Norther Duke (and key Reach The Beach squad member) Laura passenger pigeoned this report in about her maiden marathon effort this past weekend….RIGHTEOUS!

perfect (adj.): Supremely excellent in quality or nature.

Synonyms: absolute, consummate, faultless, flawless, impeccable, indefectible, unflawed

October in Maine is a tricky thing. Having wed in a record-breaking, torrential rain just under 3 years ago, I knew it was risky to sign up for the Maine Marathon as a first-timer. But as a 40+ year old New Englander, I also knew I could be in for a real treat, and that it was. Clear and cool at 7:45 AM, the weather on the Portland, ME coast was consummately, supremely excellent in nature for the duration of the race. It simply could not be improved upon in any way, and for that I am forever grateful. The course is lovely, winding around the urban inlet of Back Cove for 2 miles, then heading out through the tree-lined streets of the coastal towns of Falmouth and Yarmouth, with a couple of detours for scenic ocean vistas. It’s not too hilly, just enough to be interesting (and nothing like the monsters in Reach the Beach.) The energy of participants was great, the crowds were supportive, and a few spectators pegged me as a first-time marathoner (by my yellow race number) and gave me hearty shout-outs.

My only complaint about the day, aside from the abject misery of the last 4 miles, was the dearth of, ahem, “facilities” for, um, taking care of business, as it were. So, to the organizers of the Maine Marathon, I say: In the name of all that is good and pure in running, for f*ck’s sake, put more port-a-potties on the course!!! Please, just Google the phrase “runner’s diarrhea” and let the results be your guide! I was only two minutes off my target time, and you know why? Because after desperately seeking and running too fast for at least a mile and a half, I finally leapt over a ravine, scaled a stone wall, drew blood on my legs from brambles, found a spot where I was reasonably out of sight of 2,000 people running by on the road, and dug a cat hole so I could finally relieve myself of the pressing burden I had been bearing in my bowels since my last GU shot, then had to scavenge on the decaying forest floor for a reasonable medium for tidying up that wouldn’t leave me itching, chafing, or sprouting mushrooms 17 miles down the road. And once I got back on course, it was at least 3 more miles until the next port-a-pottie. What is *wrong* with you people?!?

There, I said it. I totally recommend this race otherwise, but do beware.

Aside from that one significant complaint, it was all good for the first 16 miles or so. Blue skies, autumn foliage, ocean breezes, great volunteers, adequate water stops. It was heaven. Yes, I started out way too fast, but who cares? I was feeling awesome! Early fall in Maine really can be heaven.

At some point, I slide into Purgatory. The pain creeps in and stays. “OK,” I think, “OK, so this is what the 2nd half feels like. That’s OK. I can take it.” Another mile. And another. That’s OK. I check my stopwatch/heart rate monitor, and although my HR is where it’s been all morning, my mile times are starting to slip. That’s OK. I have a cushion, as long as I don’t have to go on another bushwhacking adventure. I knew 4:05 was ambitious. 4:10 might still be in sight. Another mile. It’s really starting to hurt now. In places I don’t usually notice. In lots of places. In new ways. All at the same time. With every step. In between steps. I’m really tired. I’m really, really so tired, and it hurts so much. I try to find inspiration in my head somewhere. I think of my dad. I start to choke up and can’t breathe well. I change the subject. I pass some spectators, who cheer me on. I look at them and say, “Don’t ever do this.” They laugh.

Somewhere around mile 21, I realize I have been periodically shaking my head violently from side to side like a lunatic, telling myself no, No, NO! I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to walk. I can’t slow down. “Pain is temporary. Regret is forever.” I’m strong. I’ve trained for this. It’s a beautiful day on the coast of Maine, and I’m outside. Look around. Enjoy the scenery. I am going to make it. Another mile. 4:10 is not happening. That’s OK. 4:15 was always my true goal. I can do that. I can do that and I will live. I do not have to stop and walk, in order to live. I will live through running a 4:15 marathon. No, no, no, no, no, I am not going to walk. Just keep going. As the sun has risen in the sky, a few clouds have rolled in to keep it cool and comfortable. The setting is still heaven, but I am in hell.

I hit the wrong button on my stopwatch. I’ve lost my cumulative time. I’m too mentally hopeless to do math at this point, so I have only my heart rate to go by.

