The return of the underdog – 714x

It was Wednesday. Race day. Tanner was okay. Our friends – Ralph Carpinella, John Sayour, Franz and Trevor Froehlich, Bobby Miles, and Todd Lutinski – had come in the day before to follow the chase trucks and give us any support they could. Jesse Dostie and Ted Waldron, who were instrumental in producing our YouTube movie “Into the Dust,” had the cameras and drone ready to chronicle the event again. 

The race officially started tonight at midnight. We had to be in staging at 11:00 p.m. They’d let the first bike go, and wait two minutes until the next one got the green flag. By the time they’d get to our class, it would be 1 a.m. before we were out on course. We’d have a ten-hour head start on the trucks. In my mind, it would be about 20 hours before we had to deal with the first one. I would turn out to be exactly right.

At 11:00 a.m. we went to a press conference where they wanted to interview us. We were first, thankfully, because we wanted to go rest. We got out of there in about an hour.

Tanner and I ate a good meal and went to bed at 2:30 p.m. How can you sleep at 2:30 p.m. when you have been sleeping all you can for five nights straight, knowing you have to get up at 10:30 p.m. for the longest non-stop race in the world which you will do solo?  To make matters worse, they were doing some remodeling at the hotel. A hammer drill was chipping on concrete all afternoon. No pressure – go to sleep.

We couldn’t. I lay there and did my best sleep impression for 3 ½ hours. When it got dark, I could take no more of the hammer drilling. There was too much at stake. I called the front desk and asked them to stop. Fifteen minutes later, it hadn’t. I thought about how I must have failed to communicate properly, and picked the phone up again. Their idea of good and bad service can be skewed at times down there.

The whole hotel was full of racers. I explained how the motorcyclists had to get up in a few hours and we were all trying to sleep. The hammer drilling going on in the pool area, which the entire hotel wrapped around, was keeping us up. I suggested that it was bad hotel management to be doing construction after the sun went down, especially under these circumstances. Finally, I told them if it does not stop, I would be coming down to the front desk. This was no time for timidity. We had a whole year on the line.

This time I got my point across…it stopped in 60 seconds. Finally, I drifted off to sleep and got four hours in before waking up before the alarm at 10:20 p.m. “How much did you sleep, Tanner?” I asked.

“None” he replied. Not good.

If we had gotten up an hour earlier, we could have made dinner at a number of restaurants before they closed, but we needed all the sleep we could get.

We got our gear on, packed the last bags that were not in the truck already, and went out to the parking lot where our bikes were waiting for us. They were truly impressive machines – and still clean and shiny in the night lights. We donned our backup lights and fired up our GPS’s. I swung my leg over the seat and fired up my Honda 450X. It sounded like a hot rod and inspired confidence. 

Race number 714x. My number. Me, a kid from Bridgeport, Connecticut, in the Baja 1000 Ironman class. A race number beginning with a 7 means Ironman Class (solo, no teammates, start to finish) and an x at the end means motorcycle (as opposed to most of the 400 race entries which were four-wheeled). It would be me and my bike – partners, for three nights and two days.

We rolled out into the nighttime streets and made our way to the starting line. There were a lot of bikes there. In 2015, when we won the Sportsman Class and made our movie, there were ten teams in that class. This year, eight months after our movie came out, there were 26 teams in that same class. Many of them said they saw our movie and were inspired. They recognized us and complimented the movie. Many said they were inspired to put a team together and enter because they had watched the movie. The movie really is a “how to race the Baja 1000” guide.

The race Chaplin came to pray with and for us. We huddled with him and his wife as he prayed for our safety and wisdom. “Amen.”

Midnight. We heard the bikes ahead of us take off and a drone followed them a ways on course, with a live video feed to the Jumbotron on the bridge under the big “Baja 1000” sign.

Ahead was a raised platform where they could take pictures of you and the crowd can see you. I checked my GPS. So long as it was working, and I had gas, I had what I needed right now. I was here last year, and I knew what to expect. I didn’t want to get my heart rate up and burn one calorie I didn’t have to. I was calm.

Tanner would start fifth out of 19 Ironmen. I started eighth. I’d probably never see him on course. He was going for a podium finish, and I just wanted to finish. I would be the oldest Ironman finisher in Baja 1000 history. I believe I am the oldest one to even enter this class of elite athlete riders.

It was 1:00 a.m., November 16, 2018. I saw Tanner get the green flag in front of me. “Go son! If anyone has got this, it’s you,” I whispered to myself. I rolled up. Sixty seconds later another bike left. I rolled up. Before I knew it, there were two green flags in front of my bike. The Starter yelled over rumbling engines “Twenty seconds!” He held his hands up and counted down the seconds. Ten, nine, eight…this was it. It was up to me now. Seven, six, five…all the training and preparation…four, three…ok, I feel good…two…I got this…one! 

The green flags lifted. I rolled the throttle open and feathered the clutch out. Throngs of fans lined the course.

It was the return of 714x.