Weekend Warrior: Dirt Rider's Tecate Road Trip - Feature Review - Dirt Rider Magazine

It's rare that we all get out of the office at the same time, let alone to the same destination. When we all decided (at the last minute) to race the Tecate Hare Scrambles in El Hongo, Mexico, it turned into our first official Dirt Rider road trip (sans Senior Editor Karel Kramer and Test Editor Corey Neuer). We thought it worthy of a Weekend Warrior story; after all, this kind of stuff is what it's all about! Come behind the scenes and read all about our racing, testing, crashing and a little drinking (not necessarily in that order) weekend shenanigans below the border.FRIDAY NIGHTThe trip started with a bike-prepping party at Dirt Rider Editor Jimmy Lewis' house Friday night. Jimmy, Art Director Joe McKimmy and I (Online Editor Jean Turner) were all going in Jimmy's friend "Diamond" Dave Donatoni's boxvan, "Snoopy." This wasn't just any boxvan. "Snoopy" was a super-trick, high-performance, 1976 Chevy boxvan with genuine duct tape detailing-also known as "the Butter Cutter" as we would later find out on the washboard dirt roads of Mexico.After prepping the bikes, it was time to load up. The trick was fitting five bikes in one boxvan. Three bikes fit inside the van, and one could go on the Joe Hauler hitch, which left out just one bike. And there's always room for one more, right? Dave and Jimmy were convinced, so they threw a piece of plywood over the three bikes and wedged in the CRF250X on top horizontally. Problem solved.We finished loading up (and admiring our handi-work) at about 2:30am. We toyed with the idea of leaving right then, but reluctantly went to bed for three hours of restless sleep.MEXICO BOUNDThe next morning at 5:30am, Bryan Nylander (Associate Editor) met us at Jimmy's, where we left for San Diego to meet the rest of our Tecate bound clan: Dirt Rider Publisher Sean Finley, and Tim and Jen Morton of Baja Bound Tours. Sean was already in the Denny's parking lot when we pulled up. He recognized Bryan's truck, but not "Snoopy." From the look of the boxvan and the two scraggly characters in front (Jimmy and Dave), Sean was thinking, "Oh no, who the heck did Bryan bring with him?" He was surprised to see all of us come piling out; and even more surprised to see the tangle of bikes in the back. He just laughed and shook his head, probably relieved that we didn't put Dirt Rider fender stickers on the van.Why didn't we roll in style with the Dirt Rider Dodge and Gearbox trailer? Or in Jimmy's pimpin' 40-foot race transporter? Well, because you never know what's going to happen in Mexico. "You want to bring something you can walk away from if you have to," said Diamond Dave. And besides, the less-flashy your vehicle looks, the less would-be theives think you have anything of value. From the looks of our ride, you'd think we had an old box spring mattress and aluminum cans in the back.After breakfast and a little bench racing, we headed down into Mexico. Rain from the previous week made for perfect, drool-worthy conditions. The wet dirt was sprouting new grass, and the sky was electric blue with a cool breeze. We kept our fingers crossed that the conditions in El Hongo would be as good.We crossed the border in Tecate with minimal inspection-much to our relief-and continued down the final stretch. We arrived at Rancho Santa Veronica just before 11, and the conditions were everything we hoped for. Crisp, blue skies, dark brown tire marks and zero dust. We unloaded and immediately geared up to go hit the trails.TECATE TRAIL-RIDINGAmong our bikes were four we were testing: Two KTMs, a 300 E/XC and 400 E/XC RFS, a Husaberg 550 and the Gas Gas 300. So the day's agenda was going to included a few photo shoots during our ride. We headed out through Tecate's notoriously twisty, rocky terrain, and several miles later we came across an opening we thought would make a good backdrop. We parked the bikes and watched as Diamond Dave and Tim Morton rode the KTM's up and down the sand wash while Jimmy and Bryan shot pictures.Looking for some creative angles, Jen Morton suggested Dave ride over a boulder down into the sandwash. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so Dave went up the hill, behind the boulder and began his descent. We'll let the pictures tell the rest of that story.With little regard to Dave's well-being, the first things shouted out were: "That's my race bike!"-Jimmy"Bryan, did you get that?!"-MeDave wasn't hurt, and neither was the bike. But the crash sure looked spectacular... and at least we got it on camera! In fact, let's see that in an instant replay:We packed up and rode a few more miles until we reached another great photo backdrop: a grassy clearing under a canopy of oak trees. We parked the bikes again to take more pictures. Jimmy wanted to shoot each of the KTM's coming up out of the creek bed in a wheelie, roosting across the trail. Tim went first on the 400; his form was great, but the roost wasn't big enough. "Do it again, and just 'nail' it this time," Jimmy said. Tim went around again, but with the same results. "Tim, just pin it like you mean it!" Jimmy yelled. Once again, Tim came up out of the creek bed with minimal spray. This went on for nearly half