“Scott, how many fingers am I holding up?” I heard Bob say through the walls of my tent. “Count, one, two”. There were seven people standing in the rain at 3-o’clock in the morning staring down at the 3-foot by 5-foot tent that I had attempted to assemble for them in the dark last night.

We were at race mile 105 of the SCORE San Felipe 250, prepared to provide pit support for the Trophy Truck of Mike Voyles and the Class 10 Porter car that was being co-driven by my son Eric.

The day had not been bad, me, my Dad Stew, and Rob Otte had left Loma Linda at 8 AM for San Felipe and had arrived at 2 PM without incident. After parking the truck, we walked down to tech inspection and immediately found the Porter car parked in front of the PCI booth where they were working on the radio. Apparently it was not functioning properly, and they had to remove it for repair (remember that fact later).

Rob, Dad and I proceeded through tech, looking at the cars, buying hats, videos and shirts. We stopped for fish tacos, of course, sitting at a sidewalk café and enjoying the passers by.

We returned to Eric’s car where they had fixed the radio and were about to push the car through tech. We said good-bye and that we’d swing by later to give Eric the long underwear that I brought down for him. The weather said that there was a 30% chance of rain, but the sky was clear and the weather warm. Typical San Felipe. Eric said that they were staying at “La Mision”. Just down the road, around the curve and at the top of the hill. Just look for the big sign that said “LKH OEJMIASL” and “La Mision” and turn there.

“Okay”, we said and went off to find Mike Voyles and get spare tires. We went to where Mike has camped before, and he wasn’t there. “No” said the inhabitants, “we don’t know where he is”. We tried cell phones, no service, we tried radio, no answer. So down the road we went, looking for his truck and motor home. In the meantime, we’d find “La Mision”.

We didn’t find Mike, we didn’t find the sign that said “LKH OEJMIASL” and “La Mision”. We began asking other racers and finally found one that knew where Mike was camped, at Pete’s Camp, north of town. So, we fueled up and went back into town to find Eric and give him his long underwear. Fortunately, they were still in Tech, so, we met up. I told him that we couldn’t find La Mision and he redirected us. “Just down the road, around the curve and at the top of the hill. Just look for the big sign that said “El RKJIUDPH” and “La Mision” and turn there. “Oh, okay, well, we’ll find it”

Out to Pete’s Camp. They were relieved to see us, because they had lost my phone number to tell us about the camp move. But we got the spare tires and headed out to mile 105. On the way, there were racecars practicing at the Zoo Road crossing, and we watched for a while. While we were there, I heard the Porter team on the radio talking to the racecar. They were testing and adjusting the shocks. I called and found out that they were south of town at ‘La Mision’. That meant that we had at least 10 miles range on the radios, finally good communication at a Baja race. We then motored out to camp.

It was just past dusk; we dug a fire pit and got a nice fire going, while I got out our tent. The poles were broken; and this didn’t seem like my tent. Rob and I looked at the sky. It was clear. The only clouds were stuck on the mountains to our west. It looked like fog on Mt. Diablo. Rob said, “Years in the desert have given me a keen sense for the presence of moisture. It is not going to rain”, so we put the tent away. Dad elected to sleep in the cab of the truck.

While we baked potatoes, we sat by the fire and talked. Mushrooms were then sautéed in the fire and nibbled upon while corn was added, and then steaks were prepared. The sky remained clear as we ate.

Rob and I spread out a ground cloth, our sleeping bags and went to bed at 10 P.M. The moon and stars were so bright it was difficult to get to sleep.

Suddenly, I felt tap, tap, it was Rob, and it was raining. I looked at my watch and found that it was 11 PM. We jumped up and found the tent. A little tape and voila, poles almost as good as new. Sleeping bags tossed inside, then set-up Scott’s tent as I had promised. Not only did it seem small, but it had a screen roof and the rain slick didn’t fit right. No problem, we got the rain slick on somehow, put some more wood on the fire and went to bed.

12 PM, as the wind shook our tent, Rob said “I sure hope the wind doesn’t blow Scott’s tent into the fire”. I stuck my head out into the wind and storm. Scott’s tent was nowhere to be seen. Oops! I got up and found it blowing across the race course. I retrieved it and set it back in its spot. The rain slick gave me more trouble, but I managed to get it on somehow. Back to bed.

Drip, drip, drip. Our tent was leaking throughout. Sleeping bags were wet, pads were wet, clothes were wet. It was 1 AM and there was nothing we could do until morning. There was no more room in the truck and we were already wet. Back to sleep.

At 3, the other trucks arrived with Bob and Ryan, Scott, Pete, Chelsea, Conner and Conner’s friend Ryan. They were standing in the rain looking at the other tent. Scott wondered where this poor excuse for a tent came from. He finally remembered having it for backpacking years ago, the rest of us allowed that it was packed due to beer’s law. The wet campers finally determined that the rain slick was inside out, which is why it was difficult for me to install. Somehow they figured it all out and everyone went to bed in trucks and tiny tent and went to sleep.

