Months Later in Baja Continued from Page 2 -- While out photographing the Baja 1000, tragedy struck again. There's nothing like a rain shower of rocks to ruin the sleek unscathed look of a brand new windshield. This time, it was Honda's Tim Staab and his feroucious roost that was the culprit. It was early in the race, at about race mile 160 near Indepencia. I was huddled down with my Jeep to my back, parked in a knee-deep water crossing. Coming out of the soft sand wash was a horrendous bed of rocks that I figured many would avoid, especially since there was log and a rusty barrel in its path. Ricardo Malo came blasting through, hydroplaning a wheelie across the entire length of the 50-foot crossing. He had his XR roosting like a jet boat and was uncommonly ahead of the entire pack of racers. A few minutes later, I heard some chatter on the Honda frequency. Soon enough, I heard the helicopter crest over a nearby hill. "Tim, you're loosing time. Keep an eye out for the ranchers on horseback on the right. Take the shallow line on the left," directed the man in the copter. But Tim went left. No big deal. I was far enough back. Until he realized there were a log and a rusty fuel barrel to avoid, things were looking good for a nice shot of that year's winners - aboard their maiden voyage of the XR 650. He snapped the handlebars to attention, swept around them on the bad side, pitched a hale of stones and throttled the pig back on course. In doing so, he hurled a few stones at the camera and I, but the Jeep was the one that once again bought it. The Mexicans drowning in beer behind me, sitting near the horseback rancher on top of their baby blue Ford Courier: "Hay cabrona! La ventana!" I looked back - a double whammy - another broken windshield. This one wasn't all that bad, but it was a direct driver's side hit, and the view driving home told the tale. It was downright annoying. Another $300 later, it was fixed, again. |
