51st SCORE Baja 1000
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
In the interest of saving time, I'll fast forward through our week of pre-running. I got to Mexico Saturday November 3, and we began our circumnavigation of the course Sunday morning. Just like for the 500, we pulled 100-200 mile days and stayed wherever we ended up, all the way around until we were back in town. Timie acted as my trail buddy, and Martin chased us with my truck. I was making pretty decent time and feeling comfortable with the course. My good friend David has been letting me use (and abuse) his 450x as my prerunner all year, and it continued to do great all week. These bikes are made for down here. I knew the areas that would slow me down, where I would just try to ride smart and stay smooth. I also had a guesstimate of where the trucks would catch me, and where I would be starting my overnighter in the desert. We made stops in all the right places and ran into all the right characters. Tacos in Valley T, a night at Rita's, lobster and Baja family at Mama Espinozas, rode with Nancy Rutherford to La Lobera, my pal Mike Garvin joined me from El Rosario to Rancho Parra, lent goggles to Brendan Gaughan in Catavina, finally met Cameron Steele in Colonet, more Baja family at Acambaro, and got a rear flat (after almost 1000 miles) on my last day of prerunning on the road up to Coco's, thanks to none other than a hefty railroad spike. Catavina also swallowed my cell phone, but I guess that's better than a passport, so all in all, a peachy week. Monday through Thursday before the race we organized the van, divvied up chase supplies, prepped race meals and beverages, and after the rest of the 722X crew showed up, we finalized logistics. Special thank you to Erick at Septien’s shop Moto Garage 730 for putting some key finishing touches on my race bike as well. I was so fortunate to be graced by the presence of Jimmy Sones (instigated by my friend and chase crew member Mike Stebles); For those who don’t know, Jimmy is a legendary trailblazer with close to 50 years of Baja riding experience, is more than knowledgeable about the entire area, and,oh yea, has raced the Baja 1000 24 times already (one of which he Ironman’d), so he knows what he's talking about. In addition to Jimmy and Mike we had Jeff Provost, Ryan Hasbrouck, Patty Blais, and Julie Lee. All class acts. My family arrived Thursday morning, as did two of my closest friends from Reno, Kris and Jamie. Contingency was fun; walked the walk and talked the talk, gave out some more goodies & hugs, and probably the last time I talked to Rat Sult with a clear head.
SHOWTIME
So, oddly enough, I felt pretty calm before what was going to be two of the hardest days of my life. All month, all week, all day Thursday, I waited for the nerves and reality of what I was about to do to kick in and send me on an emotional rollercoaster of fear/excitement/more fear/beastmode/acceptance. There was definitely a few tears shedded leading up to Friday morning, some from stress, but mostly from gratitude. When I'd look around and see all the wonderful people that gathered here for me, realizing how far I've come in such a short time, how lucky I was to be there, to be racing…something so many people only dream about! Something I only dreamt about until this year. All these wonderful people took time out of their own schedules and lives to be a part of my Superbowl…People who I wish I had money to pay for their dedication & hard work! People who were about to stay up the next two days with me, tracking me, feeding me, working on my bike, talking me through the hard times, putting hundreds of miles on their own vehicles chasing me around the course. It really takes a village to make something like this work, and I had the best one.
The whole team gathered before rider's meeting for a nice dinner at Las Cazuelas. After the meeting I know I needed to get my butt to bed as soon as possible, but I still had a few things to organize before my brain could slow down (it wasn't going to shut off no matter how hard I tried). One of my favorite friends (that happens to be a racer I also look up to), good ol' Ricky Brabec, came down for the race with his dad (Rick Sr) and wasn't letting me go to bed without a brotherly chat. If you told me 5 years ago that Ricky Brabec would be giving me a pep talk before I attempted to solo the Baja 1000, I would have told you you're losing your mind. Life sure has a funny way of going according to plan, doesn't it? I finished getting my vest organized, lights/batteries/sat [satellite] phone charging, gear ready, then ear plugs in and I tried to sleep. Unfortunately there were some neighbors testing their race car until about 11pm (I won’t mention any names, they know who they are :) ) so I probably didn't actually fall asleep until 1130pm or so. My alarm got me up at 0230. It's so hard for me to eat that early, and I knew that was one thing that would take me a few minutes to force myself to do. A yogurt and a banana is all I could stomach, chased by a handful of Hammer Nutrition endurance/electrolyte pills that Mark had graciously picked up for me. I got down to the parking lot, everyone was ready to head out in their respective vehicles, but before we split up, we gathered around in one last team huddle. We formed a circle, held each other side by side, and Jimmy led us in a pre-race prayer. There is something about watching a warrior like Jimmy tear up, asking for the best guardian angels to ride with me....then to have Jimmy look me in the eyes and say,
"Liz, know that YOU WERE BORN FOR THIS DAY".
I was flooded with emotion, immediately gave him the biggest hug, and we cried together…those words were so powerful and will stick with me for the rest of my life. All the planning, all of the hours of hard work by Greg on the bike, all of the long weeks squeezing in bike prep-between training- between 12 hour shifts (plus lots and lots of overtime)-and between my NHHA season....it all came down to this. I was off in the van with Martin & Timie, Patty & Julie tag teaming to the start & then KM77,and Jimmy, Mike, Jeff, and Ryan would head southeast to start their chasing adventure. I managed to enter the staging area the correct way this time (most may remember my classic grand entrance at the 500), so that was a good start. We lined up, and to keep calm, I just kept saying to myself, "time for a longggg trail ride". Lots of pre-race hugs were reassuring, and just repeating myself..."time for a longgg trail ride". Sometime around 430am I'd meet the green flags, watched the screen countdown, and there I went,mile 1 of 807....
DAWN PATROL
The absence of fog through the hills was pretty nice, but once we got to Ojos it was definitely lingering in a few spots. I was getting through the dust of the passing bikes and quads as best as I could, it always slows me down a little because I refuse to ride fast when I can’t see. About 40 or so miles in, I vaguely made out the stationary flashing red lights of a bike stopped in front of me. I tried to make my way around them to the left, but to the left was also a nice big bush that snuck up on me and got me all squirrely in the surrounding silt....so I went for a dusty swim, broke off my right hand guard, shook the brown powder out of my goggles and kept on moving. The sun would begin to rise in the next few miles, which I always look forward to, but the first few hours are also always the most challenging, often riding directly into the blinding sun. Just like with dust, it slows me down because I refuse to charge when I can’t see, just not worth the risk to me. From hydrating so well I felt the need for my first pee break coming up. I made it to KM77, where I saw Patty & Julie, took off my vest, and snuck off behind a truck. But, as I'm snacking and trading my clear goggles for tinted, Patty confirmed what I was afraid of (and always knew would be something I'd have to change at this race)....popping a squat was taking too long. So, from that moment on, I accepted a new level of race survival...and proceeded to just pee in my pants whenever I had to go. Felt a little weird at first; I've peed in my wetsuit in the ocean before, but besides that, I don't think I've peed on myself since probably 1987? But it got easier the more I did it, almost makes me think that getting old won’t be so bad after all! I was even talented enough to pee through whoops in San Felipe , if you can imagine that. In hindsight, definitely the best thing I could have done and saved approximately 2 hours of stoppage time. Moving forward, I was keeping a pretty good pace (for me) and feeling good. I said hey to Kurt, asked him to come along on my trail ride :), and made my way around section by section. Passed my first downed rider on Mike's Rd, he was ok, but propped up by the fence with what he thought was a broken collar bone. I told the flaggers at the road (they already knew), so onward to miles and miles of whoops!
SAN FLIPPY
Not too much to be said about San Felipe, except it never really gets easier. Well, not for the bikes and quads anyway, I suppose if you’ve got feet of suspension to work with in a truck, car or UTV the whoops are far more manageable. Puertecitos Rd, the dump road, and the thousands of other whoops in between San Matias and where Matomi meets the highway pavement will definitely wake you up. Imagine a non-stop cardio class for about 5 hours straight, all while dodging cactus and camouflaged rocks…good times. My right hand was feeling the whipping effects of a few branches I inadvertently got a little too close too, plus or minus a few cactus needles that I’m always a magnet for. When I got through Matomi and saw Jimmy, Mike, Jeff and Ryan, I was so happy! #1, I was always happy to see my people, you look forward to these moments between stretches of not seeing anyone for hours. #2, they would replace my missing handguard, and #3, I was more than ready for my first real meal since my sad attempt at breakfast, and the sandwhich they had made me was absolutely perfect. Jimmy made a point to gather all the right supplies before the race to make meals with, everything down to the type of cheese, to the type of turkey, to the right grain-count bread. What a guy! While I chowed and chugged my pre-made shakes (an Electrolit-carb powder-chia seed cocktail), the guys looked over the bike, and onward towards Chapala.
RUNNING FROM THE BULLS
After pre-running I estimated the trucks would catch me somewhere near Gonzaga bay. At the rider’s meeting they predicted that the slower bikes could get caught as early as Matomi. When I made it through Matomi before getting caught, I was a little reassured that my pace was still on point for me (I believe I was averaging 30-33 or so up to this point), but I also knew the clock was ticking. I took full advantage of the miles of pavement that afternoon. I was a third of the way done! Little victories people, little victories. And they were about to get even smaller .
