and the small trailer. By the next day we claimed the whole one side of the block with the arrival of all our other team members and no one bothered us about it. Our only expense for this camp site were the stolen goods out of our ice chests left out at night.
The day before the race was contingency day. All of our team members walked over from our camp and joined in on the action of gawking at all of the incredible race vehicles. Not knowing that Quads and motorcycles were allowed to get into a different, shorter line to tech inspection, I got in the back of the long line of trucks and buggies. I knew something wasn't right because I was the only bike sitting in that line, but I didn't know what else to do, and no one I asked knew either. It was a long wait, but there was plenty to watch and see.
Tim immediately began spreading the word to all cameramen he saw that I was trying to Ironwoman the race. Before I knew it, I was giving interviews and photos were being taken. Since this was my first race ever, I felt silly about it, especially when the locals asked me for autographs. But in a way, it felt like the acknowledgement I was receiving was for all the hard work I had already done. And with my means and resources, it truly was amazing that I had made it to contingency. So there I was, sitting on my little quad, amongst all these monster size vehicles, acting like a famous racer, and my team was proud for it.
Giving an interview in Spanish for a Mexican cable station |
Some of our team members |
The very night the course map came out on the internet, I began to study it intensely. I copied pages out of the Baja California Almanac and pasted them together to make a large size copy of the area map and then I traced the course with a highlighter. I made sure I had a perfect image of the map in my head and I took smaller copies of the map and traced the course with my finger over and over again until I knew where every race mile was. The large map stayed on our dining table for the next couple months for me to see and study every time I walked by it.
In the 2004 Baja 1000 I had the opportunity to be part of a chase team for Sam Stahl's Class 8 truck team in which Tim co-drove. I learned how complicated the race strategy can be to coordinate all of the chase vehicles and pits and make sure all of the support runs smoothly. On my flight back from La Paz I began to take notes in my new race journal I bought the day after I told Sal that I was going to do next year's race. I didn't want to forget some things I learned about the race logistics. After I had the 2005 course map imprinted in my head, I referred to these notes from a year ago and began planning the logistics of my race.
From the map, you can see the obvious points where chase teams can meet up with the racers by looking at where the course crosses the main highways. But it is not until you actually go to those places until you can explain to the chasers exactly where you want them to be in the race and discover other more effective access points to the course. Each time we went down to pre-run a section, I came back with more notes in my racing journal that helped me to write up specific instructions for each race team. In these instructions, I was able to tell them where I wanted them, what their jobs would be at each pit, and what my activities and racing goals were for each meeting spot.
From pre-running we knew that I was capable of doing all sections of the course on my own, except possibly two difficult sections; The Lagrimas Hill and The Summit. I wasn't planning on handing the bike off to anyone during these sections, but I knew that I needed my guardian angel there just in case. So we decided that we would have Tim on our other quad riding behind me during these two sections. I spent a lot of time beating myself up about this plan, thinking that no other guy on a quad or motorcycle makes plans to do this and wondering if I could really call myself an Ironwoman if I did this. But then I began to learn about how one of the strategies other race teams use to assure a finish for their team is to sign more than one vehicle up in the race. My support plan was actually not all that unusual of a plan. Tim was signed up as a co-driver with me, just in case, and so if I really needed someone to take over, Tim would legally be able to. This meant that Tim would have to be in a chase vehicle towing a trailer with at least two other guys who could drop Tim off and pick him up at different sections of the course. This was a perfect job for Uncle Eddie who was the only one who pre-ran with us before and knew many of the access points along highway 3 and Mike, Tim's brother, who had experience driving along the Mexican highways in the Baja 1000 the year before.
Another strategy we implemented was to sign me up in the pro class. Pro class drivers get dismissed off the start line before the sportsmen class entries. This means that they get to ride for at least a few more minutes longer before the trophy trucks pass them than those in the Sportsmen class. To me, every single minute mattered. Knowing that the trophy trucks would start passing me right in the Summit I had to give myself every advantage to clear the Summit before interacting with them for my first time. The road was narrow going up, and scary going down the back side. So even if it was for only five to fifteen minutes, I spent the extra 600 dollars to sign up in the pro class to buy me a better chance of not having to confront a trophy truck on either side of the Summit. I didn't want to offend the real pros by taking one of their spots in the drawing, so I asked for a rear start (costing me a few more minutes). This gave me the number 49A, the last number of the class 25 set.