Sean meets me at mile 23, to run with me for the last 3 miles. Sweet fancy moses goddamn motherf*cking sh*t jesus mary and shiva this hurts so bad. I say something like that to him. I moan, grunt, complain, plead, groan, and he knows exactly where I’m at because he has done this 5 times. He goads, cajoles, coaches and distracts me toward my goal. Around mile 24 my right butt cheek seizes up, and along with the demented head-shaking I now have an ass-punching tic. I want to stop so badly. Would it be so bad to miss my target time? I feel utterly wretched. But I’m so close. Maybe I can still do it. I hit mile 25 and pick up the pace, but I have nothing left. I am whimpering.

I’ve done some pretty tough sh*t in my life, but never before have I ignored the raging demands of my body to just stop, for such an extended period of time.

Sean leaves me to run the last .2 on my own. “This is all yours,” he says. “You’ve done it. Enjoy it.” Man, am I glad I married that guy.

As I limp across the finish line, I hear my name and town. The race clock says 4:17:something. It doesn’t matter. It’s done. I can finally stop. I stagger through the chute, refuse the space blankets, let them remove my timing chip, bend down to receive the finisher’s medal, and collapse in a heap in Sean’s arms.

My final time is 4:17:00:00. Just 2 minutes off my target. I’m OK with that. I’m finally done, there are no mushrooms sprouting in my underdrawers, and it’s still a perfect day on the coast of Maine.

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The internet is abuzz with rumors about the 2008 Baja 1000 course. This was posted on a Baja.net forum:

“At the Primm 300 this past weekend, Sal Fish announced the 2008 Baja 1000 would be about 660 miles and follow this route: Ensenada - Ojos Negros - El Condor - La Ponderosa - Rumorosa - Laguna Salada - San Felipe - Azufre wash - Morelia Jct - San Matias - Mike’s Sky Rancho - Valle de Trinidad - Llano Colorado - San Vicente - Santo Tomas - Ojos Negros - Ensenada.”

I spent time in Baja earlier this year and heard from many people that loop races might be a thing of the past. This speculation was largely based on the growing popularity of the race, both in the number of entrants and worldwide media attention. A loop race (Ensenada to Ensenada) only benefits businesses in the North, while a point-to-point race (Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas) spreads the wealth. A point-to-point race is more dramatic and highlights Cabo which is the biggest tourist draw on the whole peninsula.

If this rumor holds true, it seems loop races are still in the mix, but the most shocking thing is the distance. That’s almost half the mileage of last year! If that proves true, my guess is that the course would be insanely technical.

If anyone hears anything else, please post a comment…

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The forecast is sorting itself out for the end of the week in NH and the DOFB team is in the final, nostrils flared in anticipation, stages of preparation. Bags have been packed, night-gear tested, anti-chaffing salves concocted and distance mantras honed. Not a whole lot left to do but hop in the van Thursday evening, head north and hope Ike doesn’t change his mind!

For those who may be in NH and inclined to come out and witness a spectacle, the Dukes are slotted for a 1:20pm Friday start and expect to finish on the coast sometime around 6 the following evening. Check out the course info for the nearest segment of the route & and do come out to properly heckle the teams.

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In totally unrelated 24 hr racing news, I recently came across another race that would likely appeal to a number of us - the 24 Hours of LeMons:

Each LeMons race is for cars purchased, fixed up, and track-prepped for a total of 500 dollars or less. But before reaching the grid, you’ll have to survive trials like the Personal-Injury-Lawyer Anti-Slalom, the Marxist-Valet Parking Challenge, and the Wide Open Throttle Rodthrowapalooza. Twelve hours into the race, the car voted People’s Choice is called in and awarded a cash prize; simultaneously, the car voted People’s Curse is called in and summarily destroyed. At the end of 24 hours, a gala awards ceremony plies the survivors with trophies, plaques, and four-figure purses in canvas bags full of nickels. What’s not to like?

This video of what happens to a cheater’s car is not to be missed - genius. We’ve already missed the East Coast season’s races, but I suspect you’ll be seeing a menacing DOFB beater entered in the years to come.

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I spent time in Baja this year riding a dirtbike from from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas. Along the way, I heard tall tales of a creature named the Chupacabra - a bloodsucking beast that prayed largely on farm animals, particularly goats. I know everyone has been caught up with the Montauk Monster, but here’s some video taken by a cop down in Texas of what he believes is the legendary Chupacabra.

We seem to be having quite a mythical year. What’s nhhkjkkjkhxt? Nessie? Bigfoot?

