The Baja 1000 was one of the greatest challenges of my racing career, but it did not come without a tremendous price. I could never have even dreamed up all of the sacrifices and hurdles I encountered along that 1047-mile journey until I crossed the checkered flag. This race would take me through the equivalent of two and a half full Grand National Cross Country series seasons within only a three-day period all by myself.
Right from the start everyone had their doubts as to whether this ol' country racer from Georgia could conquer the Baja 1000 solo. I didn't let the negative thoughts affect me; even if they might have been joking, I didn't want it to decide my fate before the race even began. When the race kicked off in Ensenada, Mexico, I kept thinking about this year's first-ever Iron Rider Award to be handed to the rider who completes the Baja solo in the required time. All was going good until I found a softball-sized rock buried in the dust. Unfortunately, my left front tire discovered it right away. I thought to myself, "Wow, that's gonna hurt" as it tore a huge hole in the tire sidewall, leaving me with three tires to get to the first tire change. And by the way, that first tire pit was almost 80 miles away near the Bay of Los Angeles.
Along the track in Baja, course markers are far and few, and there aren't very many people to make sure you get the turns right. This surely added to my early frustrations. When I pulled into my fuel stop I was told I had a right rear flat; I'd never even noticed it. I guess with the front left down, the flat right rear helped pull my quad back straight and really helped the handling. With my mind focused on finishing this race, I was determined to make the bike last.
In the endless and painful deserted desert, miles just kept slowly ticking away. At times, I just wanted to give in and let Baja have its glory, but after thinking about what it cost me to get here, I just pressed on. My hands were growing sore, and my fingers had begun to tingle a bit. People say that in the dark night of Baja the quiet is so quiet that you can hear yourself think. And when you're alone in a place possibly hundreds of miles from anyone, much less someone you might know, you do begin to second-guess every move. Around the 600-mile marker, I faced a section of water that seemed to go forever. I didn't want to stop because I didn't know what was in that water. There were a few racers sitting alongside the deepest crossing, and I decided to wait and see how the truck behind me would make it. Luckily, it was only two or three feet deep and about 30 feet across. But that wasn't the largest crossing; the next one was. That one was at least 50-75 feet across. I narrowly made it and only because of some helpful racers who were already stuck or broke themselves who flagged me around it.
Getting into the trails in Baja could be extremely tough at times, as I found out, along with just how competitive some drivers are. I had the majority of the property under my quad on a section of trail when one impatient driver decided to take it-by pushing me up and out of the way. He could have ended my race or my life! Yes, you guessed it: This race isn't always pretty. Luckily, I survived and powered on.