I was lucky to have a total of 5 different chase teams (each team consisted of at least 2 people); all were very dedicated friends and family members. However, even with this many teams, I needed more support for gas because my race bike needed to refuel every 50-60 miles. I decided to pit with Mag 7; by paying them a reasonable fee, I would be assured a place to gas up about every 55 miles on the course. After finding out where the exact pits were for Mag 7, I was able to determine exactly where I was going to need my pit crews and began assigning locations for each team based on their own needs. I worked on special packets for each chase crew in the evenings after I came home from work. Because I was going to be the only 2 stroker for Mag 7, I also had to work on preparing special bottles of the right quantity of Castor 927 oil for each Mag 7 pit to mix with the 5 gallons they would each give me.
The next step was to meet with everyone, give them their race packets and go over their instructions. We had one team coming from Phoenix, one from Flagstaff, one from Tennessee and the rest from San Diego. It was a challenge to get information to everyone, but we were able to do it through phone, emails, snail mail and in-person meetings. I refined things as questions came up and new information about the course was discovered. I even prepared a sheet for each pit about what kinds of foods I needed to be fed, and the rationale about how it provided me with the right fuel for my physical endurance. By a week before the race, all plans were in place and I felt certain that everyone involved knew their role on race day.
I had fun putting together all of the information for our chase teams, and used my school management skills to coordinate my first big race. I found that on race day, the work of the chase teams went like clock work. I had great people helping me, they all did exactly as I had asked, and their designated support was precisely what I needed. In reflection, however, there were two things that should have been planned differently. The first was that I did not adequately prepare my friends and family members for what they were going to witness. None of these people train for endurance sports and no one but Tim really understood when I had reached my physical limit or not. When friends and family members began to see me dirty, tired, and dismayed, during the race, I think they thought it was worse than it really was. Another mistake I made was that I made it our team goal to finish the race within the time limit and to make decisions throughout the race accordingly. In retrospect, I don't think it really was as important to finish the race within the time limit. I just didn't want to get disqualified after actually ironwomaning the entire race because it didn't seem like it would be as valid. But after the race was over, I met all kinds of people who finished the race after the time limit and I longed for their extreme pride and camaraderie that developed as a result of it.After tech inspection was finally over, it was time to get really serious about all the rest of the preparations. Everybody worked furiously on various projects. We needed to prepare all of my meals for each pit stop. We needed to go over the race strategy again with everyone together. We needed to get chase vehicles equipped with spare gas, parts, tires, air filters, goggles, lights, jackets, etc.. These projects seemed difficult for me because I knew we did not have enough of everything we needed. I wanted to equip every chase vehicle with the same amount of things, just so we would have anything we might need everywhere....but we just ran out of money and couldn't buy it all. So we had to make decisions about who was going to get what based on the likely timing of problems I might have. After spending a day in contingency and swimming in a sea of high dollar race teams with huge sponsorships, I began to feel a little overwhelmed with our lack of resources. Just as I was getting deep into my worries and forgetting about the time, my mother-in-law suddenly announced that in 10 minutes the driver's meeting would begin. Tim and I had to drop what we were doing and run over to the convention center.
We walked into a huge meeting room with standing room only left. We squeezed past the Jesse James Monster Truck team and all their cameramen, and found a place to stand somewhere in the middle against a wall. When Sal Fish began to talk, I looked around and understood for the very first time, that I truly was the only one of a handful of women actually racing in this race. The room was crowded with men and I felt like I had just accidentally ended up in the boys locker room. Some guy bumped into Tim as he nudged around for a place to stand and asked him which class he was racing in. Tim proudly announced it wasn't he who was racing, it was his wife who was wearing the driver's racing band. I, on the other hand, suddenly felt like running out of the room. Then to make things worse, a friend of mine, whose boyfriend is Gustavo Vildosola (PRO truck class), came over to me and said "Hey, so you are actually doing this race? 'Tavo sent me over to tell you that he wants you to wear something very bright because he doesn't want to hit you." I gulped, and said "O.K., tell him if he just honks his horn, I will get right out of his way."