I kept gaining ground in the varying terrain leading up to and around Coco’s neck of the woods, the whole time just waiting for the helicopters to start flying by. I even stopped a few times and turned my bike off to look and listen for them and their dust clouds. Nothing. So I just kept riding. When I got to Chapala/RM 380 I couldn’t believe I hadn’t been passed yet. I then found out that there had been some sort of a delay at the start, didn’t know details, but any delay was a blessing and a chance to get that much more ahead of those million dollar bulls I’m trying to run from. The sun was going to set in the next hour, and I was about to enter “the war zone”. I ate, drank, threw on my jacket, switched back to clear goggles, and flipped on my higher-output LED red flasher. Toby Price was pitting directly next to us, waiting to get into the truck. I asked them where the lead truck was, and once I heard they were approximately 80 miles still behind me, I got back on that bike and hustled faster than I did most morning. Every inch I could gain in the next 100 miles, especially before the sun completely set, would be incredible.
THE WAR ZONE
Not even 1 mile in and I was swimming in silt again. Did I do my homework finding lines around it pre-running, yes. Were those same lines there on race day? Of course not. This particular time, I made the rookie mistake of trying to move out of the rut I was in on the left side of the trail directly across to the right. Fail. My bike tipped over and we were both engulfed in our own dust cloud. Thank goodness for spectators standing nearby who quickly helped my get my bike back up. When I stood up, I was knee-deep in silt (I’m 5’10”). Knee deep. And it was just going to get worse. No time to waste, I shook out my goggles, spat the dirt out of my mouth, and kept moving. I tried to make wiser decisions from this incident on, reading the terrain better for plan B moto lines… picking the bike up uses so much more energy, and I had to be very smart with how I spent it. When I got to the dry lake bed I twisted that throttle to the max, it was the fastest I’ve moved since Mike’s road, and you bet I enjoyed every second of it. Sadly this wouldn’t last long, smoothness and speed quickly replaced by miles of slow chunky rocky trail riding with stretches of deep silt in between. But, 390…400….420…still no trucks! I couldn’t believe it, it was almost too good to be true. There were two pretty challenging hill climbs between 400 and 420 that were going to be some of my anticipated weaknesses of the course. By no means anything compared to a technical rocky Hare and Hound climb, I felt comfortable enough with my skills to get up them, but was more so nervous on how I would time them with the trucks. Reason 1 being there was no alternate way to get ahead on course if someone got stuck on it, and reason 2: there was absolutely no where to pull over. I did stall out on the second hill and tipped my bike over, twice….just didn’t carry my momentum well over a particularly ledgy section and gravity won. It took me a few tries to get the bike up….she sure wasn’t getting any lighter…but I did, and 1st gear all the way to the top. Needless to say, when I got through both of those hills I was ecstatic. At this point I was ok being in the dark, and I accepted that the trucks would be catching me any second now. A benefit to the darkness: I could now be on the lookout for lights. Trucks have nice big lights. I rode from vantage point to vantage point and just kept trying to make smart choices for how much further I could ride before stopping to assess the scene again.
Then the moment I was waiting for…roughly around race mile 427, I had been caught. I saw the lights from where I was, and was able to pull over and wait for them to pass. I waited to see if there was another behind them, but silence. I kept going. Another one came minutes later. I figured everyone must be having so much fun in that silt they’re taking their time getting through it. I made it to the Baja Pit at 430, so happy to see people in the middle of nowhere!!! Two other riders were also there taking a break. A truck raced by. That was #3. I took a minute to snack, eat a banana and drink some water. My throat was starting to get pretty sore from breathing in all that dust. I was getting ready to pull back out, but waited, because here came truck #4. Waited, silence, back into the darkness I went. Just a few more miles until I’d see my people again at 480….just a few more miles.
Approximately 5 hours from the last time I saw my fabulous chase crew, there they were again! Boy oh boy was I ready for a real break. My hands were cramped up, fingers numb, my body shivering from the cold and tense from everything I had put it through already, knees and calves aching. As you can tell from pit footage, my fine motor coordination was slowly on a downward spiral. I was having a hard time unbuckling my vest and disconnecting cables. I had prepped some pasta in tupperware containers, and now was definitely the time to have some dinner. So while the guys serviced my bike and swapped wheels, I sat in the toasty truck, ate, and alternated shoving fingers through the vents as I blasted the heat. This would be my first and last wheel change for the race. I always had more than enough spares prepped and ready to go, but the magic combo of KENDA tires & SRT bibs have proven to more than reliable through everything I’ve put them through. The wheels I started with actually still looked great, but we didn’t want to take any chances. This was also when I would change my gear. I’ve now been peeing on myself for about 400+ miles, I could not wait for fresh gear. Only downside was having to change outside, in the cold. Thankfully my new friend Courtney (who had been following me with two of her film crew mates documenting my journey) grabbed a blanket & created the perfect shield for me to change behind. My boots and gear smelled like a homeless shelter, yuck. Sorry Courtney J. I stripped down, took a baby wipe bath, got into fresh underlayers and gear as quickly as possible, sat back in the truck, caught up on some more Pedialyte and snacks, then took care of one last important thing before I could get back on my bike….I took a short walk, snuck behind a big rock, and ta-da! Ready for another couple hundred miles (Sorry if this is TMI for some folks, but this is real life; this is what is bound to happen when you’re out there battling Baja for over 24 hours. Mother nature becomes the out-house. We pee, we poop, we move on). The plan was to see everyone again when the course hit the pavement again at RM 535.
Although this next stretch was “only 55 miles” until meeting back up with Highway 1, it was going to be a rough 55 miles, appropriately dubbed part 2 of the war zone. But what none of us going through it at that point expected, was just how treacherous it had become. You go across the Highway after 480 and dive right away into some chunky whoops. Not particularly awful. The rest….the rest is now a blur. I forget what mile marker I last passed before time seemed to come to a standstill. What most people can’t comprehend, unless you are out there racing, is just how much the terrain changes from what you last remember it being. You can pre-run up until race day, but it never fails, flat roads get rutted out, rocks move, lines go away…and silt takes over like a terrible disease. Survival in the moment becomes the only way to survive. My speed slowed drastically down to 9-10mph for miles and miles. I would look down on my GPS, stay close enough to hit my VCPs, and almost immediately bush-wacked, single-tracked, enduro’d over yucca stumps…whatever it took to avoid that awful brown baby powder. Unfortunately, there were times it was simply unavoidable. Fields of silt appeared seemingly out of no where, no lines around it except right down the middle. From using my legs to paddle through it for so long, I would get the equivalent of a Charlie-Horse on the inside of my thighs as soon as I tried to put my feet back on the pegs. I screamed in pain a few times ( like women do when they’re in labor) mostly to let it out somehow, not like anyone would hear me. Only I could get myself through this. I would periodically get off my bike, stretch, and keep going a few hundred feet at a time. Earlier in the day, Baja Pit to Baja Pit was considered a victory. Here, it was mile marker to mile marker. It was unreal how long it was taking me to gain any distance, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t getting discouraged. And it wasn’t just bikes that would struggle here. I came across a few cars, a UTV, and at least one truck (that I remember) who were all stuck in the silt trying to get out. This was proving to be ten times more difficult to get through than part 1. I found out later that the race ended in these sections for a lot of people. Motors blown, mostly. That silt showed no mercy.
In one attempt to bypass a silt bed, I stayed high in the grass & weaved through cactus. Was going pretty well, until I came across a fat stump of three yucca plants side- by side- by side, right by the trail. It wedged just right underneath my skid plate (of course) , and the leaves jamming up and around my header pipe haulted any forward momentum I had going to get over it. So what happened? Of courseee I lost my balance, bike tipped over to the right, onto the trail, and I stumbled backwards…falling down on top of a cactus. Thankfully the majority of my buttcheeks missed it, but my right hand went straight down into a bed of needles. F********k!!!!! I didn’t know what to tackle first, my upside down bike or the cactus in my hand. Let’s keep this going….of courseeee (perfect timing) a truck was coming. So guess what had to come first….my bike off the trail. I have no idea how those leaves got so wedged in my bike, but I had to do some serious (wo)man-handling in order to get it un-stuck…full on grabbing the wheels one at a time, pulling on them, front-rear-front-rear…until inch by inch, I had it off the stump. At this point, I swear my bike weighs 500lbs. I got it up and off to the side, and while waiting for that truck and one more car to pass, I found my tweezers and got enough out of my hand to be able to hold on to the bike and use the throttle. Time to keep crawling .
Somewhere around mile marker 515 (don’t remember exactly, like I said this stretch is now a blur) I came across a fellow Ironman-er propped up by his elbow, on the ground, “taking a break”. His lights were off, red flashers off, and although off the immediate trail, he was in an area that a truck could easily take a line through. You can see my concern. Plus, it was pretty cold. The nurse in me came out and I did a basic neuro check….What’s your name? Where are you? How many fingers do you see? He seemed ok but was just as much over the silt as any of us. He said he was getting sloppy and falling over a lot, and he recently went down pretty hard, which is why he was taking a break to re-group. I offered him snacks, water….he said he was fine and had both. He promised me he wasn’t injured (although on the ground, he was moving around ok). He pinky swore he was going to keep moving (for the record, I don’t think they use this phrase in Australia much because when I asked him, “pinky swear”? he replied “wait, pinky what? Yes, yes, I’ll keep moving”). Although in my heart I wanted to see him get up and back on the bike, I didn’t have time to sit there and wait until he was ready. I was already in this nightmare stretch long enough. So I did the next best thing, kept riding, and as soon as I saw a pit (I believe it was a Mag 7 pit), I described him, gave them his bike number and mileage I last saw him at. I told them “He promised me he would keep riding, but if he doesn’t get going soon, he’s going to get hypothermic. Someone please make sure he gets up?”, and they radio’d it in and said they had it from there. [UPDATE: I recently caught up with Lloyd, whose race unfortunately ended at RM530, but he did make it out and is back home recovering with minor injuries]
Finally….I saw the promising flashing lights of pits and chase crews in the near distance and I knew I was almost out.