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Just ran across this footage of trucks dealing with the silt during the 2007 Baja 1000. It’s the best video I’ve seen that illustrates the insanity of those sections. Also has some crashes that make a brother say “awoooooogah” - enjoy!

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I just got back from a 1,230 mile off-road motorcycle trip from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas. It was a training run to prepare for the Baja 1000. If you’re new, start at the beginning. Otherwise, here’s part six of the story…

DAY 6

If you have been reading this story up ’til now, you may have the sense that I have a lot of off-road motorcycle experience. I have logged tens of thousands of highway miles, but only ridden a few hundred off-road prior to this trip. Lacking the requisite skills, I’d force myself through sections of the course which really took a physical toll. Here’s where things stood:

I found out when I got back to the States that I was riding with a separated shoulder, torn Labrum and bruised collarbone - injuries from a ride I had taken weeks earlier in Utah. I had trouble opening and closing my swollen hands - they were most comfortable in a clawlike position, a result of holding onto grips all day long. It would take about 15 minutes of exercise in the morning to get to the point where they were useful.

I had developed large blisters on my palms as well as a gash on my right butt cheek that had been rubbed completely raw. I did my best with Vaseline, Neosporin and moleskin to repair the damage. I suffered from any number of bruises and pains, randomly distributed across my 36 year old frame. In short, I am seriously banged up.

Day 6 was just shy of 300 miles, the longest day of the trip. I’d consider 300 miles to be a good day on highways so when you think about doing it in Baja, in those conditions, it’s really something. I begun the day with trepidation, but had managed 800 miles and felt reasonably prepared for the day ahead.

The first section was indescribably beautiful. We followed dirt roads that hugged a mountain for 30 miles. The views were incredible.

Amidst the beauty is a great deal of danger. This particular road had incredibly sharp turns and drop-offs of hundreds of feet. I rode this section very slowly and carefully. I couldn’t help thinking about the Baja 1000 race as this had been a section of the 2007 course. I hard trouble imagining doing it at speed, at night, amongst cars - it really gave me pause.

This road eventually lead to a small town, lined with pristine cobblestone streets and home of the Mission de San Francisco Javier Vigge Bigundo. It was founded in 1699 and the structure was built from 1744 to 1758. On December 2nd each year, thousands of pilgrims flock from all over Mexico to this special place.

The next 70 miles were fast and fun. A sandy road with gravel here and there, big straightaways and wide sweeping turns. This section had tons of water crossings which helped cool you down and added variety. We were criss-crossing rancher’s land so every now and then you’d make it past a home where cattle gathered for water and food. As soon as you saw any sign of civilization, you immediately downshift and stand - looking for cows or donkeys which would invariably be around the next corner.

We would ride staggered in groups so it wasn’t uncommon to be riding alone for an hour or more - you find a natural cadence and really get into it. We’d stop every 30 miles or so to catch up, check oil, get a drink of water.

We then made it to the highway where we met our supply truck. We fueled the bikes and grabbed a bite to eat. In no time, we were back on the road, riding 60 miles of boring blacktop. We then cut off the highway around 170 miles into the day. We ran across some riders from the Malcom Smith group who told us to be very careful on the section ahead. It was Sunday and a favorite local pastime is boozing and taking 4×4’s out in the desert. Be very alert. Look out for cars.

This section lasted around 40 miles and was incredibly brutal. The road was filled with good sized rocks and portions were completely devoid of sand, so you’d come over a hill and be riding across what amounted to chewed up concrete. It was also mentally tough because you wouldn’t see any other riders - I felt very isolated, facing an endless desert ahead.

I was doing my best to keep a decent pace, probably riding around 25-30mph when I struck a small boulder. In a millisecond, I was catapulted off the road, narrowly passing between two large boulders - this is all happening very fast. Another boulder was directly in my path so I cut the steering hard left to get back on the road. The only problem was a large cactus directly in my path. I hit it dead on, causing it to explode into a million barbs. Many found purchase in my right arm. In another millisecond, I was back on the road and stopped. To be completely honest - I was incredibly freaked out at this point. I had come really close to eating it in the middle of the desert, alone and under a hundred degree sun. I rested for a minute or two and thought the best thing was not to overthink what had happened, but to immediately keep going. I desperately wanted to get through this section as it was getting the better of me.

I got the bike up into 3rd gear and everything felt wrong. It seemed like things weren’t clicking. I shifted into second and didn’t feel any better. I tried first, more of the same. I felt that I was starting to lose it, so I sped up into third and decided to grin and bear it. When I caught up with my group about 10 miles later, they pointed out that I had a flat. I had been riding on my rim. In my adrenalin-fueled freak out, I hadn’t even noticed.