Before going over the rules of the race, Sal played a video, in memorium of Corky McMillan who had just passed away in the last SCORE race, and everyone in the room was moved. I found myself wiping a tear away just like everyone else, and then I didn't feel so alone anymore. The rest of the meeting went by in a blur and quickly thereafter I found myself on the street walking back to the motorhome with Tim, talking about how I better get to bed and let the others finish up the work. Knowing that he was right, I resolved myself to let go, and for the first time in a whole year, I was going to trust the people who were there to help and let things happen on their own from that point forward.
On race day I felt amazingly calm. I didn't get the best of sleep, but it was enough to get started on the day's battles. I knew that there were still things to be done, but I was so relieved that we actually made it to race day, that I just didn't want to think about all of the things that might hold me back from completing the race. Somehow, with all the major lack of resources, I was sitting at the start line with the opportunity to race with the pros and nothing could take the race away from me now.
I got up at 4:30 a.m. and after letting an overdose of caffeine do it's number on me (number 2, that is; don't want to be stuck out on the course with this problem!), I began to layer on all of my gear. I took extra long putting everything on, making sure not to forget a single thing for this ride. I debated about wearing my gel seated bicycle shorts underneath my riding pants and then finally decided that they would help provide a more comfortable seat through a long ride and keep me warm at night. Heavy duty socks, sports bra, under shirt, jersey, bike shorts, riding pants, boots, chest protector, glove underwears, gloves, kidney belt, Livestrong Band, neck brace, pony tail, fully loaded camelback, and one final squirt of perfume, in hopes of masking my future smells. I was now good to go.
From the moment we first started the Banshee up on race morning, one tail pipe was still smoking a little too much. But all we could do at that point was make sure there was a clean air filter, that the new ignition coil from Duncan was installed, that it was full with gas, and that Bigfoot was ducktaped to the handlebars. I just couldn't think about the potential problems and instead, I tried to remember how Tim told me I needed to ride this kind of high performance 2 stroke engine during our last pre-running trip.
Tim revved up the Banshee one last time, and handed the bike over to me. I drove over to the start line in front of the Ensenada Convention Center and waited for everyone else on the team to walk over. When I arrived, I had to announce my race number and line up accordingly. I was looking out very carefully for any other racer who would question why I was pulling up to the pro class line-up. I kept telling myself I didn't care what they thought, and that I knew I was doing the right thing...but really I did care. I didn't want anyone thinking that I thought I was good enough to be in the Pro Class or better than anyone in the Sportsmen Class. So after I lined up, I made sure I spoke to the guy in front of me in the Pro class and the guy behind me in the Sportsmen class and explained why I signed up in the Pro class. It was clear they didn't care what I was doing, because everyone was focused on the mental preparation of their own race at this point....but they were both nice enough to take time out of their own thoughts to say "Ah, that makes sense."
I recognized one guy further ahead of me in the Pro class who was wearing a child's stuffed animal with a bright blinky light on his back. I loved the attitude he reflected of an experienced racer. Without saying a word, he made a declaration to all other vehicles in the race to "back off" of those of us who are racing on bikes and quads. I loved him for that.
The motorcycle engines began roaring as their line formed for their start and the quads knew we were next. I thought for a minute what this moment could mean to my team members standing around watching me. The year before I remember saying goodbye to Tim on race day. I knew that he was heading off to the start line of a very long and dangerous race, and that I was heading off in a chase vehicle on a very long and dangerous highway down the Baja peninsula. On each path both of us were going to take for the next 30 or so hours, somebody dies almost every year. I remember feeling very confused as I tried to figure out what to say to him, just in case they were my final words, but without showing too much emotion so that he doesn't lose focus on what he was about to do. I knew that Tim's brother, Mike, was thinking this same thing because suddenly he wanted a photo taken with me (I am usually the photographer of the family and I don't end up in many pictures.) My mother-in-law, Mary, was talking less than usual and staying on irrelevant topics of conversation. Tim was captured in a photo by a hidden photographer that showed a gut wrenching expression that reflected everything he was thinking. Friends were standing nearby being respectfully quiet. Meanwhile, my kids were thinking "my mom is cool" and just didn't understand the weight of the moment.
