My OperaStaring Down Death in the Desert
Monday, June 5, 2006 7:14:25 AM
I have survived the Baja experience, but not without staring death in the face. If you read Kim's updates during the race, you will know that I crashed and broke the bike just 70 miles into my section. More on that later.
After crashing, the fog lifted enough for me to see some people camped out at the top of the hill about 1/4 mile away. I walked across the desert to them to try to get help. As I got close, I realized they were soldiers, or at least most of them were, and they were carrying guns. There were also three civilians, Kristen, Wynn and Javier. Kristen and Wynn were manning the relay station radios, for the BF Goodrich pit services, The soldiers were there to watch the race, and Javier owned a ranch down on the beach, but more importantly, Javier was drunk. He was drinking quarts of Tecate, like I was drinking water at the pit stops on the race course. Javier offered to take me to his ranch for a shower, and to give me some clean clothes, so I accepted. How dangerous can it be to get in a car in the desert with a drunk to go for a short ride when there is nothing to hit? Besides, I had just survived being passed by 6 trophy trucks, a whole other story. The road over the cliffs to his house on the beach was not even fit for Baja cars, but he assured me that his 2 wheel drive Bronco had posi-traction. I also dicovered that it didn't have a starter, as he motioned for three soldiers to come over and give us a push to get going. At the top of the cliff road, Javier puts on his seatbelt. This is from someone who is drunk enough to be bullet proof, and brought up in a culture where you put 7 or 8 people in the back of a beat up Toyota pick up and drive down the freeway.
I survived the ride and the shower felt good. When the crew arrived to pick me up many hours later they were really pissed to find me clean and comfy sitting in a lawnchair watching the race, while they had spent all day in their riding clothes driving to pick me up.
Dan will be heaping abuse on me Monday in his Guest Blog I am sure.
Flying Desert Monkey
After crashing, the fog lifted enough for me to see some people camped out at the top of the hill about 1/4 mile away. I walked across the desert to them to try to get help. As I got close, I realized they were soldiers, or at least most of them were, and they were carrying guns. There were also three civilians, Kristen, Wynn and Javier. Kristen and Wynn were manning the relay station radios, for the BF Goodrich pit services, The soldiers were there to watch the race, and Javier owned a ranch down on the beach, but more importantly, Javier was drunk. He was drinking quarts of Tecate, like I was drinking water at the pit stops on the race course. Javier offered to take me to his ranch for a shower, and to give me some clean clothes, so I accepted. How dangerous can it be to get in a car in the desert with a drunk to go for a short ride when there is nothing to hit? Besides, I had just survived being passed by 6 trophy trucks, a whole other story. The road over the cliffs to his house on the beach was not even fit for Baja cars, but he assured me that his 2 wheel drive Bronco had posi-traction. I also dicovered that it didn't have a starter, as he motioned for three soldiers to come over and give us a push to get going. At the top of the cliff road, Javier puts on his seatbelt. This is from someone who is drunk enough to be bullet proof, and brought up in a culture where you put 7 or 8 people in the back of a beat up Toyota pick up and drive down the freeway.
I survived the ride and the shower felt good. When the crew arrived to pick me up many hours later they were really pissed to find me clean and comfy sitting in a lawnchair watching the race, while they had spent all day in their riding clothes driving to pick me up.
Dan will be heaping abuse on me Monday in his Guest Blog I am sure.
Flying Desert Monkey