an hour, until Jimmy's arms were flapping, and his instructions turned into colorful, sputtered sentence fragments: "#&@* %#$@*! Tim, JUST #%$&*@! LET 'ER EAT!"Diamond Dave was up next, and with much better results aboard the two-stroke, spraying roost everywhere. "See, that's how it's done!" Jimmy shouted. Still worked up after shooting Dave, Jimmy hopped on the Gas Gas and did some cliff jumping to calm down.We ended up with some great photos for the KTM bike test-which will be featured in the April issue of Dirt Rider magazine. By the end of the shoot it was late afternoon, so we packed up and headed back towards camp.Almost back to the ranch, just a few miles out on the dirt roads, Jimmy flagged me down and waved the rest of the group ahead. He had been watching me ride and had some pointers. We were doing some drills and exercises on the road for a while before we continued back towards the ranch. It was very cool (and flattering) that Jimmy took the time to give me a lesson - something people normally pay hundreds of dollars for. I was going over everything he said in my head as we cruised back to camp. I was feeling pretty good about myself and a good day of riding... and then it happened.I saw it just in time to watch my front wheel go right into it: A rain rut at a one-o'clock-angle to the road. It was only about a tire's width, but it was angled just right that it pitched me sideways. I completely cartwheeled the bike and lawn-darted into the hard pack. I lied there with the wind knocked out of me, gasping for breath as I watched Jimmy ride out of sight. Moments later when he realized I wasn't behind him, he came charging back down the trail thinking "Ohmigod, I killed her!"Once I caught my breath, I was fine-miraculously unhurt, actually- other than road rash on my left arm. The bike didn't fare quite as well, however. The front fender had shattered and the bar mount was bent. "Well, I'm glad you already got pictures of it," I said to Jimmy who was holding the jagged, broken front fender of our new Gas Gas 300.When we pulled up to camp everyone gaped at the bike, and would have asked what happened if it wasn't already clear from the bent bars, broken helmet and lack of front fender. Luckily, Bryan had an extra helmet and the bars were fixable, which just left us the task of hunting down some new plastic. We rummaged through the Acerbis fender pile where we finally found a suitable replacement... only it was bright Suzuki-yellow. Oh well, at least I'd be easy to spot during the race.The Los Ancianos Motorcycle Club hosted a dinner buffet at the Ranch restaurant that night. Rancho Santa Veronica is actually a former matador training facility-supposedly one of the best in Mexico in it's time. The stuffed bull heads and autographed pictures on the walls of the restaurant must have been their equivalent of the Motocross Hall of Fame. We gorged ourselves on authentic Mexican food and sat glazed in front of the restaurant television playing "On Any Sunday." That movie has an effect on motorcyclists like that of Teletubbies on two-year-olds: Oddly pleasing and completely hypnotic.With that, we began contemplating our sleeping arrangements... or lack thereof. The back ice-cube-like cargo compartment of "Snoopy" was seeming like a great reason to have a few extra beers before bed, until our new best friends, the Baja Fools, appeared out of nowhere. Like a scene from Apocalypse Now, less the music, they offered us the key to their Rancho Santa Veronica hotel room saying only that they expected to be out drinking all night and wouldn't need it. They raided our cooler for beers and left as quickly as they came, saying something about the five-page story in Dirt Rider they expected in return. We hope this makes them famous!The accomodations at the hotel were actually pretty nice aside from being freezing cold (you could see your breath in the room)! Tim and Jen Morton were nice enough to lend us one of their propane space heaters which more than thawed us out; we could have baked clay in there. I was expecting to barely get my three critical hours of sleep, but instead, had the best night of sleep I had all week (ten hours!) followed by a long, hot shower in the morning.RACE DAYThe next morning was clear and freezing. The bikes were covered with frost and the wet ground was frozen, but thawing out as the day quickly warmed up. After breakfast we headed out to walk the course. It got pretty tight within the first mile, but we knew it would get even more technical than that further into the race. Bryan, Joe, Sean and I planned to ride the two-hour morning race which was Industry, B, C and Women's classes. Jimmy and Dave entered the three-hour afternoon race which was the Pro and A classes.Our suspicions about the course were right; it got much tighter a few miles into the race. By the time my line started (last of six), there were guys and bikes strewn all over the bushes. The gnarlier technical sections were further into the race with boulders, rock walls and a few water crossings which turned into mud holes by the third lap.Joe was looking forward to giving Dirt Rider Publisher-and former quad-god-Sean Finley a beat-down in the Industry class, but a hang up in one of the trail's