I whine a lot. It's a technique to get things I want. I learned about whining 35 years ago. It's a tool I still use and it still works! When ORC VW and Sand Car page editor Norm Lenhart informed me he was going to Ensenada, Mexico, to cover the Baja 1000, I whined. I wasn't going! Norm delicately directed my distress to the Off-Road.Com CEO, Pat Chicas. Pat bluntly stopped my whining by stating, "Get down here to the Baja 1000, now!" I packed my bags and left for Ensenada.

I met Norm at his residence outside of Topock, AZ. After I rested, we loaded and left to pick up ORC race editor Tim McElroy in Temecula, CA. After a quick journey across Southern California, we arrived at Tim's. Quick introductions were delivered. After a brief discussion about who and what everyone was to drive into Mexico, Tim suggested that it would be just fine if all of us went in his truck. (Tim: Norm and I publicly thank you.) We stowed our bags, loaded two empty 5 gallon Jerry cans, and a cooler in the truck. Tim thought it would be a great idea to fill the Jerry cans with good U.S, grade gas and the cooler with "92 octane" ice before crossing the border. Tim claimed that the higher the ice "octane" number, the longer the ice would last.

After crossing the Mexico border without incident, we traveled to the ORC rendezvous point - Rick Seiman's villa north of Rosartio, Mexico. Being the astute and paranoid front passenger seat driver, I began instructing Tim in the delicate art of automobile driving in Mexico. Tim caught on quickly, sort of. We were no more than 3 miles into Mexico when Tim blew through an intersection marked by a red octagonal sign that read ALTO. Tim presented his first intelligent question of the trip. "Hey guys! What the hell does ALTO mean. Does it mean we're supposed to sing along the roadway?" Tim giggled hysterically at his own humor. Norm and I shook held our heads in disbelief. I glanced at Tim and said, "It means STOP, not SING for cryin' out loud."

The trip continued and Norm kept me laughing with his irreverent humor. Tim never understood Norm's humor: then again, Tim believed in "92 octane" ice and drove blindly through Mexican ALTO intersections. We arrived at Rick's and met Pat Chicas, along with Rick Seiman and his weekend company. After more introductions, the group decided to attend a cocktail and supper hour at the Puerto Nuevo, Mexican Lobster Bar Place. Upon arriving at the Lobster Restaurant, Tim, Norm and I quickly inventoried our belongings. It was all there, except that Tim got all excited and forgot to fill the Jerry cans with U.S. grade gasoline and fill the cooler with "ice". At the restaurant, we got to know each other, and it was here a tool of Pat's was revealed. This rather innocent piece of equipment was a novelty common to many people when I first saw it. Later, I determined that in the wrong hands, this tool was an appliance of evil - particularly when placed in the hands of Patrick J. Chicas. The tool: a Sony Hi-8 video cam, with all the bells and whistles.

After dinner, the ORC staff of Pat, Norm, Tim, and Kirk, drove to Pat's brother's (Tony) trailer to spend the night. Upon arrival, it was decided that some beverage should be purchased to cap off the evening. After purchasing and consuming all beverage, it was decided that more beverage should be purchased to cap off the evening. After consuming the beverage it was decided that the group should take up midnight surfing. The surfing idea was dropped because no one wanted to drown before the Baja 1000. Instead, the group climbed on a very rickety wooden water cistern placarded by a huge Tecate label. There we sat, and told stories to each other under a beautiful Baja night sky. Suddenly, without warning, Pat, and his Sony Hi-8 video cam, appeared out of nowhere. Pat could not figure out why it would not find and focus anything in the view finder. The ORC staff assured Pat that it was not him, nor the camera. We explained that it was just dark outside, and the camera would probably work better in the morning. Pat and the Hi-8 video cam was not seen again. All of us went to bed.

I looked up from pillow. Hovering two feet from my face was Pat, holding the 'Pat Cam'. I could sense the cam zooming on the drool on my face and pillow. I grumbled, cursed and rolled out of bed to join the rest of the ORC staff, who were also being taunted by the evil 'Pat Cam'. After collecting ourselves, the ORC group hopped into vehicles and headed south.

The trip to Ensenada brought a host of comments from the vehicle occupants. Some noted the extreme poverty, while others noted the extravagant opulence located no more than 100 yards from poverty stricken areas. We were learning that Baja is a land of stark contrasts. Despite the strange foreign impressions, all agreed the day was beautiful.