PAIN IS TEMPORARY
It took me 5 hours to go 55 miles. 5 hoursssssss. Insane. I got to the pavement and looked frantically around for the Baja Pit which was supposed to be there, as well as my chase crew. Unbeknownst to me (but not atypical unfortunately), the Baja Pit had moved. But as I was riding passed pits and chase crews I was getting frazzled because all I wanted was to see my people, get gas, and I couldn’t find either of them. I pulled into one pit and asked “where’s Baja Pits?” “Oh It was back there” “What? I didn’t see them back there?!” I couldn’t go backwards on the course so I kept moving up. My bike stopped because it was low on gas, thankfully I flipped it onto the reserve and could keep moving. Next pit “Where’s Baja Pits?” “They’re up the road I think”. I started riding down the road but all I saw ahead was darkness, no lights or signs of a pit up ahead, so I started to get worried and confused. Were they back there or up there?! Where the heck did they move to?! I went back just a few hundred yards and pulled off the side of the road so I collect myself, and could not be any happier to see familiar faces stepping out of a van. It was Larry Janesky’s chase crew (fellow Ironmaner), and my good friends Oscar Hale and Victor Abitia. They asked me what was wrong, and I just started crying… “I need Baja Pits, no idea where they are, I need my people, can’t find them either…all I want is my people. That section was absolute hell!” Bless their hearts; Oscar, Victor, and Javier helped me off the bike, took off my vest, and sat me in the warm van. I was hurting. “We got you, come here”. They asked “Where are they supposed to be [my chase crew]?” I said “The last thing we said to each other was ‘see you where you hit the pavement’”…. “and this is the pavement”. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them”. I asked Javier if he could just check that my lights were still on straight, I wasn’t sure after that man-handling episode off the yucca stumps, so he was all over looking at the bike, making sure everything was still good. Larry’s film crew at the wheel got on the radio and another group went out in their truck to try and locate my chase crew, who were likely wherever that Baja Pit was. While all this was going on, I’m trying to stretch out my arms and hydrate. My fingers were about double their size, my hands cramped up from riding for so long, fingers numb, body tense and shivering, and my throat felt like I was swallowing razor blades. My uvula (little ‘hangy ball’ in the back of your throat in non-medical terms) had also started to swell, which made it feel like I awkwardly had something stuck back there. As if I wasn’t on the struggle bus enough, I had developed a huge knot under my left shoulder blade that felt like a broken rib every time I went to move. Victor was a God-send and helped me massage it out as much as he could. It hurt pretty bad. I would try to lie down for a minute, but every move it felt like someone was stabbing me in the back. Then I heard “We found your crew, they’re on their way”. Immediate relief. Not from pain, but I was so happy they were found and knew where I was. Mike came over to me in the van and asked if I was ok. I started crying again, I said “I’m good, I just got so frazzled when I couldn’t see you guys, couldn’t see the pit…I’m just so happy to see you guys!”. He saw how much pain I was in trying to reposition in the van. He started rubbing my forearms to help. “Do you need to get checked out?” “No, I just feel like I have a broken rib, but I don’t have a broken rib….you know?” Mikes face was priceless, it was a healthy mix of concern and ‘this chick is crazy’. I started to explain myself and said “I tipped over good back there, but not hard enough to actually hurt myself, I just think it’s just a crazy knot in my back from being so tense, picking up the bike, hanging on for dear life in the silt, and shivering from the cold….I’ll be ok it just hurts like hell right now”… “Ok, you sure?”…. “Yeah, I just need a minute”. “Ok, hang out in here, we got the bike”. That van was so comfortable. Warmth felt so good. I wanted to lay down so bad, to take a nap. But that wasn’t ever an option, I didn’t have the luxury of time on my side to nap. However, the worst of it was over. I survived the war zone(s). By no means would the remaining 270+ miles be a walk in the park, but it was the beginning of the home stretch.
I needed more layers but I would be ok. Oscar went and got his sweatshirt out of the van, and I threw it on. I wanted to double glove out of desperation to keep my hands warm, the warmers I slid over the tops of my hands only did so much. Mike found some larger moto-gloves that fit perfectly over mine. I also refreshed the hand warmers I carried inside my sports bra. Time to keep moving. This stretch was proving to be a little more forgiving so far. It was also nice to be on some wider trails that doubled as safer passing lanes. After a few miles I had to stop and remove the second layer of gloves. My hands felt nice, but I didn’t feel right riding the bike. So I stopped to shed that top layer and kept going. To no surprise, the silt beds were far from over. It was torture. Every time you think you’ve seen the last of it, boom! More silt. I’d start hitting my handlebars in a mini-tantrum… “are you kidding me?!?!”. So far at least I wasn’t having too bad of an experience with the faster vehicles….so I thought. That changed. It never fails that people neglect to use a proper form of a warning and give others time to move over safely. I think all race I got flashed on the Stella twice, and only about 50% of the others who passed used their sirens. Notice I said passed. As in, not that they are behind me abouttt to pass (only a few actually did that), but rather actively passing me, at race speed, and then hitting their siren. I know it’s never going to be perfect, but I guess I have a hard time understanding what the expectation is of me then? How can you expect me to get out of your way when you hit the siren as you are practically touching my rear fender (which, by the way, is extremely startling), or side by side next to me? There are plenty of witnesses who can vouch for me that if given the chance, I was off the trail in a heartbeat. Fast forward to a pretty tight wash somewhere near El Rosario, and suddenly , there is a UTV coming through. I was over to the far left, riding alongside rockpiles that were approximately stacked 3ft up. I couldn’t exactly move across the trail to the other side as they were moving pretty fast, so I stayed put and desperately looked for an escape route. Before I even had a chance to move up and find a place, they were right next to me, hit the sirens, and proceeded to shove past me (to the right was trees and thick brush, nothing anyone could ride over)….it happened so fast, but for the first time in all my events here, I was hit. Thankfully they just hit the side of my leg, so it stung a little but mostly startled me. I was so happy it didn’t catch my heel and twist my leg around, it could have been so much worse. Didn’t even stop to make sure I was ok, they just kept moving. As upset as I was, it wasn’t going to do me any good to stay upset, so I kept moving.
Mile 570: I was feeling the effects of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. It snuck up on me. It was close to 430 in the morning, and I had been on my bike for 24 hours straight. I would catch myself falling asleep on the bike, shake my head to wake up, and force myself to stand up. Dozing off with rocks buried in the sand was not exactly smart. Sitting down felt so much better…my back was tight, my arms, my knees….everything was so sore. I would sip from my camel back to help soothe my sore throat. Temporary relief at best, as soon as my mouth dried up again it was back to swallowing razor blades. Then my mind began to play tricks on me. Dear God, when was the sun coming up?! For seconds at a time I would space out, then come back. I stopped on several occasions to obsessively look at my GPS thinking I had missed miles of the course, and wasn’t even sure I was on it at times. Everything looked so different in the dark.
DAWN PATROL ROUND 2
Coming into Baja Pit 12, RM 591:hallelujah, dawn!!! I was beginning to lose my voice, could barely swallow now that my Uvula was roughly 4 times its normal size. I took a few minutes to refill my camel back, got gas, snuck behind a truck to do my business, and ate a snack. As much as it hurt to swallow I was able to get a banana and Honey Stinger waffle down…breakfast of champions! Then I saw Larry pull up to the pit. I waved at him, hurt too much to try and talk, and he kept going as I finished my breakfast. Next goal was making it to Pirate’s Cove, where Timie and the others would be waiting. I was pleasantly surprised to find Jeff, Mike, Ryan and Martin waiting on the side of the road in Vincente Guerrero, I saw my sparkly 722X sign and pulled over for a few. Since I just snacked and refilled my water bladder we made this stop short & sweet. Jimmy had warned me about how the upcoming salt flats have a tendency to turn into nasty silt fields, so to be on the lookout. “I should be ok, this next stretch was pretty mellow and fast pre-running”. Famous last words.
COASTING
Well, sure enough, Jimmy was right. This is the section I preran with Mike Garvin and we would tease Timie that he left “all the fun stuff for Mike”. I was soooo looking forward to the hard packed faster course where I could finally sit down and cruise. NOPE. Just like everywhere else, the landscape changed and was now a different course. There was VCPs scattered all over the salt flats, so there was only so much lining-around I could do. Before too long, I was at that beautiful box van surrounded by all my beautiful people. Timie and the guys serviced the bike while I sat and ate. Martin saw that basic functions were becoming difficult, so like a real pal he cut my avocado up into bite-sized pieces. I didn’t feel all that hungry, and my sore throat was really messing up my appetite, but Martin kept laying out food options on the table for me and said “Eat. Now. You gotta eat”….so I ate a few turkey breast slices, and noodle by noodle forced myself to put down another pasta dish. Not sure what time it was at this point, but I remember beginning to stress out saying “Guys, I need to keep moving, I can’t time out, I don’t want to time out”. “Calm down Liz, it’s still early, you have hours to do less than 200 miles”. In my head they were probably right, but I also knew how chewed up the course was all the way to Erendira…and then the hills from Uruapan all the way to Ojos. One thing Ricky scolded me for before the race was approaching a section with a negative attitude. I would talk about how I knew Catavina would be my hardest miles, how nervous I was about getting through the hill climbs…and he’d say “You have to stop thinking about it like that. Focus on what you’re riding in the moment, and when you get there, figure it out then. You’ll do fine”. I tried to maintain a positive attitude, but it was hard; the clock kept ticking and I still had a decent amount of ground to cover. Before I took off, Jimmy came up to me and said “Liz, remember…you’ve got this”.