We swapped my tire and another for our guide, George. They also helped pull the cactus spines out of my right arm. At this point, I have ridden about 200 miles and am really starting to feel it. We have 100 miles left and are almost to the silt, an infamous section of Baja. Oh dear god.

We hit the silt about 20 miles later. Silt has the consistency of talcum powder - it is incredibly fine. If you hit a patch of silt at speed, your bike will immediately slow down, likely throwing you from your mount. You need to approach with caution and once you are in it, keep the bike in 2nd gear and hammer the throttle. You won’t be able to see anything as you are encased in a fine mist - you really just point the bike in a direction of your choosing and hope for the best. If that isn’t bad enough, these sections aren’t on level ground - they are on windy uphills and downhills. It is the devil himself.

I was pretty burnt out at this point and had a lot of difficulty. I dropped my bike at least 5 times. Picking up a bike over and over is very tiring, especially in this stuff. People say that every time you pick up a bike it adds 20 miles to your day. I’m not sure if that’s right, but I was completely exhausted. One of the guides, Pepe, helped me get the bike into the desert, off the silt - and we navigated a course around it. It was the only way I could get through.

I have now reached a point where I have gone far past my physical limits. I have to lay against the bike while I’m riding - I’m too tired to keep myself upright. It’s scary because you know you shouldn’t be riding, but there are really no options. Keep moving as fast as you can.

I’m riding along at 35mph and about to cross a wash, basically a dried out riverbed. As I’m coming down a small hill to cross it, I catch something out of my right eye in the periphery. It appears to be a truck and I’m going to hit it. I immediately locked both brakes, but you just slide in the sand - your speed doesn’t decrease fast enough. I made a decision at that point to bail from the bike. I simply jumped off. The bike went to the right and I ended up lying on the ground, looking straight ahead. I then saw the tires of a speeding black Cherokee jeep pass directly in front of my eyes, less than a foot away. That one second lasted forever.

I realized that I had come pretty close to cashing out, right then, right there. I knew there were other riders behind me so I crawled off the road to avoid getting hit. I pulled myself up onto a log and completely broke down. I was physically and emotionally gone. I have never felt this way before - there was nothing left inside me. I would never wish that feeling upon anyone.

A guide had been riding just behind me and saw the whole thing go down. He never even saw the truck until it blew by me as I laid in the road. The driver stopped - he was coming from a fishing camp just down the coast. He was as freaked out as I was. I couldn’t even speak to him. I couldn’t speak to anyone. I just sat there.

After 5 minutes, I drank a little water and took inventory. I had to ride at least 30 more off-road miles until we met the truck. We then had 30 miles of blacktop to La Paz. I had no choice, but to continue on. I got back on the bike and got it done. The only way I could get through it was to tell myself that I would never have to come back here and race the Baja 1000. At that moment - the thought of it was simply too much.

I didn’t drive fast, but I got it done. This picture was taken about 15 minutes after the near miss, when I met up with the group and where we recounted what had happened. I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to enjoy the view, listen to the waves, be far away. Pepe told the story. Thanks Pepe.

I made it to the truck. And then I rode the highway miles into town. I wasn’t going to put my bike on the truck. Baja may have won that day, but I would ride every single mile to Cabo - I would not let Baja beat me.

La Paz is a lovely town, but I’m far too exhausted to go on - this has been a long post and one that I have dreaded writing. I hope it doesn’t dissuade anyone from going down there and experiencing it for themselves. This could have happened anywhere. When it’s your time, it’s your time. And I may just be crazy enough to go down there next year and do that race. If I do and can get that done, it would be the greatest accomplishment of my life. I have no doubt.

Stay tuned for the final installment…

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I was down in Baja doing a 1,230 mile training run from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas, and quickly came to terms with how brutal the terrain is on both yourself and your motorcycle. One minute you are blazing along and the next minute you’re changing a flat in the middle of nowhere under a 100 degree sun.

It takes about 30 minutes to change a front tube and about 45 minutes to change a rear one, and that is by someone who really knows their stuff. The Baja 1000 is a timed race where the possibility of not finishing is quite real. In fact, only about 35% of teams finish the race each year. Each second is precious so you want to avoid flats at all costs.