The ORC crew arrived in Ensenada. Wide eyes and slightly nervous commentaries regarding the surroundings filled the truck. After placing our belongings in our San Nicholas Hotel room, the ORC flagged a Mexican cab. Somehow, it was communicated to the cabbie that our desired destination was Contingency Row. The cabbie seemed less than thrilled about the ride. No one in the group could fathom why a Mexican cab driver was shook up over 6 excited Americans filling his taxi. We filled it, and left for the 'Row'. Again, the 'Pat Cam' appeared out of nowhere, and it recorded all the irreverent male bonding in colorful, Hi-8 detail - in stereo sound.

After fulfilling the $4.00 cab fare, ORC joined the milling masses of Contingency Row. Thousands of people jammed the narrow street chock full of promotion and display tents and tables. As part of the gala, the Baja 1000 entrants pushed their machines through the tumultuous mass of humanity. It was a miracle that I did not see or hear anyone getting their feet run over.

For the latter part of the afternoon, we hung out in our hotel room and watched "The Power Rangers Movie", dubbed in Spanish. Tim decided it would be a good idea to call his wife, since she was to meet him that evening. He picked up the phone, requested the phone number, and gave his credit card number. (Tim's credit card number is 4375 9854 1203 4328, Exp. date 4/99. Get your Christmas shopping done early and free readers!) His conversation lasted no longer than eight minutes. Satisfied with the call, he hung up. Then, Pat decided it would be a good idea if he called his wife too. He picked up the phone and requested the phone number, and before he gave his credit card number, asked "How much will this call cost?" There was a brief pause, and then the phone hit the receiver. One of us looked at Pat and queried, "What was that all about Pat?"

Pat grinned, looked directly at Tim and said non-chalantly, " I didn't want to complete the call."

Tim gave Pat a curious look and asked, "Well, why not?"

Pat leaned back in his bed, looked at the ceiling and stated, "Oh, I didn't want to pay an eight minute, $50 phone charge!"

Tim turned white and fainted - into his cooler full of Mexican "Nova" octane ice.

That evening, the ORC staff ate at a roasted chicken restaurant. I ate a ton of salsa and chips. Tim and Norm warned me that if I ate any more I would either get sick, or the Mexican government would start rationing the stuff. After the meal, we went and got some shut-eye. Tomorrow was the race!

I woke up in a dark hotel room. I could only see a shadow moving around the room. It was Pat, and he was not armed with his 'Pat Cam', thank heavens. That truly amazed the crap out of me! It made the morning seem surreal. It was 5:30 a.m. and we had to leave shortly to get to Honda Pit #2, located near Checkpoint #1 on the Baja course. I got out of bed and saw the room spinning wildly in front of my face. I prayed that I was sleepy, and not sick. I fell backwards into bed. I got out of bed again, and the room seemed to stop spinning. I prayed I wasn't sick, gathered my stuff, and headed out the door with the rest of the staff.

We climbed into Tim's truck and headed through Ensenada to get on the road that would take us to the Honda pit. Sitting in the back of Tim's truck sure as hell did not help my spinning head, nor my bouncing stomach. Then, it happened! I shouted, "Tim, stop the truck - NOW!" Tim had a good idea what my problem was and brought the vehicle to a stop within 0.05 seconds. I bailed from the truck cab and put my head against the truck box. The morning air felt good, despite the stench of the slummy side of Ensenada. Not wanting to waste any time, I hopped in the truck box and told the guys to drive on. I figured I'd do fine in the back.

I didn't!

As soon as the truck got two blocks, I puked, and puked hard. It was a relief, until I looked up and discovered there was a beat up Mexican bus sporting skull and crossbones mudflaps running down the street next to our truck! It was plumb full of Mexicans too. They watched in wide eyed wonderment as the gringo gnarfed. The pungent stink of open Mexican garbage cans and sewers overwhelmed my brain and stomach. I looked up, gave the Mexican bus driver and passenger audience a nauseous smile - and promptly encored.

Maybe Norm and Tim were right. The Mexican government should ration salsa and chips.

We arrived at Honda Pit #2 after a beautiful morning drive through the Baja countryside. I hopped out of the truck box, gathered my stuff, and suddenly found myself face to face with - the 'Pat Cam'. I was sick as a dog and crankier than a grizzly bear with a chapped butt. And there stood Pat, giggling at me, taking video. Now the time had come! I was going to take the 'Pat Cam' and deposit the thing, elbow deep, into Pat's can! I reached for it. The world started spinning. I quickly gave up on the effort. I don't think I could've fought my way out of a wet paper bag I felt so awful. Lucky Pat.

