Feature > Events/Trail Rides
Got Baja? - Part 1
Ten Daze South of the Border for the Baja 1000
story & photos by Chris Collard
On our first morning in Baja, we awoke to a spectacular sunrise over Gonzaga Bay.
As the tide rolled out, the firm wet sand of Gonzaga Bay made for a perfect imprint of the tread pattern of our new 33-inch Pro Comp X-Terrains.
Raising the receiver to my ear, I tossed a partially destroyed wheel bearing on the bench. I had noticed a leaky rear axle seal. When I pulled it apart, I realized that four of the ten ball bearings were completely gone, vaporized into the internal workings of my axle housing. A voice rang from the earpiece, “Want to go to Baja for the 1000?” It took all of a millisecond for my frontal lobe to process the thought and send an electronic impulse to my lips and tongue. I responded “I’m always ready for a trip to Baja, let’s do it, when is it?”
Six months later I was pulling into the 4Wheel Parts store in Sacramento for a new set of Pro Comp X-Terrain tires. I had accepted an assignment from Off-Road Adventures, that wonderful magazine in Los Angeles, to cover the 1000. And, Pro Comp Tires had ponied up a new set of dogs for the sole purpose of my taking them to the Baja 1000 for a ten-day south of the border bashing. I’m a strong proponent of real-life testing of anything that is intended to handle real-life situations. However, I negated to tell them I was going to put these tires through a lifetime of abuse in just ten days. I also forgot to tell them that I’ve never returned from Baja without at least a couple of plugged or punctured tires. Often, with one laying lifelessly in the truckbed, shredded open by a kami-cactus like a pack of hot dogs at a Yankee’s game. Because you can’t capture the “money shot” if you’re wasting time plugging dead tires, I accepted the offer and said five Hail Mary’s as the shop mounted them up.
Sometimes the drive to get to the race is as much an adventure as the race itself. We stopped at a market near La Puerta (you’ll probably never guess what they sell) to stock up on supplies and ice.
The Baja Peninsula extends roughly nine hundred miles south from the U.S. border near San Diego. Numerous islands, coated white with guano from eons of nesting gulls profile the cobalt blue waters of the Sea of Cortez.
Baja California is referred to as the frontier state. The fact that it has only one paved road, leading from Tijuana at the U.S. border, to Cabo San Lucas nine-hundred miles to the south, should tell you something. As I said, I wasn’t going to get the money shot from the pavement. This was going to be dirt, dirt and more dirt: a fast, mad dash through the most desolate reaches of Baja’s badlands. It would be an exercise in speed, dust, racing action, cacti, Corona and 24/7 adrenalin. And that would be just getting to the race. It would also be a quest to stay in good graces with the federales, out of the way of local policia, and to stay alive in one of the craziest races on the planet. And lest I forget, the money shot.
Just east of the racecourse near Bahia San Luis Gonzaga Bay sits the tranquil bay of Punta Final.
"Stickers," "stickers," (pronounced steek’erz) is the only English word many of the local children know. It doesn’t matter what kind of steek’erz, just steek’erz. We brought a large bag of them and the kids loved them.
SCORE, Border Towns And Forty Hours Of Driving.
The rocky two-track south of Puertocitas twists in serpentine fashion through precipitous arroyos and alluvial washes.
The Baja 1000, which is promoted by SCORE-International, is the quintessential vision of everything off-road. The ultimate trial of human will and endurance, this year’s race would test the mental, physical and mechanical preparedness of more than 290 competing teams. On some years, the course is less than a thousand miles and is often a loop to-and-from Ensenada or San Felipe. For 2004 however, the race was a full 1000 miles. In fact, it was actually 1013.30 miles and followed some of the original lines from the first Baja 1000 in 1967. This year’s event also marked the 30th time that the Baja 1000 started in Ensenada and the sixteenth time it finished in La Paz. Another unique aspect of this year’s 1000 was that it was also the season final for the SCORE-International 2004 series. This meant that there was major dinero in prize and contingency money on the line, the finish line that is.
I wasn’t networked into the automotive journalists’ in crowd enough to hitch a ride with one of the race teams, shmooze the inside scoop on pit row, or get a satellite uplink connection for up to the second progress reports. And, I was quickly coming to the realization that catching that bitchin’ shot, while hiked out the side of a chase helicopter sixty-feet off the deck with my backside dangerously close to being violated by some nasty cactus, was about as likely as finding my dream bride in a border town brothel.
Funky (and funny) Baja art.
Crossing estuarial inlets can be tricky. Depending on the season, tides in the Sea of Cortez can swing up to fifteen feet. A mixture of soft sand and an ebbing tide can turn a seemingly firm base into quicksand in a hurry.
The plan was to just renegade the event. Hell, we’ll just bust on down the peninsula, jump on the course heading south and cut’em off at the pass. Press pass? We don’t need no stinking press pass. I figured we knew every back-road two-track from the border to La Paz, and many that aren’t even on the map. Better yet, I downloaded the course map online. Cool! I knew most of the route: Ensenada over the mountains to San Felipe, south to Coco’s Corner, through the Calamejue Canyon, Bay of LA, got it, no problema, amigo.
My navigator, Rich Currie, and I rolled out of Sacramento Sunday night at 9:00 pm for a red-eye race for the border. We were to meet Ned and Randy in Calexico, a hundred miles east of San Diego, at 9:00 am. It was a 12-hour drive, but I figured a few double mochas would shave off two hours. Strange visions of a mechanically challenged future seared the recesses of my mind when both my side windows came off their tracks before the first turn from the house. Fixed ’em both, then about 1:00 am on I-5, the headlights went out. Pure blackness at 70 mph and the only light was that of a semi running up my backside. A dark omen? Nah! I had just installed new battery cables and the fusible link came off. Fortunately, Cal Trans has drive-by-Braille serrations cut on the shoulder, which we followed off the highway.