Oh man, what did I get my wife into? |
 Next year, maybe I can be the youngest girl to do this race |
I took one last look at the members of my team and shook my head in disbelief that so many people were here to support me. Tim kick started my bike for me and positioned it in line. He then grabbed my helmet and turned my head and said what he always says to me before every single ride, "Be careful!" and this time he added "I love you."
I looked down at Big Foot and said to him "here we go." When I got to the start line, Sal did the usual greeting of every single racer and came over to me and said his words of encouragement and safety. I could barely make out what he said because he was so sick with an early bout with a winter cold that he didn't have a voice left, but I knew he was sincere and knew who I was and that meant a lot. I saw the green flag wave in front of me and then I was off.....
In the past few years, I had heard of many race vehicles going too crazy in the first 100 miles and then breaking down and dropping out. I was very worried about this happenning to me. I kept telling myself that I would not take any chances in the beginning and just ride my own race, especially in the first 35 miles, which I did not pre-run. For some reason I became too conservative and I did not even take advantage of those great photo opportunities on the jumps at the beginning of the race. As soon as I started riding out of Ensenada I discovered that there already were rough climbs in silt. All of the motorcycles and ATVs ahead of me kicked up so much powder in the air I had such a hard time finding my way on the course. A few times I had to stop and just wait for the dust to clear or let the locals tell me where to go; unlike the other racers, I am still not very trusting about driving into dust that blocks my vision of the road. But it was really neat to see everyone on the sidelines helping me. A few of them even told me when to slow down, once they saw I was a girl, to avoid some booby traps. I had a good time in the first 35 miles and I was told on the race radio that my average speed was very fast. However, I was very worried about the air filter getting clogged already. I just kept hearing in my head how Duncan Racing told me to change the air filter every 50 miles and especially after going through a lot of dust. I knew that at my first pit at race mile 35 there was no air filter and the pit after that wasn't until race mile 75.
So I ventured on to race mile 75, where I knew there would be an air filter. The bike was not behaving too well and I just kept thinking it must be the clogged air filter. On my way there I started to remember all the other things I needed and didn't have and eventually called them all in to the next pit; chapstick, a list of all our race radio channels, and a zip tie to clamp a hose I was told to do from tech inspection. Just when I had all the items called in and wasn't paying attention to the road, I hit a small unexpected booby trap. I was in my "talking on the radio" position on the bike and wasn't prepared for any unexpected bumps, no matter how small. My right hand slipped off the twist throttle and gunned the speed of the bike which made me swerve into a tree. Narrowly missing the trunk of the tree off the course, I made it through with only a few beatings of the branches and a slight scare. When I arrived at my pit only 4 miles away, I noticed that this pit crew was huge, consisting of 7 family members all from Phoenix, including 3 kids and my sister in law who was pregnant with twins. I hadn't seen these people in a while, and it was weird to see them in race conditions where I had to ignore the usual greetings and had to leave so fast. Having so many family members there and my excitement from the tree crash made my leg cramp up really bad and for a second I got emotional. While I stretched, ate, and refocused, the air filter was changed on my bike and everything else was checked over. I left as quickly as I could because I knew that I needed to start worrying about the trophy trucks.
It seemed like since the beginning of the race I had to pee every 15 minutes. I didn't think I was drinking a whole lot from my camelback, but I also thought it must have meant I was properly hydrated if I was peeing that much. During my summer training I contacted other female long distant racers to find out what they do when they have to urinate during races. I discovered that they simply pee in their pants. While there is a mechanism that men can use that allow them to pee on the go without peeing on themselves, the same does not exist for women. I made it a point to get myself used to the idea of peeing in my pants during my summer training. What I discovered was that it dried up fast and other than feeling gross about it, it didn't inconvenience me any other way. As the temperatures cooled in my training sessions I began to wear bicycle shorts underneath my pants and I didn't feel like riding in the cold while wet so I had never tried peeing in my pants with the shorts on until race day. By race mile 75 I had urinated several times already and the tight bicycle shorts with the gel seat were keeping a pool of urine on my bottom. Furthermore, I wasn't drying too fast during the race and I couldn't get away from the feeling of wetness ever. My perfume was not working for this smelly problem!