By this time in the race, an evolving landscape isn’t the only challenging thing about the course. Next: course markers. They are thinning out and practically non-existent for miles in some stretches. I have no clue how anyone can race without a GPS. It should be almost be mandatory to have one, in my opinion. Colonet was one of the areas where you were lucky to see an arrow every so often. I got to an area that I recognized from pre-running; if you stayed on course you went straight into a stretch of silt, if you took the left where the trail split, you hit whoops, but I’ll take whoops over silt any day. There was no VCP to stay straight for, so I went left. I remember this well because Mike had gone straight while I went left, we met back up on the course and he said to me “is there a VCP back there?” “No” “Good, don’t go the way I went, the silt was bad”. But my mind was getting more and more foggy, and about halfway through the whoops I second-guessed myself as to where I was, slowed down to look at my GPS, and panicked. I couldn’t see the course anywhere near where I was. I thought maybe the color of it changed, so I went to the Setup Menu to try and fix it. Still nothing. What the heck? I kept going straight and told myself, “You’ve done this before, the course is coming up”. But I went straight, and suddenly just felt so lost. I pulled off to the side and messed around with my GPS some more. I zoomed out enough to where I saw the course, but one second it was to the Left of me, then it was behind me….what on earth is going on? [I later found out from Jimmy why my GPS was acting this way, classic mishap on my end but again, the sleep deprivation was more than taking a toll on me] So I took the whoops back to where I thought I started, but then couldn’t recognize where I started. Everything looked different and the same all at once. I was riding in circles, screaming, cussing, losing precious minutes….where is the course?!? Then, a miracle….I heard a car. It was coming straight at me. Normally, this would not be ideal as I was apparently facing backwards on course. But given the circumstances, I was ecstatic, because that meant I was on course! I was pulled way over, and signaled at them asking “This way?” When they pointed, it confirmed where I had to go, so I turned my bike around and was back on track. About 2 miles later I saw an arrow, yay! And when I would look at my GPS, I saw the course again. Double yay!
680…700…Acambaro/735. My second to last pit before the finish. The pit where my family and Kris and Jamie were to catch some of the action. I was happy to see them, they all wanted to help so much with something, but I was in major crunch-mode and had to keep it snappy. I could not time out. I came this far. I could NOT time out. We refilled my camel-back, I chugged some Pedialyte, and go go go .
THE HOMESTRETCH
It was a nice change riding these last miles in the daytime, during the 500 it was dark and took me so long to get through. Regardless, was it getting hard to hold onto my bike. I would do anything to just sit and coast, but you can’t. The hills were full of ups and downs and rocks and rain ruts…all things you had to stand for in order to have better control. I was getting weak and sloppy. My form was lazy. Despite several close calls and almost tipping over, I just could not seem to get myself together. Soon enough, it caught up to me. Somewhere around mile 760. There was a hillclimb, slightly silted out and chunky with rocks, but not particularly difficult. I was sitting down. I started up the hill, but started to lose traction. Tires spinning through the silt, I kicked my legs out to try and paddle my way out of it….and I stalled out. With my legs out and right hand practically locked in on the throttle,I started to roll backwards. I got a hold of my front brake and I was able to stop the bike from rolling back any more, but balancing on that hill had just become so, so hard. In slow motion, I tipped over to the right. My reactions were getting so delayed, I succumbed to the weight of the bike and just fell over sideways with it. Damn it. I started tearing up. I went to slide out from under the bike, but my leg was caught between the header pipe and a rock. I then realized the pipe had started to burn a hole in my pants, damnnnn itttt! Thankfully my knee brace was providing a thick layer of protection before it would burn all the way through to my skin, so I had a few seconds. Tried to wiggle out, nothing. That bike weighed a ton and was trapping me. I had almost lost all of my voice, but I yelled. DAMNNNNN ITTTTT!! I cried. I cried a lot. I started punching the ground. I have NOTHING LEFT. I stared at my Stella from the ground and all I saw was the numbers going up. I was 33 hours in…33:01…..33:02…33:03…..Then, the sound of a car coming. DAMN ITTTTTT. I was down on the trail, helpless. And then it hit me. No one was going to get this bike up but me. I had no choice but to keep moving. All of those people who came here to help you….I didn’t come this far to quit. Quitting was not an option. I didn’t come this far to time out. TIMING OUT WAS NOT AN OPTION. I dug down, deeper than I thought I could, and I got my leg out. Then I got the rest of me out and up. That bike felt like it was made of cement, but I squatted down, gave it a good grunt, and pushed it up. I DID NOT COME THIS FAR TO TIME OUT. Got it started, and 1st gear to the top. Just in time to move over and let the car pass me. I was coming home.
Unfortunately, my rear brake pedal took a hit in that last spill; I’d soon learn that on a downhill. I didn’t realize the other problem I had until after, and I was actually pretty lucky that what could of happened, didn’t. I must have hit that rock just right to break the cotter pin securing my foot peg bolt…so the foot peg bolt was being pushed up and was about halfway out by the finish. Not having a rear brake was no bueno….but losing a foot peg too would have been super no bueno. I would alternate between engine braking and my front brake for the remaining 45 miles. Final pit: 773. Last stop before the checkers. I was tired, I was hungry, I was hurting, and I was more than ready for a hot shower. Carlos saw it in my face. “You have 33 miles left Liz, 33 miles. THAT’S IT”. A few minutes after I left, Justin Schuck from the 247X team pulled in to pit. I didn’t really know Justin before then, but I guess he knew of me. Carlos asked him, “Hey, you know Liz?” and he said “Everyone knows Liz!”…Carlos told him “Do me a favor….she’s over this race….catch up to her, and make sure she makes it home?” And he did just that. I was definitely on fumes. My mind continued to play tricks with me...I kept thinking I was going the wrong way on the inbound course and was actually going outbound…but I wasn’t. Every fence line looked so similar, did I just pass this fence? Wait, am I on my way backkkk towards Ojos?? I’d stop, look at my GPS, eventually see an arrow and feel relieved. This is where Justin caught me. He pulled up next to me and said, “Hey, you doing alright?” “Honestly dude, I’m delirious. I keep thinking I’m lost”… “Can you see the course on your GPS?” “Yea” “Are you on course now?” “Yea” “Ok then, lets go”. Not sure what else was said in these last few miles, Justin recently reached out to me and said “Sometime I will tell you about the funny stuff you said out there…LOONY TOONS!”…should be interesting. When we got to the pavement in town, I looked down on my Stella, 34 hours and however many minutes on my bike. We were coming home. When I dropped into wash, all my pain seemed to go away. I was coming home. When I got to the street and heard people screaming, all I could do was smile. I did it. I went through the scoring chute, and saw everyone waiting for me. Tears of joy. It was finally over. I got off my bike. The bike that ran flawless every single race. She was dirty and had a few battle wounds, like me….but she was strong. Best bike I have ever been on. Thanks Greg. Martin and my dad took my vest, and my swollen sausage fingers managed to unbuckle my helmet and get it off. Mike Garvin gifted me with a beautiful bouquet of roses and we hugged. We hugged, we cried, he told me “I am so proud of you, kiddo”. 34 hours and 40 minutes later I was back where I started. I WAS HOME.
No matter who or what you believe in, if you believe in anyone or anything at all…all I know is that guardian angels are real. Kurt, Cody, my aunt Christina, and so many more…They are real, and they rode with me for every inch of every mile for 807 miles. Over 60% of the people who start the Baja 1000 don’t finish. An even smaller percentage would ever be brave (and/or stupid enough) to take on the challenge of racing it solo. I had every possible odd against me from the very beginning of the series. But I did it. My team and I,WE did it. My incredible mechanic who built this outstanding bike, WE did it. Every single person who has been in my corner from day 1…WE did it. Jimmy was right. I was born for this day.
