Even though we knew San Felipe real well by now, we knew we needed to do the whole South San Felipe section of the race exactly as it was marked. Many of our "club members" we ran into said this section was pretty technical with lots of rocks and we even heard some horror stories that happenned to people while recently pre-running the area. I needed to make sure I didn't miss anything. So the next weekend adventure was going to be San Felipe, this time without the kids.

We drove to race mile 200 off of highway 3, where Tim dropped me off. Tim chased me as I rode along the entire 30 mile whoop section alone and down to race mile 265. I knew this section real well, and so I was not expecting any problems. But even so, the usual unexpected Baja ocurrences took place. At one point a wild horse was running frantically along the course with me and eventually crossed the path in front of me and disappeared into the desert. Once again our radio communications sucked but since the race course was paralelling the highway closely, we made do. At race mile 265 I pulled off the course and met Tim at the highway so that we could drive in to Campo La Roca, where our friends own some vacation homes. We pulled up to one of the homes and found that they were all hanging out together eating dinner. They invited us for dinner and we ate well after a good day's work. Before we drove off to our camp by the race course where we would launch the next day's ride, they told us to come back after the race with all of our chase crews for a celebration meal on them because I was one "balsy bitch." Later, Tim admitted that he didn't know whether to thank them or "take 'em down."

The next day Tim was going to ride with me because we found that we were unfamiliar with race mile 265 to 335 and it was in a section where radio communications, in their best state, would be impossible. We found this section to be full of dry river beds with very thick sand and gravel littered with big rocks that were waiting to bust an oil pan, A-arm, or wheel. While I could see the challenges of this section, I enjoyed the ride. Tim, on the other hand, could not believe that there were actually motorcycle Ironmen who do 400 miles of riding after this section. Driving through the gorges was really exciting because when we stopped for a break there, we saw many other pre-runners go by and the sounds of their engines roared and echoed off the canyon walls.

I jumped back on my bike when I saw a crew of ATV racers go by who looked like they were affiliated with Wayne Matlock's team. I couldn't help myself and began racing the guy riding by me for about 25 miles. Maybe he wasn't trying very hard, and maybe I was just an amateur annoyance to him, but it felt good thinking that I was actually making him work a little. I passed him at one point and he chased me down for a while until he passed me back when we hit some deep whoops. Tim, riding behind me, said he was amazed to see how fast I was going and even had a hard time keeping up with me in some sections. My confidence was boosted because I realized that if I only needed to worry about training for one section of the race, maybe I might be a little competitive against other guys in the race. Up to this point, I never thought of this as a possibility.

Tim and I parted at race mile 335. He was about to run out of gas and I wanted to pre-run as much of the course I could. I talked him into finding a trail that would take him back to the Suburban from there and picking me up at the highway just off of race mile 235 (which is only a few miles from race mile 370) later on. Just as I predicted, I had the exact amount of gas to get me to race mile 235 before I had to go to reserve for the remaining couple of miles to get me to the highway. Tim, on the other hand, actually ran out of gas at the highway before he reached the Suburban about a couple miles away. Some Mexican tow truck driver saw Tim walking his motorcycle and stopped to give Tim gas (along with some regular motor oil to make the 2 stroke mix). Without accepting any money the tow truck driver took off and Tim was able to finish the drive to the Suburban.

While I waited for Tim at my assigned waiting spot, I watched "the Flying Dutchman's" team (who were planning on racing the trophy truck class) come off the same part of the course and load up on their trailer. They offered me a beer while I was waiting and we swapped pre-running stories. Again I had the opportunity to listen to experienced race truck drivers complain about the challenges of the Summit. It was music to my ears because I realized that having respect for the Summit only made me a stronger member of the club, rather than isolating me out as a foolish amateur. As I could expect, San Felipe was good to me and gave me a pre-running experience that boosted my confidence again.