At about race mile 85, I arrived at my first checkpoint in the race. I was so thrilled because it was also my first checkpoint ever. When I drove up to the stop sign and excitedly yelled out "My first checkpoint!" everyone there cheered. I'm sure this was an unusal circumstance for them...but I didn't care. At least I didn't drop out of the race before the first checkpoint!
Within the next 15 miles I was to meet up with Tim. I was making good time and if I kept this pace I would be able to clear the Summit before the trophy trucks came. As I turned away from the checkpoint and traversed through the plains leading up to the Summit, my bike started feeling wobbly. But I kept going knowing that I had a Mag 7 pit ahead. But after being slowed down by a couple more miles of wobbliness, I finally stopped to see what the heck was going on. I couldn't believe it; I had a flat. I had ridden thousands of miles in the past year and never ever got a flat, not even once. These were brand new tires, and yet my back right tire was a pancake, not even 100 miles into the race. The next 12 miles consisted of asking every person I saw on the sidelines for air and help with fixing a flat. Finally I found somebody who had an air pump and as I pulled out my supplies to fix a tire, I realized that the tire had simply been knocked off the bead. With the air pump alone, we were able to get the tire back on the bead and full of air. I was relieved to be rolling on the road again, but I wasted so much time with this problem that I had put myself at risk of being passed by trophy trucks right in the Summit again. There was suddenly an urgency to pay attention to the time. In the next 25 minutes, I kept attempting to look at my watch and I know I looked sloppy to the bystanders. I kept hitting bumps and swerving on the road and knocking my helmet with my hand. Meanwhile, Tim was frantically calling me on the radio and I kept having to relay messages on the radio in my "talking on the radio" position.
Tim couldn't hear my responses because he was waiting for me in a spot diffcult to receive and transmit on a handheld radio. It wasn't until I found him at the ranch just below the Summit that I was able to tell him about the flat tire. I told him I was very worried about the trophy trucks coming and we needed to hurry. We sped up the narrow path and we reminded each other about each alternative route we discovered during prerunning. I found a handheld radio lying on the ground and even though we were in a hurry, I HAD to stop and pick it up (radios costs $200 each!). The face of the radio was smashed, but it was still working. We were pleasantly suprised to discover that the radio was on our channel. We wouldn't be able to change channels on the radio without seeing the face and of the thousand channels that exist, it was already on our very own channel. I thought maybe my luck was starting to turn around!
I jumped back on the bike and starting having difficulty again getting it going up the hills. It kept cutting out on me and making it difficult for me to slow down for the boulders, and steep climbs. I started hearing helicopters, the first sign that trophy trucks were close by. When I looked back behind me, I could see the dust clouds of the trophy trucks approaching like the Tazmanian Deviland I knew I was in trouble. I reached the last climb before the top of the Summit and the bike completely crapped out. I tried to kickstart it over and over again. I was sitting on an incline on top of those melon size rocks and it was not easy to kick start that way. I was completely exhausted from kickstarting in high elevation and so Tim had to take over. I got off and looked back and realized that the first trophy truck was coming up behind us. I yelled out at Tim that we were just going to have to move the bike out of the way instead, not wanting to hold up someone else' race. I was standing on the edge of the cliff and Tim tried moving the bike over towards me so that the truck could pass on the inside. Tim got the front of the bike moved over and just when he was about to go move the back of the bike, the driver decided he couldn't wait any longer and barged passed us anyway. He knocked the back end of my bike in to me, making me teater off the edge of the hill, and knocked my two front wheels out of whack, overextending one wheel, and continued on up the Summit without even a hand wave for an apology or a thanks.
