First Annual Y.B.D.B. Baja Kamikaze Fun Run We've been itchin' to get outta Dodge (make than San Diego) for points south since the last Manx Club trip to Baja in November 1998. The opportunity finally came on the first day of spring. We had been encumbered at work by those responsibilities that you just can't hide from for longer than we could stand. At last we threw together our camping gear and headed south. The plan was to drive our buggies from San Diego to Bahia de Los Angeles (on the Sea of Cortez side of Baja California) by driving entirely on dirt roads. The trick was that we had only four days to travel over 1000 miles, and over half of it was on the "Road to Hell" south of San Felipe. This was a membership drive and our extensive recruiting efforts netted Peter Smiley (Bruce Meyers' nephew) as a possible victim of our unmentionable hazing ritual. Peter's gold metal-flake Meyers Manx-2 buggy was close enough to yellow gold to qualify as a member of the exclusive "yellow only" Y.B.D.B. off-road club (pronounced "Yibby-Dibby"). This brought the number of vehicles participating in the adventure up to a grand total of three. We had three Young Bucks Drivin Baja - Bruce Lightner, Peter Smiley, and myself (the wives either chickened out, had better judgment, or left town). We did take a token female along for the ride (i.e. Peter's dog Camper) who loves to travel in the buggies. Camper did not complain once, except for that embarrassing encounter at Coco's Corner just north of L.A. Bay. We blasted off on Friday morning at 6 AM and met in Kearny Mesa for last minute supplies. That's the last time I am accepting a "Trust Me" and agreeing to store drinking water in thin plastic containers in my car! We immediately headed for Tecate and crossed the border into Mexico after gassing up and buying the prerequisite auto insurance. We planned to hit the dirt at El Hongo and head down to Rancho Veronica, but we missed the turn and decided to take the "long cut" through Laguna Hansen. This route took us up into the pine forests of the Sierra de Juarez mountains and into what is some of the most beautiful scenery in Baja California...for tree huggers anyway. The lake at Laguna Hansen was so full that our favorite picnic spot was under several feet of water. It seems that El Nino had filled the lake to the brim, and also provided many water obstacles along the road. Some of the pot holes had turned into lakes that caused us to zig and zag - sometimes avoiding the water, sometimes avoiding the trees. We ran into a couple of guys on motorcycles who were scouting a trip for their own club. We made their day since we carry ice and beer, and they just carry extra fuel! After a terrific lunch of crackers, cheese, oysters, pesto and kippers we headed south again towards Highway 3 (the paved route between Ensenada and San Felipe). We crossed Highway 3 hoping to gas up in Ejido de Los Heroes de la Independencia, but alas - no gas. This caused us to head south-east (on the dreaded pavement) to Valle de Trinidad in search of the flammable elixir, but alas - no gas in town. We were about to be consumed by the dreaded Baja Catch 22: Continue on hoping for gas, then wait until the Pemex truck arrives, or go back on the promise of gas...and possibly wait their for the fuel truck. We asked around town for any hint of a fuel supply and were teased into continuing south. "It's just a little father south" was the line that we got. We feared the worst now because we knew the Mexican way is to always give a favorable answer! Nevertheless, we headed south on fumes. Just past the turn-off to Mike's Sky Ranch we found the supplier we needed. It was just a hole in the wall, but it was filled with gas. We gassed up with some of Baja's finest and then pinged on down the road until we could cut south towards San Felipe (off the pavement) across the Laguna Diablo "dry lake". On dirt again, our spirits were up, and so was our speed. The "dry lake" was full of mud so we skirted around its northeast edge on an excellent graded road. We were having a great time - doing 50 mph and just touching the top of the washboard. It was then that I saw the first signs of disaster. "Who?", I thought to myself would put a "Danger - Wrong Way" sign in the middle of the desert on a one lane dirt road. Then it hit me. This was the day before the San Felipe 250 off-road race. I immediately got on the radio warned Bruce, who was typically out of sight and in the lead. I told him that we were going the wrong way an the race course and that some racers might be pre-running the course. It was no more than 20 seconds later that Bruce careened off the road to avoid a high powered Class 1 buggy that was coming head-on at 100+ mph. He warned the other two of us to do the same and we watched the race car zoom by in a cloud of dust. Just when we thought that we had enough excitement, the same thing happened three more times before we finally worked our way through the next day's race course. We got into San Felipe around dusk, traversing only 100 yards of pavement before entering the dirt driveway of Pete's El Paraiso campground (a.k.a. Pete's Camp). We had not planned on sharing the campground with hundreds of noisy off-road racers, pit crews, race fans, and students on spring break. The place was a zoo. We knew that Jim Guthrie (another Manx Club member) was staying just north at the El Dorado Ranch beach camp so we drove up the beach in search of a camping place. Jim was expecting our arrival and treated us to steamed clams and a rolled taco dinner that was just wonderful. We spent a quiet night in our tents at Jim's campsite. Thanks Jim! In the morning we got up early and followed Jim and a group of his friends into the desert south of San Felipe to find a spot to watch the start of the Baja 250 race. We watched the trophy trucks blast by followed by the Class 1 buggies while being entertained by chase helicopters and spectators driving on the course and dodging race cars. My engine had blown an exhaust gasket, so before continuing south we headed into town to pick up a replacement and replenish our fuel supply. After replacing the exhast gasket, we