6 AM: everyone awoke to somewhat clear skies: no rain, but pretty cool, still the occasional wind gust. The fire was lit, wet articles hung on bushes to dry. Breakfast was begun, with Rob and Pete taking over the cooking duties. We had sausage and egg burritos, reheated leftover potatoes with onions and bell pepper, and hot-chocolate with whipped cream. Life is good. There was a gorgeous, bright double rainbow against the mountains. Fortunately, the weather stayed clear enough to dry the tents and sleeping bags, etc. so they wouldn’t be wet when we packed them.

Race conditions were perfect. There was little wind and the course was wet, so, no dust! We listened to the ‘Weatherman’ as the racers prepared in San Felipe. The bikes left at 6:30 and got to us at 8:45. The four-wheels would leave at 9:30. Since we were pitting a Trophy Truck, we got our signs out, jacks and tires ready and waited.

A few minutes after the bikes began, so did the excitement on the radio. Two motorcycles were down, air evacuated to San Diego, a dead body found on the beach south of town. A spectator hit by a bike. Then the trucks began, a spectator hit at Zoo Road (big surprise) but not life threatening. A spectator truck overturned on the Zoo access road, with people trapped inside (they had been seen going 100 mph a few moments before). Then, Mike Voyles broken down at Mile 10, broken fan belt and leaking oil filter.

While we waited, Conner wanted to drive his Dad’s truck around and Scott refused him, so Conner and Ryan were “reduced” to digging holes in the ground for entertainment.

On the radio, we heard Eric announce leaving the start line. From time to time we heard either him or other Porter chasers announce his passing. We heard him come into Morelia Junction where they took on 16 gallons of fuel; they calculated that wouldn’t need any more to finish the race. 10-minutes later they roared past us, waving and honking, they were only 2 minutes behind the leader, and having passed 8 other cars in class. As he drove out of sight, Eric called me to tell me that they’d passed Mike Voyles on the side of the road.

We packed up quickly, gave the Voyles sign to another Voyles pitter that had been sent out in case we didn’t make it and headed for race mile 160, 55 miles for the racecar, 25 miles for us. The road was smooth and graded, then became rough and rocky, but there was a nice sandy side road, that really allowed us to zip. As the road got near the mountains the rain started again, making driving fun. Swooping along to appropriate music, we passed some abandoned ranchos that looked promising. Through cholla, cardon, palo verde trees and other cactus, the road was wet, the plants were shiny and green. It was a great day to be in Baja.

At race mile 160, there was a lot of cholla so we picked a spot near a covered 4-seater, and waited. Within 5-minutes, the first 10-car came by; we quickly set out the signs and got the gear ready. Seven minutes later, Porter zoomed past, third 10-car on the road. We gave him his split time and waited 30 minutes for him to drop into Mataomi Wash and out of range. We then switched channels to Voyles and heard that he was back on the road. We talked to his main pit 40 miles away and they asked us to please stay at RM160 until he went by. “Not to worry, we’ll be here”

A buffet of chips, dip, cheese, chicken, and other items and lunch was set up and enjoyed. Out came the horseshoes and a tournament commenced. The winner and new champion of the 2006 Mataomi Wash Invitational were Scott and Chelsea. Bob and Ryan took second and Mike and Pete were a distant third. Dad napped in the truck. Conner and Ryan (little) explored. The rain became stronger, so an awning was stretched between the trucks and a fire pit dug. During the digging, a 3-inch green scorpion was unearthed and examined.

Race cars roared past through the rain and under a rainbow while we rooted them on, snacked and played horseshoes. Finally Mike rushed past and we waited another 45-minutes for him to drop into the wash, then headed back.

We stopped and explored some to the ranchos. Photos were taken and souvenirs obtained. One had a nice 8-foot Coke machine that wouldn’t fit in my truck.

In order to find the Porter team back at “La Mision”, we began stopping at hotels and asking. We finally found them at a hotel that “used to be named ‘La Mision”! We were informed that they (the great calculators) ran out of gas 10-miles from the finish and had to scrounge some 2-stroke and pump gas from a local spectator to make the finish line. Eric also mentioned that he’d ridden much of the race with the radio in his lap and beneath his feet – apparently those last minute repairs had been complete with a few “extra” parts. They ended up in second-place.

We went downtown, ate tacos and clams at the ‘band’ restaurant, and waited for the awards ceremony. It occurred at 9:30, after that we headed out of town to camp on the beach.

We picked a likely campo named ‘Los Amigos’ and set up by a palapa. Rob said it wouldn’t rain. Dad set up his sleeping bag in the backseat of the truck again. We slept under the stars with no ill occurrences. In the morning, the tide was way out. Young Ryan was amazed; it had been lapping at our feet the night before. We also realized that this was the campo where the great invasion of the ticks had occurred some years ago. Good luck though, no tick invasion this time!

Before we could leave, Conner and Ryan had to set off all of the fireworks they had, so while we ate plastic all-day donuts, skyrockets shot over the mud-flats. After that we headed out, but first there were 2 M-500’s that had not been set of in the camp. Dad assisted in setting them off to get the most noise and excitement possible.

We finally hit the road, and were home by 2:00 PM on Sunday, unloaded the trucks and went our separate ways. Amongst the paraphernalia we unpacked was Scott’s 4-man tent and Pete’s tent.

The next Mexico trip is the Baja 500 in June. I wish it would hurry up.