I can't even explain how angry this made me. The very thing everyone warned me about and that I made all those plans to avoid, happenned. But what was worse, I spent all that extra money, that I really didn't have to spend, to give myself every chance of avoiding those trophy trucks in the Summit and this high dollar team just blasted past me like I was a minor annoyance in the road that should be knocked out of the way. I kept thinking that this was not just his race, and there was no need to be so cut throat about this race in such a difficult spot. Furthermore, I knew within a couple of minutes the next million dollar trophy truck would come by. So I jumped on the bike, somehow kickstarted the bike on the first go, and raced up to the top. I was so angry at how I saw my bike crippled that I didn't even realize that I had just ridden the bike to the top and I was cursing that my race was over. I stayed at the top for a while, waiting for the next trophy truck to pass and then another. I finally looked at my bike and realized I was able to continue because my wheels were back into place and decided I had better start the treck down the Summit.
I found I had absolutely no fear going down the Summit. I was much more comfortable on my race bike and was able to go down the backside at a much faster pace than before. At one point, I actually had to stop and look back to see if the mountain had changed or if it was the same one I had such problems with last time. My only issue was that I was trying very hard to avoid any other encounters with trophy trucks and so I kept having to pull over and wait for them to go by while feeling stupid about it because helicopters were floating above us with cameras. Once I finally hit the bottom I knew that our plan to have Tim with me on the Summit was a good one. I would not have been able to move my bike out of the way when that first trophy truck came along and their impatience could have made things even worse for me.
The next challenge was to make it to the dry lake bed, where our pit crew from Flagstaff was driving to as we were racing because they couldn't get the day before off of work; they were to pick up Tim and make sure I made it to the next Mag 7 pit. I was not sure my bike was going to make that stretch without running out of gas; it was going to be close. I also was very worried about whether or not our next pit would have an air filter for us to change out. By now I was hitting the dust of all the vehicles passing us on a regular basis and my bike was just not performing well at all. Tim and I had to learn how to keep racing with all these cars wizzing by us. It was hard to see them approaching because the air was so full of dust. I imagine it was hard for the cars to see us as well because a buggy rammed Tim's quad as he went by, making him bump into my back tires. After that, we began to pull over every time we thought a car was coming. To make things worse, Tim got a flat tire and this slowed us down even further. We knew I could have ridden ahead and either let him deal with things on his own or catch up to me later, but we just weren't certain about how things would go with my bike and whether I would have radio contact to get help. When his hand guard on the bike lost a bolt and started flopping around in his way as he drove, we both became very demoralized. We didn't have tools to fix the hand guard or even to remove it. We never had problems like this on our quads during training and there we were in the race dealing with all of it.
I started not caring about my race anymore and Tim was bummed that he couldn't help and was even slowing me down. My bottom was starting to get sore from the pool of urine in my shorts and I wondered whether this was going to be a serious problem later. When we least expected it, we saw a sign that said "Hot Coffee." We each wondered what that meant but didn't say anything aloud about it. Another mile or so we saw another sign "nuts & bolts." Then we started to talk on the radio with each other about how funny it would be if some pit was going to be up ahead and we could get some help. Another mile or so a sign said "welding."
We made it to our pits in the dry lake bed and I ran out of gas right there. I was still one mile from the Mag 7 pit where I was supposed to gas up next. We took too much time at this pit visiting with our friends from Flagstaff (who we hadn't see in months) and swapping stories. We discovered they did not have an air filter and so I ate and drank while they attempted to clean the spark plugs and air filter on my bike again. I finally said my goodbyes and had Tim tow me to the Mag 7 pit where he was to leave me. This particular pit was very cool. They gave me smoked salmon and orange wedges. And to top it off they offered me a special bottle of Gatoraid that matched the color of my racing outfit. I was so impressed they noticed that I drank the Gatoraid even though I wasn't thirsty. I was now ready to face the next challenge; silt beds.