Thank you Abe Hillo for arranging the post-race massage when I could barely move, and even bigger thanks to my sister Sylvia & Jason for rearranging your schedules to help me load up and drive my truck back to Albuquerque when I was in no condition to. I was more than thrilled to get back home to my two fur babies that I missed so very much, and even more thrilled to shred the Living Will I had written prior to leaving.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you to EVERYONE who made this possible:
Monkey Business Products/Monkey Business Workshop/Mark & Denise Winkleman/Greg Sceiford & High Velocity Cycles/The Gomez Brothers/Rev Designs/KENDA/SRT/Performance Diesel/Seat Concepts/Baja Designs/FMF/Warp 9 Rcing/FLY Racing/SIDI/David Bedy & Montano Acura/EmbroidMe Albuquerque/Race Tech/Scotts Performance Products/Honeystinger/GoPro/SPY/Day’s Hamburgers/JR Trotter Excavation/Colorado Recycling/Ogio/ Worthen Memorials/A Home to Envy/Jamie Henry Law/ACERBIS/Baja Pits/Bill Sondermyer & KMR Protection/Kelli Johansen Photography/Red Rock Motorsports/ Moriarty MX/Rich,John,Jordan/Rita Mollica/Mike Stebles/Jimmy Sones/Ryan Hasbrouck/Jeff Provost/Erick Navarro/Oscar Hale/Victor Abitia/Javier Gonzales/Felipe Venegas/Brandon Prieto/Mariel Villegas/anyone else I might be forgetting that helped me and my team out at any point/SCORE International
In the interest of saving time, I'll fast forward through our week of pre-running. I got to Mexico Saturday November 3, and we began our circumnavigation of the course Sunday morning. Just like for the 500, we pulled 100-200 mile days and stayed wherever we ended up, all the way around until we were back in town. Timie acted as my trail buddy, and Martin chased us with my truck. I was making pretty decent time and feeling comfortable with the course. My good friend David has been letting me use (and abuse) his 450x as my prerunner all year, and it continued to do great all week. These bikes are made for down here. I knew the areas that would slow me down, where I would just try to ride smart and stay smooth. I also had a guesstimate of where the trucks would catch me, and where I would be starting my overnighter in the desert. We made stops in all the right places and ran into all the right characters. Tacos in Valley T, a night at Rita's, lobster and Baja family at Mama Espinozas, rode with Nancy Rutherford to La Lobera, my pal Mike Garvin joined me from El Rosario to Rancho Parra, lent goggles to Brendan Gaughan in Catavina, finally met Cameron Steele in Colonet, more Baja family at Acambaro, and got a rear flat (after almost 1000 miles) on my last day of prerunning on the road up to Coco's, thanks to none other than a hefty railroad spike. Catavina also swallowed my cell phone, but I guess that's better than a passport, so all in all, a peachy week. Monday through Thursday before the race we organized the van, divvied up chase supplies, prepped race meals and beverages, and after the rest of the 722X crew showed up, we finalized logistics. Special thank you to Erick at Septien’s shop Moto Garage 730 for putting some key finishing touches on my race bike as well. I was so fortunate to be graced by the presence of Jimmy Sones (instigated by my friend and chase crew member Mike Stebles); For those who don’t know, Jimmy is a legendary trailblazer with close to 50 years of Baja riding experience, is more than knowledgeable about the entire area, and,oh yea, has raced the Baja 1000 24 times already (one of which he Ironman’d), so he knows what he's talking about. In addition to Jimmy and Mike we had Jeff Provost, Ryan Hasbrouck, Patty Blais, and Julie Lee. All class acts. My family arrived Thursday morning, as did two of my closest friends from Reno, Kris and Jamie. Contingency was fun; walked the walk and talked the talk, gave out some more goodies & hugs, and probably the last time I talked to Rat Sult with a clear head.
SHOWTIME
So, oddly enough, I felt pretty calm before what was going to be two of the hardest days of my life. All month, all week, all day Thursday, I waited for the nerves and reality of what I was about to do to kick in and send me on an emotional rollercoaster of fear/excitement/more fear/beastmode/acceptance. There was definitely a few tears shedded leading up to Friday morning, some from stress, but mostly from gratitude. When I'd look around and see all the wonderful people that gathered here for me, realizing how far I've come in such a short time, how lucky I was to be there, to be racing…something so many people only dream about! Something I only dreamt about until this year. All these wonderful people took time out of their own schedules and lives to be a part of my Superbowl…People who I wish I had money to pay for their dedication & hard work! People who were about to stay up the next two days with me, tracking me, feeding me, working on my bike, talking me through the hard times, putting hundreds of miles on their own vehicles chasing me around the course. It really takes a village to make something like this work, and I had the best one.
The whole team gathered before rider's meeting for a nice dinner at Las Cazuelas. After the meeting I know I needed to get my butt to bed as soon as possible, but I still had a few things to organize before my brain could slow down (it wasn't going to shut off no matter how hard I tried). One of my favorite friends (that happens to be a racer I also look up to), good ol' Ricky Brabec, came down for the race with his dad (Rick Sr) and wasn't letting me go to bed without a brotherly chat. If you told me 5 years ago that Ricky Brabec would be giving me a pep talk before I attempted to solo the Baja 1000, I would have told you you're losing your mind. Life sure has a funny way of going according to plan, doesn't it? I finished getting my vest organized, lights/batteries/sat [satellite] phone charging, gear ready, then ear plugs in and I tried to sleep. Unfortunately there were some neighbors testing their race car until about 11pm (I won’t mention any names, they know who they are :) ) so I probably didn't actually fall asleep until 1130pm or so. My alarm got me up at 0230. It's so hard for me to eat that early, and I knew that was one thing that would take me a few minutes to force myself to do. A yogurt and a banana is all I could stomach, chased by a handful of Hammer Nutrition endurance/electrolyte pills that Mark had graciously picked up for me. I got down to the parking lot, everyone was ready to head out in their respective vehicles, but before we split up, we gathered around in one last team huddle. We formed a circle, held each other side by side, and Jimmy led us in a pre-race prayer. There is something about watching a warrior like Jimmy tear up, asking for the best guardian angels to ride with me....then to have Jimmy look me in the eyes and say,
"Liz, know that YOU WERE BORN FOR THIS DAY".
I was flooded with emotion, immediately gave him the biggest hug, and we cried together…those words were so powerful and will stick with me for the rest of my life. All the planning, all of the hours of hard work by Greg on the bike, all of the long weeks squeezing in bike prep-between training- between 12 hour shifts (plus lots and lots of overtime)-and between my NHHA season....it all came down to this. I was off in the van with Martin & Timie, Patty & Julie tag teaming to the start & then KM77,and Jimmy, Mike, Jeff, and Ryan would head southeast to start their chasing adventure. I managed to enter the staging area the correct way this time (most may remember my classic grand entrance at the 500), so that was a good start. We lined up, and to keep calm, I just kept saying to myself, "time for a longggg trail ride". Lots of pre-race hugs were reassuring, and just repeating myself..."time for a longgg trail ride". Sometime around 430am I'd meet the green flags, watched the screen countdown, and there I went,mile 1 of 807....
DAWN PATROL
The absence of fog through the hills was pretty nice, but once we got to Ojos it was definitely lingering in a few spots. I was getting through the dust of the passing bikes and quads as best as I could, it always slows me down a little because I refuse to ride fast when I can’t see. About 40 or so miles in, I vaguely made out the stationary flashing red lights of a bike stopped in front of me. I tried to make my way around them to the left, but to the left was also a nice big bush that snuck up on me and got me all squirrely in the surrounding silt....so I went for a dusty swim, broke off my right hand guard, shook the brown powder out of my goggles and kept on moving. The sun would begin to rise in the next few miles, which I always look forward to, but the first few hours are also always the most challenging, often riding directly into the blinding sun. Just like with dust, it slows me down because I refuse to charge when I can’t see, just not worth the risk to me. From hydrating so well I felt the need for my first pee break coming up. I made it to KM77, where I saw Patty & Julie, took off my vest, and snuck off behind a truck. But, as I'm snacking and trading my clear goggles for tinted, Patty confirmed what I was afraid of (and always knew would be something I'd have to change at this race)....popping a squat was taking too long. So, from that moment on, I accepted a new level of race survival...and proceeded to just pee in my pants whenever I had to go. Felt a little weird at first; I've peed in my wetsuit in the ocean before, but besides that, I don't think I've peed on myself since probably 1987? But it got easier the more I did it, almost makes me think that getting old won’t be so bad after all! I was even talented enough to pee through whoops in San Felipe , if you can imagine that. In hindsight, definitely the best thing I could have done and saved approximately 2 hours of stoppage time. Moving forward, I was keeping a pretty good pace (for me) and feeling good. I said hey to Kurt, asked him to come along on my trail ride :), and made my way around section by section. Passed my first downed rider on Mike's Rd, he was ok, but propped up by the fence with what he thought was a broken collar bone. I told the flaggers at the road (they already knew), so onward to miles and miles of whoops!
SAN FLIPPY
Not too much to be said about San Felipe, except it never really gets easier. Well, not for the bikes and quads anyway, I suppose if you’ve got feet of suspension to work with in a truck, car or UTV the whoops are far more manageable. Puertecitos Rd, the dump road, and the thousands of other whoops in between San Matias and where Matomi meets the highway pavement will definitely wake you up. Imagine a non-stop cardio class for about 5 hours straight, all while dodging cactus and camouflaged rocks…good times. My right hand was feeling the whipping effects of a few branches I inadvertently got a little too close too, plus or minus a few cactus needles that I’m always a magnet for. When I got through Matomi and saw Jimmy, Mike, Jeff and Ryan, I was so happy! #1, I was always happy to see my people, you look forward to these moments between stretches of not seeing anyone for hours. #2, they would replace my missing handguard, and #3, I was more than ready for my first real meal since my sad attempt at breakfast, and the sandwhich they had made me was absolutely perfect. Jimmy made a point to gather all the right supplies before the race to make meals with, everything down to the type of cheese, to the type of turkey, to the right grain-count bread. What a guy! While I chowed and chugged my pre-made shakes (an Electrolit-carb powder-chia seed cocktail), the guys looked over the bike, and onward towards Chapala.
RUNNING FROM THE BULLS
After pre-running I estimated the trucks would catch me somewhere near Gonzaga bay. At the rider’s meeting they predicted that the slower bikes could get caught as early as Matomi. When I made it through Matomi before getting caught, I was a little reassured that my pace was still on point for me (I believe I was averaging 30-33 or so up to this point), but I also knew the clock was ticking. I took full advantage of the miles of pavement that afternoon. I was a third of the way done! Little victories people, little victories. And they were about to get even smaller .
