So what does it take to tackle the Baja 1000?
Basically, you figure out what might go wrong and build your machine to overcome potential problems.
Essentially, the liabilities can be summarized as: hideous terrain, purpose-built booby traps, absolute darkness at night, severe dust, dense fog, and distance with high speeds. Let's not forget isolation, testosterone, adrenaline, clueless spectators, mindless livestock, and scarce medical facilities. Mix it all up in a Third World country and you've got the most dangerous race in the world-the Baja 1000.
To combat these problems and to ensure our race effort wasn't wasted, we had a rollcage, five-point harnesses, a fuel cell, HID lighting, VHF radio, a GPS unit-and last but not least, an effective team of experienced crew members. Quick thinkers and mechanical-minded individuals can always improve your chances of victory.
One more thing-the final uncontrollable factor: luck. You can have all the money and experience in the world, but if you're out of luck during the race period, you're wasting your time.
-
Dust to Glory, now in theaters, was the inspiration for this truck's graphic treatment. It
-
Darkness engulfs everything; Kroeker slips out for a moment to snap a picture as I remove
-
One of our factory-backed competitors, Bob Graham was to start just 30 seconds behind us i
In San Ignacio, during our second pit, I was relieved of navigation duties by pro Baja racer, and former Navy SEAL, Rod Hamby. By this point I had been awake for almost 20 hours. For 14 hours I had served as navigator and radio operator, risking my life as we passed cars in the darkness, skirting 200-foot cliffs dropping to the Sea of Cortez. After 550 miles of intense mental concentration and punishing physical abuse, I was hungry, dehydrated, and worn out. As Hamby took the right seat, Kroeker asked if I wanted to continue on in the center rear seat, to operate the radio and help clear turns. "You bet!" I said, "This is the Baja 1000! I don't care how bad it hurts!" Kroeker said, "OK, now it's official-you're gnarly! Get in!"
Leaving San Ignacio, I was impressed by the calm, almost nonchalant tone that Kroeker and Hamby established in the cockpit. While passing race cars in the dust at breakneck speeds they talked to each other as if they were having coffee at Starbuck's-just another day in the office for them. I started calling Hamby "The Human GPS" because he knew more shortcuts, course subtleties, and terrain features than were found on the moving map display.
About an hour before sunrise, under full throttle down a dark, lonely road, Kroeker suddenly pitched the truck sideways, rolled up over an embankment, then got us back on course, narrowly missing a yard-deep ditch that the locals had dug across the course. "That would have been a bad finish for us," Kroeker said, "The entire axle would have been torn off-hero to zero in one second."
By the time we had arrived at pit 3 in Insurgentes, we were well established in Second place, running strong behind Chad Hall in his factory-sponsored H1 Hummer. He was only 20 minutes ahead of us, and we were gaining fast.
That's when the whoops got really deep. Unfortunately, our efforts to preserve our truck were no match for Hall's high-dollar H1.