The ORC staff took up positions around the corner and tree filled area where Honda set up Pit #2. There was a mudhole located between the corners too. It seemed like a good place to shoot action shots. It was hoped this section would provide quality race action and entertainment. About 30 minutes later, someone shouted, "Ty Davis is almost at Checkpoint #1!" In an instant, everyone milling in the area suddenly ducked into their favorite picture taking places and waited. In the near distance, one could hear Ty's KX 500 beller as it accelerated from Checkpoint #1. It wouldn't be long until; There he was! The bike and rider catapulted through the turn entering the area where we waited. The bike and rider promptly blew past us! And that was it. Davis was riding so fast, that people taking video were happy to have him in the viewfinder for the 3 seconds he was there! I was thrilled! I got all 3 seconds of him on video! Suddenly, I didn't feel sick anymore!

The day went by quickly. Dirt bikes bombed through our observation area at various degrees of speed and control. Not long after the bikes were through, the Trophy trucks rumbled through. The Trophy rigs seemed to be gargantuan machines compared to the bikes. Through the day, the ORC staff and the Honda Pit crew conversed and poked a lot of fun at each other. These activities were punctuated regularly by race vehicles blasting through the small, yet entertaining section of the Baja course. The weather was gorgeous. It wasn't too hot or windy.

Late in the afternoon, we decided it would be neat to watch the bike make a highway crossing. The crossing point was located about half-way between the Honda pit and Ensenada. We arrived at the crossing and waited. During the wait, ORC had the opportunity to see the remains of XR 400 that Rick Seiman and crew was riding. For being run over by a trophy class truck, the bike was in marvelous condition. Fortunately, the bikes repair cost would not be overwhelming. The evening dwindled into night. I looked down the deserted stretch of highway and saw a light that was brighter than any car headlight! The light become bigger and brighter very quickly. All of a sudden. the light was right in my face! The bike roared past me in an instant! Again, the team Kawasaki KX 500, now piloted by Paul Krause, blew by as fast as it did at Honda Pit #2! It was dark, late, and Pat, Tim, and Kirk were tired and hungry. We left for Ensenada to recuperate.

Back at the hotel, we cleaned up - we were awfully dirty, and grabbed some well deserved supper. The food at the San Nicholas Hotel restaurant was exceptional. Every morsel disappeared from our plate in seconds. After finishing supper, Pat and I walked to the Baja Start/Finish line. We weren't there long until team Kawasaki came roaring in with their KX 500. Their performance: 714 miles in 14 hours, 11 minutes. I couldn't believe it! I've considered myself lucky if I get that many miles on my bike in six months of riding. After watching a few machines pass the finish line, Pat and I decided to head back to the hotel and wait for the trophy trucks to come in. The trucks were about 3 hours behind the bikes.

I woke up to an ungodly noise. The racket reminded me of military tank engine that was ready to blow its internals. The clock showed 11:15 p.m.. Then it dawned on me - the Trophy trucks were rolling into Ensenada! I shouted to Pat, "Hey man, the trophy trucks are making it in." Pat just grumbled lightly under his pillow. It was my belief he was doing the right thing. I curled up and went back to sleep. I was still exhausted from the days events.

It was the last day of our visit. ORC spent the morning eating breakfast with the Honda factory guys. Their humorous nature was infectious. After breakfast, we spent the better part of the day at the Baja Start/Finish line. Lots of pictures were taken and a fair amount of video was shot. Much time was spent wondering what became of Tim! For a little while, Pat and I decided that it would not be a bad idea to take a crash course in fluent Spanish speaking while learning the ins and outs of hitchhiking in Mexico. Tim soon arrived. The idea was quickly dismissed. One last piece of important business needed to be conducted. We had to insure the Outlaw Race Car that bore our web site name was properly recorded on film. The Outlaw vehicle rolled across the Finish line. The event was recorded. Regretfully, after the pictures were taken, it was time to head home. And then Tim noticed something.

Tim's truck interior had a bunch of ugly black smudges on the upholstery. Further investigation revealed more black smudges on the vehicle exterior. We could not figure out where the awful smudges were coming from. Someone cried out, "Holy ****! My ******* pen broke!" It was Norm. His ballpoint pen in his front pants pocket broke, and the pen ink seeped through the pants material, then onto anything the pants touched. Not wanting to waste any time, Norm borrowed a trick from me when I was sick the day before. He hopped into the truck box. We departed from Endenada and rolled down the Mexican freeway for home.

As we drove, cars passed us honking their horns. That was weird. No one in the truck cab could figure out why in hell cars were passing us, honking their horns. Tim looked in his rear view mirror and solved the mystery. "Look at Norm!", he said. We looked back at Norm in the truck box. There he was, flailing around in the back, his white Hanes briefs flapping in the breeze, struggling to get a clean pair of pants on! More cars passed us honking, at Norm. We hung our heads out the truck windows and screamed at passing motorists declaring,

"DON'T DRINK THE WATER!"