I kept gaining ground in the varying terrain leading up to and around Coco’s neck of the woods, the whole time just waiting for the helicopters to start flying by. I even stopped a few times and turned my bike off to look and listen for them and their dust clouds. Nothing. So I just kept riding. When I got to Chapala/RM 380 I couldn’t believe I hadn’t been passed yet. I then found out that there had been some sort of a delay at the start, didn’t know details, but any delay was a blessing and a chance to get that much more ahead of those million dollar bulls I’m trying to run from. The sun was going to set in the next hour, and I was about to enter “the war zone”. I ate, drank, threw on my jacket, switched back to clear goggles, and flipped on my higher-output LED red flasher. Toby Price was pitting directly next to us, waiting to get into the truck. I asked them where the lead truck was, and once I heard they were approximately 80 miles still behind me, I got back on that bike and hustled faster than I did most morning. Every inch I could gain in the next 100 miles, especially before the sun completely set, would be incredible.
THE WAR ZONE
Not even 1 mile in and I was swimming in silt again. Did I do my homework finding lines around it pre-running, yes. Were those same lines there on race day? Of course not. This particular time, I made the rookie mistake of trying to move out of the rut I was in on the left side of the trail directly across to the right. Fail. My bike tipped over and we were both engulfed in our own dust cloud. Thank goodness for spectators standing nearby who quickly helped my get my bike back up. When I stood up, I was knee-deep in silt (I’m 5’10”). Knee deep. And it was just going to get worse. No time to waste, I shook out my goggles, spat the dirt out of my mouth, and kept moving. I tried to make wiser decisions from this incident on, reading the terrain better for plan B moto lines… picking the bike up uses so much more energy, and I had to be very smart with how I spent it. When I got to the dry lake bed I twisted that throttle to the max, it was the fastest I’ve moved since Mike’s road, and you bet I enjoyed every second of it. Sadly this wouldn’t last long, smoothness and speed quickly replaced by miles of slow chunky rocky trail riding with stretches of deep silt in between. But, 390…400….420…still no trucks! I couldn’t believe it, it was almost too good to be true. There were two pretty challenging hill climbs between 400 and 420 that were going to be some of my anticipated weaknesses of the course. By no means anything compared to a technical rocky Hare and Hound climb, I felt comfortable enough with my skills to get up them, but was more so nervous on how I would time them with the trucks. Reason 1 being there was no alternate way to get ahead on course if someone got stuck on it, and reason 2: there was absolutely no where to pull over. I did stall out on the second hill and tipped my bike over, twice….just didn’t carry my momentum well over a particularly ledgy section and gravity won. It took me a few tries to get the bike up….she sure wasn’t getting any lighter…but I did, and 1st gear all the way to the top. Needless to say, when I got through both of those hills I was ecstatic. At this point I was ok being in the dark, and I accepted that the trucks would be catching me any second now. A benefit to the darkness: I could now be on the lookout for lights. Trucks have nice big lights. I rode from vantage point to vantage point and just kept trying to make smart choices for how much further I could ride before stopping to assess the scene again.
Then the moment I was waiting for…roughly around race mile 427, I had been caught. I saw the lights from where I was, and was able to pull over and wait for them to pass. I waited to see if there was another behind them, but silence. I kept going. Another one came minutes later. I figured everyone must be having so much fun in that silt they’re taking their time getting through it. I made it to the Baja Pit at 430, so happy to see people in the middle of nowhere!!! Two other riders were also there taking a break. A truck raced by. That was #3. I took a minute to snack, eat a banana and drink some water. My throat was starting to get pretty sore from breathing in all that dust. I was getting ready to pull back out, but waited, because here came truck #4. Waited, silence, back into the darkness I went. Just a few more miles until I’d see my people again at 480….just a few more miles.
Approximately 5 hours from the last time I saw my fabulous chase crew, there they were again! Boy oh boy was I ready for a real break. My hands were cramped up, fingers numb, my body shivering from the cold and tense from everything I had put it through already, knees and calves aching. As you can tell from pit footage, my fine motor coordination was slowly on a downward spiral. I was having a hard time unbuckling my vest and disconnecting cables. I had prepped some pasta in tupperware containers, and now was definitely the time to have some dinner. So while the guys serviced my bike and swapped wheels, I sat in the toasty truck, ate, and alternated shoving fingers through the vents as I blasted the heat. This would be my first and last wheel change for the race. I always had more than enough spares prepped and ready to go, but the magic combo of KENDA tires & SRT bibs have proven to more than reliable through everything I’ve put them through. The wheels I started with actually still looked great, but we didn’t want to take any chances. This was also when I would change my gear. I’ve now been peeing on myself for about 400+ miles, I could not wait for fresh gear. Only downside was having to change outside, in the cold. Thankfully my new friend Courtney (who had been following me with two of her film crew mates documenting my journey) grabbed a blanket & created the perfect shield for me to change behind. My boots and gear smelled like a homeless shelter, yuck. Sorry Courtney J. I stripped down, took a baby wipe bath, got into fresh underlayers and gear as quickly as possible, sat back in the truck, caught up on some more Pedialyte and snacks, then took care of one last important thing before I could get back on my bike….I took a short walk, snuck behind a big rock, and ta-da! Ready for another couple hundred miles (Sorry if this is TMI for some folks, but this is real life; this is what is bound to happen when you’re out there battling Baja for over 24 hours. Mother nature becomes the out-house. We pee, we poop, we move on). The plan was to see everyone again when the course hit the pavement again at RM 535.
Although this next stretch was “only 55 miles” until meeting back up with Highway 1, it was going to be a rough 55 miles, appropriately dubbed part 2 of the war zone. But what none of us going through it at that point expected, was just how treacherous it had become. You go across the Highway after 480 and dive right away into some chunky whoops. Not particularly awful. The rest….the rest is now a blur. I forget what mile marker I last passed before time seemed to come to a standstill. What most people can’t comprehend, unless you are out there racing, is just how much the terrain changes from what you last remember it being. You can pre-run up until race day, but it never fails, flat roads get rutted out, rocks move, lines go away…and silt takes over like a terrible disease. Survival in the moment becomes the only way to survive. My speed slowed drastically down to 9-10mph for miles and miles. I would look down on my GPS, stay close enough to hit my VCPs, and almost immediately bush-wacked, single-tracked, enduro’d over yucca stumps…whatever it took to avoid that awful brown baby powder. Unfortunately, there were times it was simply unavoidable. Fields of silt appeared seemingly out of no where, no lines around it except right down the middle. From using my legs to paddle through it for so long, I would get the equivalent of a Charlie-Horse on the inside of my thighs as soon as I tried to put my feet back on the pegs. I screamed in pain a few times ( like women do when they’re in labor) mostly to let it out somehow, not like anyone would hear me. Only I could get myself through this. I would periodically get off my bike, stretch, and keep going a few hundred feet at a time. Earlier in the day, Baja Pit to Baja Pit was considered a victory. Here, it was mile marker to mile marker. It was unreal how long it was taking me to gain any distance, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t getting discouraged. And it wasn’t just bikes that would struggle here. I came across a few cars, a UTV, and at least one truck (that I remember) who were all stuck in the silt trying to get out. This was proving to be ten times more difficult to get through than part 1. I found out later that the race ended in these sections for a lot of people. Motors blown, mostly. That silt showed no mercy.
In one attempt to bypass a silt bed, I stayed high in the grass & weaved through cactus. Was going pretty well, until I came across a fat stump of three yucca plants side- by side- by side, right by the trail. It wedged just right underneath my skid plate (of course) , and the leaves jamming up and around my header pipe haulted any forward momentum I had going to get over it. So what happened? Of courseee I lost my balance, bike tipped over to the right, onto the trail, and I stumbled backwards…falling down on top of a cactus. Thankfully the majority of my buttcheeks missed it, but my right hand went straight down into a bed of needles. F********k!!!!! I didn’t know what to tackle first, my upside down bike or the cactus in my hand. Let’s keep this going….of courseeee (perfect timing) a truck was coming. So guess what had to come first….my bike off the trail. I have no idea how those leaves got so wedged in my bike, but I had to do some serious (wo)man-handling in order to get it un-stuck…full on grabbing the wheels one at a time, pulling on them, front-rear-front-rear…until inch by inch, I had it off the stump. At this point, I swear my bike weighs 500lbs. I got it up and off to the side, and while waiting for that truck and one more car to pass, I found my tweezers and got enough out of my hand to be able to hold on to the bike and use the throttle. Time to keep crawling .
Somewhere around mile marker 515 (don’t remember exactly, like I said this stretch is now a blur) I came across a fellow Ironman-er propped up by his elbow, on the ground, “taking a break”. His lights were off, red flashers off, and although off the immediate trail, he was in an area that a truck could easily take a line through. You can see my concern. Plus, it was pretty cold. The nurse in me came out and I did a basic neuro check….What’s your name? Where are you? How many fingers do you see? He seemed ok but was just as much over the silt as any of us. He said he was getting sloppy and falling over a lot, and he recently went down pretty hard, which is why he was taking a break to re-group. I offered him snacks, water….he said he was fine and had both. He promised me he wasn’t injured (although on the ground, he was moving around ok). He pinky swore he was going to keep moving (for the record, I don’t think they use this phrase in Australia much because when I asked him, “pinky swear”? he replied “wait, pinky what? Yes, yes, I’ll keep moving”). Although in my heart I wanted to see him get up and back on the bike, I didn’t have time to sit there and wait until he was ready. I was already in this nightmare stretch long enough. So I did the next best thing, kept riding, and as soon as I saw a pit (I believe it was a Mag 7 pit), I described him, gave them his bike number and mileage I last saw him at. I told them “He promised me he would keep riding, but if he doesn’t get going soon, he’s going to get hypothermic. Someone please make sure he gets up?”, and they radio’d it in and said they had it from there. [UPDATE: I recently caught up with Lloyd, whose race unfortunately ended at RM530, but he did make it out and is back home recovering with minor injuries]
Finally….I saw the promising flashing lights of pits and chase crews in the near distance and I knew I was almost out.