One thing I heard repeatedly in Baja was that you should run a Michelin Bib Mousse on your front tire and a heavy duty tube on your rear tire. I would nod in accordance all the time thinking to myself, what the hell does a Bull Moose have to do with any of this?

Once I got the spelling right, I found out that it’s “a foam insert that can replace conventional inner tubes in off road motorcycle tires. It is a ring of butyl honeycomb foam with its cells filled with nitrogen. It has a smooth-molded outer skin that is designed to slip into specific size off-road motorcycle tire. Bib-Mousse have a considerable advantage over normal inner-tubes, as they do not and cannot be punctured or burst.”

I have never ridden on this type of tube, but was told that it rides differently than a regular tube. It feels heavier and carries more momentum which can take some getting used to, especially as you come into corners. I have seen some disclaimers that it shouldn’t be ridden on hard surfaces for more than 20 miles at high speed which presents a bit of a dilemma since the Baja 1000 contains longer sections of pavement that connect parts of the course. I guess you grin and bear it. Certainly beats a flat…

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Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do and, I guess, this is one of those times for our beloved admin, erstwhile coach, training partner extraordinaire and certified master of the grill Jeff. He’s packed up the shop, loaded what’s important and is redeploying to the left coast in search of fortune, adventure and cracked crab. As we all navigate the fog caused by last night’s sayonara wumpus, I’d just like to pause for the cause and give a hearty HUZZAH to our partner in crime.

Fare thee well sir. You’ll be sorely missed but we’ve every confidence you’ll quickly get to holdin’ it down out there and swelling the ranks of the Dukes West Coast Chapter. Write when you get work and we’ll come inspect your beachhead.

Vaya con dios y un gato en tu pantalones Amigo.
-mismanagement

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I just got back from a 1,230 mile off-road motorcycle trip from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas. It was a training run to prepare for the Baja 1000. Here’s part five of the story…

DAY 5

I’d wake up in Baja every morning and think about the day ahead, having peppered our guides with questions about the course the night before. I’d think to myself, “I’ve made it through some pretty hairy stuff, I doubt I’ll see anything today that isn’t at least familiar”. This was important because different terrain requires different riding styles. My biggest fear wasn’t getting hurt, it was that I’d encounter something that I couldn’t get through. By this time, I had three solid days of riding behind me and was feeling more comfortable, but I was really starting to feel the miles. I was taking 800mg of Ibuprofren every morning and every night, and had to use pliers to get my boots off because my fingers lacked the strength. I am halfway through the trip.

Day 5 started out like any other day, 5:30 wake-up call and on the road by 7. It was pretty standard fare at first, gravel roads that would tolerate high speeds.

This gave way to incredibly long stretches of straight road that seemingly went to the end of the earth. I was on a rare section of blacktop in top gear, really hammering the throttle. I couldn’t tell what was going on ahead, but it seemed like something was obstructing the road. As it turned out, the road was out and there was a short detour. It was no big deal, but I couldn’t help think about that same situation at night. Running at 90 or 100mph, that type of hazard could really ruin your day.

The terrain became a lot more sandy which was usually an indication we’re getting close to water. That was true, but what we encountered was a dried lake bed. I can’t remember the name off the top of my head, but it’s a famous part of Baja - reminds me of the Bonneville Salt Flats. Perfectly smooth, hard packed sand. We were all kids in a candy shop. You could drive balls out with no fear. A few guys were expert at riding wheelies and I have some amazing video of them going around 60mph. Will post. Incredibly fun stuff. A lot of these flat sections would be connected by deep sandy areas so you were constantly switching your riding position, but it was easy enough and satisfying. The day was really flying by and lunch was just ahead.

We stopped at San Juanico (a/k/a Scorpion Bay) to get gas at a makeshift station. This was typical of these remote areas.

And then I saw Scorpion Bay. The “town” if you can call it that, sits atop a bluff looking down at amazing surf break. One was literally the best place to learn to surf in the world. 3 foot tall waves, perfectly spaced that you could ride for 5 minutes straight. You could even walk to the break! Are you kidding me?

Just down the beach was a bigger break so it literally had something for everyone. Truly a magical place. We grabbed Shrimp burritos at the local restaurant and had an hour to relax, catch some rays. If I hadn’t been wearing so much gear, I would have stripped down and jumped in the water, but was content to find a patch of terra firma and let my mind wander.