I drove away from the Mag 7 pit, knowing for sure I had a full tank of gas because I saw them put 5 gallons in the tank. There was no reason to believe I would have gas problems after this pit. I drove about 5 miles and hit the silt beds where there were now tons of tire tracks running through. My bike was difficult to maneuver through the tracks and I really had to work hard at getting through the silt this time. I remembered that special turn from pre-running that would help me avoid a bad hill in the silts and drove on. I didn't get that much further when I got stuck and saw how horrific the silt bed had become. Weeks of pre-running and however many cars ahead of me in the race absolutely ripped up the silt and made it 10 times worse to pass through. I tried kickstarting the bike several times and could not get the bike started, I checked the air filter and then saw that it was completely clogged. There was nothing I could do; I had to call Tim on the radio again. I caught him just about a mile in to his ride back to the highway and they had to turn around to unload the quad and drop Tim off again.
It was good to know I caught Tim in time and had help on the way...but the winter sun had set already and it was getting dark fast. What was worse, the silt bed had widened and it was easy to lose the course in the area; I wasn't sure I was even on the course anymore and I wasn't sure Tim would find me. Once Tim was on his quad again, he was back on his handheld radio and that meant our radio contact was not that great. When it was completely dark I stood on the seat of my quad and pointed my red bicycle blinky light in the direction I knew Tim would be coming from and just hoped for the best. After what seemed like hours, Tim finally found me.
because we recognized it as the spot in the silt beds where they were at their worst.
Just imagine trying to drive a small quad through these deep grooves of powdery silt.
It took some major fiddling with the air filter, including taking the outerwear off, and some powerful kickstarts, before Tim finally got the bike started again. With some major work, we managed to get it out of the silt beds. I was angry that it was already dark and I hadn't even made it to the pit where I was supposed to gear up for the night. But we rode as hard as we could after that for about 30 miles when all of a sudden the bike wouldn't run anymore and just cut out in the middle of a high speed straightaway. "What the heck is going on?" I couldn't believe I was having this many problems with this bike. We tweaked with all kinds of things and then when I was explaining to Tim that it was as though it ran out of gas when it cut out on me, he decided to check the gas. To our surprise, the tank was completely dry. What B.S. that was! I knew the tank was full when I left the last pit, and I knew that I should not have been running out at only 30 miles into that section.
But you can stand there and continue cussing about it, or you can start figuring out a way to get to the next pit. We cut the zip ties off the tow strap that I swore we would never have to use on my bike, strapped my bike behind Tim's and began a long 20 mile ride to the next pit. You would think that by only having to sit on the bike and stear the handlebars that I should have it easy. Instead, this became the most painful ride of my life. I was pretty much realizing that this race was not going to be what I wanted it to be. The bike was so high maintenance and we just couldn't figure out why and I was so late for my next pit at only race mile two hundred, 509 miles from the finish line. Furthermore, physically I felt like I had fractured my left forearm from hitting some major bumps in the road, and now had a blazing fire in my pants that was literally burning my behind.
At one point we actually stopped in the middle of the thick rocky course and turned off the engines and lights and sat on the ground to take a break. We propped ourselves up against the tires of the ATVs while eating our last power bar. I thought about how I was supposed to be coming out of the south end of the San Felipe part of the course by now and how rediculous it was that we were sitting here in the middle of the race course atleast 100 miles north of there with nothing but my red blinky light laying on my chest to indicate we were there. One after another, we saw different vehicles go by us. We saw fast ones, crippled ones, and slow but steadfast ones plow their way through the gravel we were laying on. I was so tired, more from mental anguish, that I didn't even blink when these vehicles blew by us and kicked up rocks in our direction. We joked about our predicament and once again I fell in love with Tim, who was crazy enough to sit by me on this Baja 1000 terrain and make me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry.
I told him it was more fun to be riding on the course with him, even if it meant I was not going to finish the race. It felt like we were just sitting there taking a break during one of our long summer training rides. And that's where I let my mind wander and stay while he continued to tow me for the most painful ride of my life. Why was this so important to me? I really didn't know. I remembered telling Tim one winter night while standing around a bonfire in the backyard of our house a whole year before that "I NEED to do this race." I didn't know why then either, but it was something that meant alot to me. Given our resources I felt like this would be my only chance, and now the opportunity to finish was looking less and less likely. I looked at Bigfoot at the center of my handlebars. I originally thought that when he would come in handy was when I was trying to finish the last 200 or so miles of the race, to get me to the finish line. Instead, Bigfoot was helping me to get to the last 20 miles of my race, which was 509 miles from the finish line I probably would never see. "What a shame," was all I could think. When Big foot asked me what I was going to do about it, this time I wasn't sure I was going to be able to do anything about it. A shot of pain went up my arms every time we hit rocks that I couldn't maneuver around while being towed. I couldn't sit anymore because of the burns the urine had now made. And I was so hungry and thirsty.