Typical Baja lunch of manifold burritos and Snapple.
Diehard race fans.
Mile 000: The sun blazed intensely through the windshield as we hit the border, just in time to meet Ned and Randy. Mexicali, on the Mexico side, is a typical border town complete with funky intersections, stop lights you can’t see, crazy taxi drivers, street peddlers, and kids at every stop sign trying to wash your windows with muddy rags. We endured the chaos and headed south as the road faded into a mirage on Laguna Salidad, a seemingly endless alluvial plain at the terminus of the Colorado River. I’d been up for 33 hours when we made San Felipe and we wouldn’t stop till we made it to Bahia San Luis Gonzaga, another hundred miles to the south.
San Felipe, Beach Running and Federale Searches
Traditional custom is to erect a memorial along the road for those lost in auto accidents. Passing one every few miles reminded us to stay alert.
Discovered in the late 1700s and geographically isolated by land and sea, the remote fishing village of San Felipe was almost completely cut off from the western world until the installation of a US radar facility during WWII. Today, San Felipe plays host to dozens of Baja 250, 500 and 1000 races and is a Mecca for sun worshiping co-eds from the States. Retaining its old world charm — small cantinas, seafood restaurants and taco stands line San Felipe’s seafront boardwalk. San Felipe is also the last place to stock up on necessities: fuel, fresh tortillas, tequila and cold cervezas.
Mile 135: There is a chuck-holed, chip-seal road heading south to Puertocitas. But we were done with the pavement: We wanted Baja’s beaches and dirt two-tracks. Slipping down to the playa (beach) south of town, we followed the coastline along endless sand beaches. Broken only by an occasional volcanic outcroppings and rows of palapas (palm frond shade awnings) and small beach homes, the beach stretched on for twenty plus miles. Running 12 psi in the new X-Terrains, they floated over the deep sand fairly well and didn’t give much protest to the razor sharp lava beds, which were taking chunks out of my sandals.
Baja’s long sandy two tracks gave us a chance to hammer down on the skinny pedal through a sea of cacti.
We could not help but to play on this rise in the trail which provided a great spot to catch some air and test our suspensions.
It was dark by the time we passed Speedy’s Camp and the boarded up Pemex station on the road to Puertocitas. The squawking of seagulls is the noisiest thing you will hear in this tranquil collection of eclectic abodes. The gas station has been boarded up for years, and a small cantina opens only when the owner feels like working. The major attraction to Puertocitas, besides the dead silence, is a small Geothermally heated hot tub at the water’s edge.
Mile 175: South from Puertocitas, the rocky graded two-track ascends the coastal foothills. Ocotillo cacti and desert sage dot the seemingly lifeless landscape and evidence of civilization becomes increasingly sparse. Illuminated only by the headlights, the next 40 miles were a blur as we blasted through rock-strewn arroyos (canyons) and alluvial washes towards Gonzaga Bay: our vices for cognitive consciousness had turned from coffee and Mt. Dew, to dreaming about a Pacifico and a pack of Mexican cigarettes. Five miles from our destination, the dim light of a flashlight waved us to a stop. A federale checkpoint: an OD green Hummer and two young federales with guns. We informed the fine young gun-toting lads we were very important photographers (yeah, right), we were there for the Baja 1000, and it was important that we not be delayed. Good thing everyone knows about the race. They were very anxious to see the race cars come through their checkpoint. We slipped them one of those magazines your dad always kept hidden, and we were off.
Fish Tacos, a Baja Sunrise and... Bud Light?
Slipping down to the beach south of San Felipe, we followed the coastline along an endless sand beach.
To be safe, drink bottled "water"! Retaining its old world charm, small cantinas and taco stands line San Felipe’s seafront boardwalk. San Felipe is also the last place to stock up on necessities: fuel, and the essentials of life: fresh tortillas, tequila and cold cervezas.
Alfonsina’s sits at the north end of Bahia de San Luis Gonzaga and is a must for the Baja traveler. Established in the 1950s, the original stone-and-mortar cantina has been expanded and modern rooms have replaced the rustic single-cot stone abodes. However, it has managed to retain its authentic old-Baja atmosphere. Pushing 38 hours since my last shut-eye, we pulled up to find the cantina closing. Randy sweet-talked them into keeping the lights on, and we proceeded to inhale some of the best tacos de pescado (fish tacos) on the peninsula. The view of Gonzaga Bay from the veranda is spectacular and a great place to relax with a coldy and take in the local flavor. Satisfying our hunger, we headed down the playa (beach) to camp. A light breeze blew across the deserted beach and the clapping of small waves slapping against the sand was the only disruption to a calm and moonless night. Sleep finally arrived about 10pm.
The Baja desert came alive as the sun crested the Sea of Cortez, casting radiant hues of yellow, orange and magenta across the rugged Sierra San Pedro Martir Mountains. I was pouring my second cup of coffee when Randy popped open his second Bud Light, cracking a wicked grin as he inverted the can to his lips. Now bringing beer to Baja is just plain wrong, sacrilegious and immoral. And Bud Light? Baja is all about cold Corona, Dos Equis and Pacifico. Still in his sleeping bag, he just sat there drinking and grinning.... but that’s just Randy and he was on vacation after all. Packing up early, we hit the playa (beach). Later, three vehicles abreast, we blasted south towards the rising sun in search of the next two-track, and stop for a cerveza, and the manana mode. (Join Got Baja? next month for more Baja 1000 pre-running, midnight wipeouts and breakdowns).
Next month we get the "money shot" and some killer racing action in San Juanico.