The best day ever, but Baja has a way of flipping the script. We were crossing the Continental Divide later that day so I expected some pretty rocky technical riding and Baja delivered. It started off on nasty, rocky roads with sharp turns and steep drop offs. It was really brutal stuff. It was here that we encountered our most serious bike issue. George, one of the guides, looked down to see oil pouring out of the side of his bike. One of the gas tank mounts that was welded to the frame had broken off. It left a hole in the frame that also served as the oil reservoir. Big problem.

We took the whole bike apart and left with few options, patched it up with some JB weld and duct tape. We had a quart of oil on us so that and the duct tape had to hold for 70 miles, and hold it did. Amazing.

We then hit the most technical section of the course. I don’t have any pictures because when you’re in this stuff, you’re just trying to get through it. You’re not dicking around, snapping pics. The worst sections were little more than a field of boulders. I was having trouble imaging how a car could ever get through it and then encountered a truck doing just that. Wow. I’d guess it took me about 2 hours to get through 15 or 20 miles of it. Towards the end, I felt pretty comfortable, but was completely exhausted. Just another lesson courtesy of Baja.

With the hard part behind us, we blazed into Loreto which is an amzing border town.

After a quick dip in the pool and a few beers, I could start worrying about Day 6 which was the longest and most difficult day of the whole trip.

Read Part Six 

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I took a spill while riding offroad in Utah and landed squarely on my right shoulder. I was wearing a typical set-up, roost deflector and elbow guards, which offered no protection. I separated my shoulder and bruised my collarbone in that spill. I’m not sure if body armor would have prevented that injury, but I immediately purchased a Thor Impact suit which offers a great deal more protection in one reasonably priced, convenient package.

I wore this rig while riding 1,230 miles from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas and wanted to share my thoughts. First of all, $140 is not a lot of money for shoulder, elbow, forearm and back protection, not to mention an integrated kidney belt. The price is definitely right. The various components are connected by a fine mesh undersuit so it’s easy to keep track of everything and put on. I was concerned that the suit would be hot, but I never felt uncomfortable riding with it on, even in 100 degree desert heat. I took quite a few spills during that trip and the suit did a fantastic job of protecting my upper body. During one particularly hectic moment, I came off the course and blew through a cactus going 30mph. I don’t know if you have ever driven through a cactus on a motorcycle, but they explode. No shit. This one sent spines that completely covered my right arm. If I had just been wearing a jersey and elbow guards, I would have been in a lot of pain - the Thor Impact suit bore the brunt and really saved the day.

Now for the cons. I wear a Leatt Neck Brace which wants to be underneath any chest protection.That’s not really possible using the Thor Impact Suit - it needs to be on the inside. I’m not sure if this negates the utility of a Leatt neck brace, but definitely made me wonder. As well, it comes with an integrated, removable kidney belt. The problem is that the belt zips in on both sides. When you tighten the belt, it puts pressure on those zippers which slowly come undone. After 20 miles, one or both sides of the belt will come unattached and ball up in your jersey. It’s incredibly annoying and renders the belt completely useless. If you do pick one of these up, zip the belt out and throw it away. Buy yourself a regular kidney belt that wraps all the way around your body, affixes with velcro.

In all, I heartily recommend the Thor Impact suit. It’s a great value and works well. Just be careful if you use a Leatt neck brace and make sure you buy a kidney belt if you’re going to ride long, or ride whoops.

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I just got back from a 1,230 mile off-road motorcycle trip from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas. It was a training run to prepare for the Baja 1000. Here’s part four of the story…

DAY 4

We left Bahia De Los Angeles before 7:00AM, standard operating procedure most days.

There were a lot of riders (~80) staying in the same town, taking part in a Malcom Smith Charity Ride. We tried to get the jump on them, but ended up riding with them most of the day. At one of our first stops, I saw a bike with a 1x number on it. I was naturally curious and as it turned out, it was Malcom Smith himself. Our paths crossed many times over the course of the trip - a real pleasure.

The roads for the first half of the day were pretty rough, but you could travel at a fast clip - I’d guess around 60mph.

The drill was finding a clean line around any particularly large obstacles (rocks) in your path. This was a road where a steering dampner would have been exceedingly useful. It’s fast, but it wears you down and you get a lot of flats. We got 2 of them about 50 miles into the day. The second one was particularly nasty as a portion of the tire had been torn off, exposing the ruptured tube underneath. You don’t carry spare tires, just tubes, so this presented a bit of a challenge. The first step is getting the bike up on a ’stand’ and removing the rear tire. We made a stand out of rocks, something Baja has plenty of…

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