We finally made it to the second checkpoint at race mile 200. I immediately asked the race officials if I could still be in the race and whether or not it counted that I was being towed in. They said I may finish past the time limit, but all check points in the race were still open and that I had permission to continue. We pulled over to our pit nearby, and discovered we now had 3 pit crews joined into one. I was 6 hours late to that pit stop and so all my pit crews that had radio contact with each other had now joined together. When I got off the bike, they wanted to put me in a chair to rest while they looked over the bike. I told them I just wanted to lay on the ground, too embarrased to say that it was because the urine burns had made it difficult for me to sit anymore.
One of our pit crew members, Josh, was the one who had orginally sold us the race bike and was most familiar with the bike out of all of us. He started fiddling with the bike and within about 10 minutes announced that the choke was on. Tim said "whaaaat?" Everyone's wheels started spinning, and we all realized that the bike's symptoms throughout the race completely matched that analysis. That would explain my running out of gas too early, the loss of power and the tail pipes smoking too much. But now I had to wonder how long had the choke been on? I was at race mile 200....did I forget to turn the choke off since the beginning of the race?
I immediately started to think about how to continue the race. I thought that if I could just figure out how to overcome the embarrassment of asking for a way to take the damn bicycle shorts off, rinse off my bottom, lather up in Vaseline or something, and get a good meal, I could probably continue. But before I could muster up the courage to ask for help with this, it turns out everyone else was starting to think about how to end the race. Because I was lying on the ground, it appeared to everyone that I was done for and that Tim would be irresponsible if he let me continue. After some side conversations I was not aware of (something like "what are you trying to do, kill her?!), Tim announced that the race was over. I looked at him with my mouth open. I wanted to argue that decision, but then I realized we were in front of 12 friends and family members, and anything I had to say would affect everyone in that group. It was 9:30 p.m., if I continued, people would be making alot of sacrifices, that would also impact the children. I looked around at everyone, closed my mouth, and just nodded regretfully at Tim, who was in just as much anguish over the decision as I.
After thought...
The 2006 March issue of ATVSport Magazine came out with the following article. I am flattered by the article and feel I am not deserving of it. However, I am worried that it was worded in a way that sounds like my race bike failed me through no fault of my own. Just like the Travis Pastrana motorcycle team forgot to put a GPS tracking system on their bike to make their first Baja 1000 race valid, I forgot to turn the choke off for my race. I would love to blame the bike for my problems, but even with all the best planning, I am a novice and expected to make mistakes. Duncan Racing has provided tons of support for my race and I don't want anyone thinking that it was a fault of their preparation of the bike that prevented me from finishing this race. I was given a race ready bike and I just didn't have enough experience with the bike to take it and do what it was meant to do. After racing one more time on the bike 3 weeks after the Baja 1000, I learned that while this particular bike is extremely capable of holding up to the demands of Baja (I became the first irwonwoman for that race!), it is not the bike for me because I just don't have the forearm strength to constantly keep the engine in the high rpms it needs to be in when I am crawling over rugged mountains and rocks for long periods of time, and I just don't have the expertise to overcome what stopping every 50 miles for gas does to my race position.
| If you have taken the time to read my story, I would love to hear your comments or feedback! You can critique my writing, training, racing or provide any other helpful tips or ideas! |
| Email: timnjess@mccrearyracing.com |
| Si usted ha leido mi historia, me gustaria sus comentarios! Usted puede darme ideas sobre mi escritura, entrenamiento, mis carreras, o darme cualquier otra idea o reaccion. |
| Correo Electronico: timnjess@mccrearyracing.com |