PAIN IS TEMPORARY
It took me 5 hours to go 55 miles. 5 hoursssssss. Insane. I got to the pavement and looked frantically around for the Baja Pit which was supposed to be there, as well as my chase crew. Unbeknownst to me (but not atypical unfortunately), the Baja Pit had moved. But as I was riding passed pits and chase crews I was getting frazzled because all I wanted was to see my people, get gas, and I couldn’t find either of them. I pulled into one pit and asked “where’s Baja Pits?” “Oh It was back there” “What? I didn’t see them back there?!” I couldn’t go backwards on the course so I kept moving up. My bike stopped because it was low on gas, thankfully I flipped it onto the reserve and could keep moving. Next pit “Where’s Baja Pits?” “They’re up the road I think”. I started riding down the road but all I saw ahead was darkness, no lights or signs of a pit up ahead, so I started to get worried and confused. Were they back there or up there?! Where the heck did they move to?! I went back just a few hundred yards and pulled off the side of the road so I collect myself, and could not be any happier to see familiar faces stepping out of a van. It was Larry Janesky’s chase crew (fellow Ironmaner), and my good friends Oscar Hale and Victor Abitia. They asked me what was wrong, and I just started crying… “I need Baja Pits, no idea where they are, I need my people, can’t find them either…all I want is my people. That section was absolute hell!” Bless their hearts; Oscar, Victor, and Javier helped me off the bike, took off my vest, and sat me in the warm van. I was hurting. “We got you, come here”. They asked “Where are they supposed to be [my chase crew]?” I said “The last thing we said to each other was ‘see you where you hit the pavement’”…. “and this is the pavement”. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them”. I asked Javier if he could just check that my lights were still on straight, I wasn’t sure after that man-handling episode off the yucca stumps, so he was all over looking at the bike, making sure everything was still good. Larry’s film crew at the wheel got on the radio and another group went out in their truck to try and locate my chase crew, who were likely wherever that Baja Pit was. While all this was going on, I’m trying to stretch out my arms and hydrate. My fingers were about double their size, my hands cramped up from riding for so long, fingers numb, body tense and shivering, and my throat felt like I was swallowing razor blades. My uvula (little ‘hangy ball’ in the back of your throat in non-medical terms) had also started to swell, which made it feel like I awkwardly had something stuck back there. As if I wasn’t on the struggle bus enough, I had developed a huge knot under my left shoulder blade that felt like a broken rib every time I went to move. Victor was a God-send and helped me massage it out as much as he could. It hurt pretty bad. I would try to lie down for a minute, but every move it felt like someone was stabbing me in the back. Then I heard “We found your crew, they’re on their way”. Immediate relief. Not from pain, but I was so happy they were found and knew where I was. Mike came over to me in the van and asked if I was ok. I started crying again, I said “I’m good, I just got so frazzled when I couldn’t see you guys, couldn’t see the pit…I’m just so happy to see you guys!”. He saw how much pain I was in trying to reposition in the van. He started rubbing my forearms to help. “Do you need to get checked out?” “No, I just feel like I have a broken rib, but I don’t have a broken rib….you know?” Mikes face was priceless, it was a healthy mix of concern and ‘this chick is crazy’. I started to explain myself and said “I tipped over good back there, but not hard enough to actually hurt myself, I just think it’s just a crazy knot in my back from being so tense, picking up the bike, hanging on for dear life in the silt, and shivering from the cold….I’ll be ok it just hurts like hell right now”… “Ok, you sure?”…. “Yeah, I just need a minute”. “Ok, hang out in here, we got the bike”. That van was so comfortable. Warmth felt so good. I wanted to lay down so bad, to take a nap. But that wasn’t ever an option, I didn’t have the luxury of time on my side to nap. However, the worst of it was over. I survived the war zone(s). By no means would the remaining 270+ miles be a walk in the park, but it was the beginning of the home stretch.
I needed more layers but I would be ok. Oscar went and got his sweatshirt out of the van, and I threw it on. I wanted to double glove out of desperation to keep my hands warm, the warmers I slid over the tops of my hands only did so much. Mike found some larger moto-gloves that fit perfectly over mine. I also refreshed the hand warmers I carried inside my sports bra. Time to keep moving. This stretch was proving to be a little more forgiving so far. It was also nice to be on some wider trails that doubled as safer passing lanes. After a few miles I had to stop and remove the second layer of gloves. My hands felt nice, but I didn’t feel right riding the bike. So I stopped to shed that top layer and kept going. To no surprise, the silt beds were far from over. It was torture. Every time you think you’ve seen the last of it, boom! More silt. I’d start hitting my handlebars in a mini-tantrum… “are you kidding me?!?!”. So far at least I wasn’t having too bad of an experience with the faster vehicles….so I thought. That changed. It never fails that people neglect to use a proper form of a warning and give others time to move over safely. I think all race I got flashed on the Stella twice, and only about 50% of the others who passed used their sirens. Notice I said passed. As in, not that they are behind me abouttt to pass (only a few actually did that), but rather actively passing me, at race speed, and then hitting their siren. I know it’s never going to be perfect, but I guess I have a hard time understanding what the expectation is of me then? How can you expect me to get out of your way when you hit the siren as you are practically touching my rear fender (which, by the way, is extremely startling), or side by side next to me? There are plenty of witnesses who can vouch for me that if given the chance, I was off the trail in a heartbeat. Fast forward to a pretty tight wash somewhere near El Rosario, and suddenly , there is a UTV coming through. I was over to the far left, riding alongside rockpiles that were approximately stacked 3ft up. I couldn’t exactly move across the trail to the other side as they were moving pretty fast, so I stayed put and desperately looked for an escape route. Before I even had a chance to move up and find a place, they were right next to me, hit the sirens, and proceeded to shove past me (to the right was trees and thick brush, nothing anyone could ride over)….it happened so fast, but for the first time in all my events here, I was hit. Thankfully they just hit the side of my leg, so it stung a little but mostly startled me. I was so happy it didn’t catch my heel and twist my leg around, it could have been so much worse. Didn’t even stop to make sure I was ok, they just kept moving. As upset as I was, it wasn’t going to do me any good to stay upset, so I kept moving.
Mile 570: I was feeling the effects of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. It snuck up on me. It was close to 430 in the morning, and I had been on my bike for 24 hours straight. I would catch myself falling asleep on the bike, shake my head to wake up, and force myself to stand up. Dozing off with rocks buried in the sand was not exactly smart. Sitting down felt so much better…my back was tight, my arms, my knees….everything was so sore. I would sip from my camel back to help soothe my sore throat. Temporary relief at best, as soon as my mouth dried up again it was back to swallowing razor blades. Then my mind began to play tricks on me. Dear God, when was the sun coming up?! For seconds at a time I would space out, then come back. I stopped on several occasions to obsessively look at my GPS thinking I had missed miles of the course, and wasn’t even sure I was on it at times. Everything looked so different in the dark.
DAWN PATROL ROUND 2
Coming into Baja Pit 12, RM 591:hallelujah, dawn!!! I was beginning to lose my voice, could barely swallow now that my Uvula was roughly 4 times its normal size. I took a few minutes to refill my camel back, got gas, snuck behind a truck to do my business, and ate a snack. As much as it hurt to swallow I was able to get a banana and Honey Stinger waffle down…breakfast of champions! Then I saw Larry pull up to the pit. I waved at him, hurt too much to try and talk, and he kept going as I finished my breakfast. Next goal was making it to Pirate’s Cove, where Timie and the others would be waiting. I was pleasantly surprised to find Jeff, Mike, Ryan and Martin waiting on the side of the road in Vincente Guerrero, I saw my sparkly 722X sign and pulled over for a few. Since I just snacked and refilled my water bladder we made this stop short & sweet. Jimmy had warned me about how the upcoming salt flats have a tendency to turn into nasty silt fields, so to be on the lookout. “I should be ok, this next stretch was pretty mellow and fast pre-running”. Famous last words.
COASTING
Well, sure enough, Jimmy was right. This is the section I preran with Mike Garvin and we would tease Timie that he left “all the fun stuff for Mike”. I was soooo looking forward to the hard packed faster course where I could finally sit down and cruise. NOPE. Just like everywhere else, the landscape changed and was now a different course. There was VCPs scattered all over the salt flats, so there was only so much lining-around I could do. Before too long, I was at that beautiful box van surrounded by all my beautiful people. Timie and the guys serviced the bike while I sat and ate. Martin saw that basic functions were becoming difficult, so like a real pal he cut my avocado up into bite-sized pieces. I didn’t feel all that hungry, and my sore throat was really messing up my appetite, but Martin kept laying out food options on the table for me and said “Eat. Now. You gotta eat”….so I ate a few turkey breast slices, and noodle by noodle forced myself to put down another pasta dish. Not sure what time it was at this point, but I remember beginning to stress out saying “Guys, I need to keep moving, I can’t time out, I don’t want to time out”. “Calm down Liz, it’s still early, you have hours to do less than 200 miles”. In my head they were probably right, but I also knew how chewed up the course was all the way to Erendira…and then the hills from Uruapan all the way to Ojos. One thing Ricky scolded me for before the race was approaching a section with a negative attitude. I would talk about how I knew Catavina would be my hardest miles, how nervous I was about getting through the hill climbs…and he’d say “You have to stop thinking about it like that. Focus on what you’re riding in the moment, and when you get there, figure it out then. You’ll do fine”. I tried to maintain a positive attitude, but it was hard; the clock kept ticking and I still had a decent amount of ground to cover. Before I took off, Jimmy came up to me and said “Liz, remember…you’ve got this”.
