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We had only 1015km to drive to get to our lodging
in Loreto for the night.
In transit, we went through four army checkpoints.
The first waved us through; the second asked for
stickers; and the third ‘searched’ the car, settling
for a couple of team caps in lieu of any further
payment. We gave some stickers in sympathy at
the last checkpoint, as the soldiers looked very
cold and miserable at 1am. It perked them up.
We rolled into our accommodation in Loreto at
2.30am for a well-earned sleep.
Loreto is a magical little town on the eastern
side of the Baja peninsula overlooking the
Sea of Cortez. We woke up to a clear, warm day —
race day. The bikes, ATVs, and quads had started
their race at midnight, with Rhys and Hammond
due to go around 10.20am. Mike and I had the
day to relax and soak up a bit of the local culture.
First stop, breakfast at El Rey Del Taco — the King
of Tacos. The tacos were every bit as good as we
had heard, as was the freshly made lemonade that
a bunch of local dirt bike riders — also there for
breakfast — insisted that we try.
There were plenty of other race teams in town,
getting ready to set up their pits just outside of
town, as well as at La Purisima, where we were
heading. By chance, we headed out on a road that
was where the race would run. The locals were
already setting up their campsites in anticipation
of the racers coming through the valley. Again,
the stickers came in handy to build good relations
with them and the local police. We made it in time
to see the first three bikes come through. The first
bike finished third overall behind two trophy trucks,
and the second bike finished sixth.
We had calculated that we didn’t need to leave
our lodging until midnight to be at the remote
pit in time for Rhys and Hammond. We had
been tracking the race on the mobile app, which
showed that the leading trophy trucks were
making very good time; we would need to get
moving if we wanted any chance of seeing them
drive in anger. So we packed up and headed out a
couple of hours earlier at 10pm. First stop was to
fill up the fuel bottles — enough to fill both RZRs.
Some US$450 later, we were good to go. We were
back on the Pacific Coast side now, heading north
in pitch-black darkness — then we hit the fog,
thick Waikato-type fog. We had gone through it
relatively briefly the night before, but this time we
drove through it for almost 100 miles. It was bad
enough on a paved road; we wondered what it
must be like for the racers going through it on the
dusty, sandy course. We emerged from the fog
as we descended into a valley near La Purisima
around 1am, coming to an intersection where