took off for Puertecitos and points south along one of the worst roads in Baja. The stretch of so called pavement from San Felipe to Puertecitos is in horrible bad shape. The hurricane last year, and El Nino this year, has made such a mess of the once paved road that it will take a long, long time for the Mexicans to repair it. Car-sized pot holes are everywhere and are difficult to see at the speeds we were running. This stretch also has the most "vados per kilometer" anywhere in Baja, and we were soon doing the "Vado Crunch". A vado Mexican term for a dip in the road prone to wash out. The good vados have concrete bottoms. In the bad ones the pavement is simply missing. When the drop-off into the vado is deep enough, your car goes "crunch" as you hit bottom. South of Puertecitos we got back on the dirt. This road differed from the pavement in that we could no longer see the other side of the pot hole. We were just getting the hang of it when dirt turned into rocks and we were on the "Road to Hell". We kept our speed up and managed to miss the sharp rocks that look like knives sticking up out of the ground. On a similar trip through this area two years earlier we managed to shred a few tires before reaching Gonzaga Bay. We knew we were making good time when we pulled into Gonzaga Bay around noon. Our previous trip through here from San Felipe had us arriving in the dark. We filled our tanks at the Gonzaga Bay Airport and immediately took off. The quality of gas, however, made me very happy that I was not in an airplane. The pings per gallon had increased substantially and my top speed dropped towards 50. I was disappointed until I realized it was my birthday! I was in Baja, doing 50 mph in the dirt, and I just turned 50 years old. It could not get any better than this! Our next destination was Coco's Corner. What a wonderful spot in the middle of nowhere! Coco's Corner is a mirage to the weary traveler. A silver haired old man who speaks several languages manages to produce cold drinks and beer from a trailer that can't possibly have any source of power for refrigeration. In front of his trailer he has built a patio with cool shade and picnic tables. The entire yard is decorated with aluminum cans that have been cut into shapes that spin and clatter in the breeze. It was here that Camper the Dog's unfortunate incident occurred. It seems that Camper has led a sheltered life. At home the cats in Camper's life are friendly. So, upon entering the picnic area Camper spots a little gray cat sleeping on the table and approaches to take a friendly sniff. The proprietor immediately warns that "my kitty no like your dog" and Peter replies that Camper "won't hurt the cat". The proprietor becomes more insistent and reiterates "my kitty really no like your dog" and Peter continues to ignore the warning. At that point the cat emits howl and explodes in a screeching ball of fur preceded by four feet full of slashing claws. Camper is shocked at this point and begins yelping and running around the patio with the cat howling and hissing close behind. Camper finally clears the gate and runs for car where she jumps in an cowers for the rest of our stay. The proprietor the says "maybe your dog like my kitty, but my kitty no like your dog." Apparently this "kitty" chases coyotes off the property at night. From Coco's Corner we dove through Calamajue Canyon and visited the Calamajue Mission ruins. A stream runs through the canyon and its bed forms most of the road. The stream provides a refreshing alternative to the many miles of dry dusty desert. The walls of the canyon are enchanting due to the heavy copper deposits in the rocks. South of Calamajue we entered the home of the bojum tree. The bojum is a tree that grows to over 40 tall but has no branches. The leaves of the bojum grow directly on the trunk of the tree. El Nino provided us with another surprise here. The additional rainfall had covered the desert floor with a carpet of beautiful wildflowers. The flowers were tall and at times as high as the tops of the buggies. We pulled into L.A. Bay around dusk and made our way to Peter's favorite cantina. We ordered the Grande Margaritas and shrimp cooked in garlic sauce. I will never forget this birthday! In the morning we met students from the University of California at San Diego (UCSD - alma mater of Bruce Lightner and myself) as well as a group of students from Northern California (U.C. Davis) who were just setting out on a two-week long kayak trip around the many miles of L.A. Bay. After breakfast in the cantina, we reluctantly headed north on the return leg of our journey. As we made our way back to San Felipe, the "Road to Hell" finally began to take its toll. Bruce Lightner's car had shown a few stress cracks on the way down and now began to disintegrate a piece at a time. First to go were the front turn signals. They were mounted on top of the front fenders and had been hit by the tires so many times that they finally were ejected into the desert. Then the steel rear bumper started to crack. The tube steel roof rack had broken loose earlier and caused his heavy cooler to be re-positioned to the interior of Bruce's car. Now the weight of the rack and the camp gear in the rear of the car caused the fiberglass to crack in front of the rear fender. Crashing into one to many vados on the return trip caused Bruce's skid plate mount to give way. The skid plate had a perfect impression of the bottom of Bruce's engine and oil was beginning to trickle down to the ground. As we tied Bruce's skid plate up with some rope we noticed Peter arriving slowly. Apparently Peter's transmission mounts succumbed to the continual beating. Peter learned that Bruce and I had solid front and rear transmission mounts and are (hopefully) immune to this sort of failure. Our dust covered band limped back into San Felipe just before before sundown. We had most of Pete's camp to ourselves this time as the racers had headed back home earlier that day. The next morning we decided that the better part of valor was to take the pavement home via Mexicali. I don't think that Bruce or Peter would have survived one more pot hole.