By this time in the race, an evolving landscape isn’t the only challenging thing about the course. Next: course markers. They are thinning out and practically non-existent for miles in some stretches. I have no clue how anyone can race without a GPS. It should be almost be mandatory to have one, in my opinion. Colonet was one of the areas where you were lucky to see an arrow every so often. I got to an area that I recognized from pre-running; if you stayed on course you went straight into a stretch of silt, if you took the left where the trail split, you hit whoops, but I’ll take whoops over silt any day. There was no VCP to stay straight for, so I went left. I remember this well because Mike had gone straight while I went left, we met back up on the course and he said to me “is there a VCP back there?” “No” “Good, don’t go the way I went, the silt was bad”. But my mind was getting more and more foggy, and about halfway through the whoops I second-guessed myself as to where I was, slowed down to look at my GPS, and panicked. I couldn’t see the course anywhere near where I was. I thought maybe the color of it changed, so I went to the Setup Menu to try and fix it. Still nothing. What the heck? I kept going straight and told myself, “You’ve done this before, the course is coming up”. But I went straight, and suddenly just felt so lost. I pulled off to the side and messed around with my GPS some more. I zoomed out enough to where I saw the course, but one second it was to the Left of me, then it was behind me….what on earth is going on? [I later found out from Jimmy why my GPS was acting this way, classic mishap on my end but again, the sleep deprivation was more than taking a toll on me] So I took the whoops back to where I thought I started, but then couldn’t recognize where I started. Everything looked different and the same all at once. I was riding in circles, screaming, cussing, losing precious minutes….where is the course?!? Then, a miracle….I heard a car. It was coming straight at me. Normally, this would not be ideal as I was apparently facing backwards on course. But given the circumstances, I was ecstatic, because that meant I was on course! I was pulled way over, and signaled at them asking “This way?” When they pointed, it confirmed where I had to go, so I turned my bike around and was back on track. About 2 miles later I saw an arrow, yay! And when I would look at my GPS, I saw the course again. Double yay!
680…700…Acambaro/735. My second to last pit before the finish. The pit where my family and Kris and Jamie were to catch some of the action. I was happy to see them, they all wanted to help so much with something, but I was in major crunch-mode and had to keep it snappy. I could not time out. I came this far. I could NOT time out. We refilled my camel-back, I chugged some Pedialyte, and go go go .
THE HOMESTRETCH
It was a nice change riding these last miles in the daytime, during the 500 it was dark and took me so long to get through. Regardless, was it getting hard to hold onto my bike. I would do anything to just sit and coast, but you can’t. The hills were full of ups and downs and rocks and rain ruts…all things you had to stand for in order to have better control. I was getting weak and sloppy. My form was lazy. Despite several close calls and almost tipping over, I just could not seem to get myself together. Soon enough, it caught up to me. Somewhere around mile 760. There was a hillclimb, slightly silted out and chunky with rocks, but not particularly difficult. I was sitting down. I started up the hill, but started to lose traction. Tires spinning through the silt, I kicked my legs out to try and paddle my way out of it….and I stalled out. With my legs out and right hand practically locked in on the throttle,I started to roll backwards. I got a hold of my front brake and I was able to stop the bike from rolling back any more, but balancing on that hill had just become so, so hard. In slow motion, I tipped over to the right. My reactions were getting so delayed, I succumbed to the weight of the bike and just fell over sideways with it. Damn it. I started tearing up. I went to slide out from under the bike, but my leg was caught between the header pipe and a rock. I then realized the pipe had started to burn a hole in my pants, damnnnn itttt! Thankfully my knee brace was providing a thick layer of protection before it would burn all the way through to my skin, so I had a few seconds. Tried to wiggle out, nothing. That bike weighed a ton and was trapping me. I had almost lost all of my voice, but I yelled. DAMNNNNN ITTTTT!! I cried. I cried a lot. I started punching the ground. I have NOTHING LEFT. I stared at my Stella from the ground and all I saw was the numbers going up. I was 33 hours in…33:01…..33:02…33:03…..Then, the sound of a car coming. DAMN ITTTTTT. I was down on the trail, helpless. And then it hit me. No one was going to get this bike up but me. I had no choice but to keep moving. All of those people who came here to help you….I didn’t come this far to quit. Quitting was not an option. I didn’t come this far to time out. TIMING OUT WAS NOT AN OPTION. I dug down, deeper than I thought I could, and I got my leg out. Then I got the rest of me out and up. That bike felt like it was made of cement, but I squatted down, gave it a good grunt, and pushed it up. I DID NOT COME THIS FAR TO TIME OUT. Got it started, and 1st gear to the top. Just in time to move over and let the car pass me. I was coming home.
Unfortunately, my rear brake pedal took a hit in that last spill; I’d soon learn that on a downhill. I didn’t realize the other problem I had until after, and I was actually pretty lucky that what could of happened, didn’t. I must have hit that rock just right to break the cotter pin securing my foot peg bolt…so the foot peg bolt was being pushed up and was about halfway out by the finish. Not having a rear brake was no bueno….but losing a foot peg too would have been super no bueno. I would alternate between engine braking and my front brake for the remaining 45 miles. Final pit: 773. Last stop before the checkers. I was tired, I was hungry, I was hurting, and I was more than ready for a hot shower. Carlos saw it in my face. “You have 33 miles left Liz, 33 miles. THAT’S IT”. A few minutes after I left, Justin Schuck from the 247X team pulled in to pit. I didn’t really know Justin before then, but I guess he knew of me. Carlos asked him, “Hey, you know Liz?” and he said “Everyone knows Liz!”…Carlos told him “Do me a favor….she’s over this race….catch up to her, and make sure she makes it home?” And he did just that. I was definitely on fumes. My mind continued to play tricks with me...I kept thinking I was going the wrong way on the inbound course and was actually going outbound…but I wasn’t. Every fence line looked so similar, did I just pass this fence? Wait, am I on my way backkkk towards Ojos?? I’d stop, look at my GPS, eventually see an arrow and feel relieved. This is where Justin caught me. He pulled up next to me and said, “Hey, you doing alright?” “Honestly dude, I’m delirious. I keep thinking I’m lost”… “Can you see the course on your GPS?” “Yea” “Are you on course now?” “Yea” “Ok then, lets go”. Not sure what else was said in these last few miles, Justin recently reached out to me and said “Sometime I will tell you about the funny stuff you said out there…LOONY TOONS!”…should be interesting. When we got to the pavement in town, I looked down on my Stella, 34 hours and however many minutes on my bike. We were coming home. When I dropped into wash, all my pain seemed to go away. I was coming home. When I got to the street and heard people screaming, all I could do was smile. I did it. I went through the scoring chute, and saw everyone waiting for me. Tears of joy. It was finally over. I got off my bike. The bike that ran flawless every single race. She was dirty and had a few battle wounds, like me….but she was strong. Best bike I have ever been on. Thanks Greg. Martin and my dad took my vest, and my swollen sausage fingers managed to unbuckle my helmet and get it off. Mike Garvin gifted me with a beautiful bouquet of roses and we hugged. We hugged, we cried, he told me “I am so proud of you, kiddo”. 34 hours and 40 minutes later I was back where I started. I WAS HOME.
No matter who or what you believe in, if you believe in anyone or anything at all…all I know is that guardian angels are real. Kurt, Cody, my aunt Christina, and so many more…They are real, and they rode with me for every inch of every mile for 807 miles. Over 60% of the people who start the Baja 1000 don’t finish. An even smaller percentage would ever be brave (and/or stupid enough) to take on the challenge of racing it solo. I had every possible odd against me from the very beginning of the series. But I did it. My team and I,WE did it. My incredible mechanic who built this outstanding bike, WE did it. Every single person who has been in my corner from day 1…WE did it. Jimmy was right. I was born for this day.
Thank you Abe Hillo for arranging the post-race massage when I could barely move, and even bigger thanks to my sister Sylvia & Jason for rearranging your schedules to help me load up and drive my truck back to Albuquerque when I was in no condition to. I was more than thrilled to get back home to my two fur babies that I missed so very much, and even more thrilled to shred the Living Will I had written prior to leaving.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you to EVERYONE who made this possible:
Monkey Business Products/Monkey Business Workshop/Mark & Denise Winkleman/Greg Sceiford & High Velocity Cycles/The Gomez Brothers/Rev Designs/KENDA/SRT/Performance Diesel/Seat Concepts/Baja Designs/FMF/Warp 9 Rcing/FLY Racing/SIDI/David Bedy & Montano Acura/EmbroidMe Albuquerque/Race Tech/Scotts Performance Products/Honeystinger/GoPro/SPY/Day’s Hamburgers/JR Trotter Excavation/Colorado Recycling/Ogio/ Worthen Memorials/A Home to Envy/Jamie Henry Law/ACERBIS/Baja Pits/Bill Sondermyer & KMR Protection/Kelli Johansen Photography/Red Rock Motorsports/ Moriarty MX/Rich,John,Jordan/Rita Mollica/Mike Stebles/Jimmy Sones/Ryan Hasbrouck/Jeff Provost/Erick Navarro/Oscar Hale/Victor Abitia/Javier Gonzales/Felipe Venegas/Brandon Prieto/Mariel Villegas/anyone else I might be forgetting that helped me and my team out at any point/SCORE International