rocky bottlenecks dissolved any hopes of that happenning. By the time Joe worked his way through the section, Sean had snuck around the mess and was gone.We all ended up with good results. Sean Finley got third in the Industry class, Joe finished eigth and Bryan came in 14th. I finished second to Jen Morton in the Women's class-which was almost third after I nearly got schooled by a girl on an RM80. I felt better about it once I found out who she was: 12-year-old Alyssa Prince who won the KTM Junior Supercross Challenge a few years ago. She is incredibly fast and surprisingly aggressive.By one o'clock, the day had significantly warmed up resulting in a little dust for the afternoon race. Jimmy and Dave were starting on row two behind the pros. The first row took off, and only a few hundred feet into the straight, Bobby Bonds clipped the back wheel of another rider, sending him down, hard. The second row's start was delayed as the medics and ambulence rushed over to help Bonds. He eventually got up and walked away; he didn't have any broken bones, but he was out of the race.Diamond Dave holeshot the start off the second row. Jimmy had trouble starting the bike and ended up 14th, but by the end of the first lap had worked his way up to first place. I'll hand it over to Jimmy to tell his race story:JIMMY'S RACE ACCOUNT"I was going to race the pro class but instead decided to act my age and sign up for Vet A. I helped close down the bar the night before with the Ex-Former-President-for-life of the Los Ancianos, Ray Abbott-I think he's a professional at that. Besides I really like the trophies from this race, so call me a sandbagger. Every other Vet A rider on the start line did!"After practicing about 20 near-perfect examples of the standing backwards start, I flubbed the real one and was last off the line on my race machine, the KTM 300 EXC. So I charged through the pack for the first few miles and made a boatload of passes. About a quarter of the way through the lap it was spreading out and I settled into a rhythm. Then I started catching Diamond Dave on the Dirt Rider Husaberg 550. I knew it was him because the roost off of the Kenda Southwick was hanging in the air for about 20 seconds, falling from heights of nearly 40 feet. I swear! Carefully dodging it, I snuck around him too."Then there was one more guy. Mounted on a Yamaha YZ250, Brian Butler was going pretty good. I caught up, put a pass on him and proceeded to settle into a 3-hour pace to run the rest of the race, but he sat on me. No matter what, he was on my rear fender. I slowed a bit and he did too. I picked it up, with little result. We went back and forth for about two laps until a big stick got stuck in my swingarm. I stopped, he yelled goodbye and took off. I broke off the stick and chased after him. He decided to pit after two laps so that's where I caught him—knowing my KTM was good for three laps. I'd have to really put a gap on him to keep my lead during my pit on the following lap. I put my head down and pulled away from him; in fact, I yanked him so bad that after two miles he wasn't even in sight. Great! Dave thought his box van was a 'Butter Cutter' but this KTM was like a hot knife through butter. I was slicing through the Manzanita with the power valve barely open and still making time."With about a half-lap left my bike bogged and started running out of fuel. I switched it over to reserve and continued on conservatively at a much slower pace, knowing I had six miles left (a KTM goes about five miles on reserve). I was wondering if I'd thrown my race away with my pit strategy, but luckily I made it to the gas stop on fumes. I watched Butler go by, saying to my pit crew, 'That guy? I've got him covered!' Since it was so easy to pull away, I figured I'd have no problem catching him... or so I thought. For an entire lap I rode pretty fast and never so much as caught a glimpse of him. This worried me, so on the last lap I really picked up the pace, but I never even came close. In fact Butler finished a whole minute ahead of me—and I was cooking, moving up into the top ten of the pros who started 10-minutes ahead of us!"I finished seventh overall and he got fifth. I couldn't even find him after the race to tell him how much he worked me over! I hope he was so tired he couldn't walk. Dave and the Husaberg 550 came rolling in a few minutes back in third overall in the A, first in the 40+ class. Not bad for an old man on a bike no one thought would finish! He said he was hunting me down just the same!"After we pitted Jimmy (and Diamond Dave), we wanted to try and catch some of the race from the trails. Tim Morton, owner of Baja Bound Tours, was very familiar with the area, and told us it would be pretty much impossible to do without riding on the course. Still, Joe and I wanted to try so we rode west on the trails until we could hear bikes. From there we parked and bushwhacked our way on foot through tight Manzanita and barbed wire until we reached the race course. It took us a while to find it and we were afraid we had missed Jimmy. We waited a few minutes and finally saw Diamond Dave come into sight, which meant we had 'just' missed Jimmy on his last lap. We were bummed about that, but at least we caught Diamond Dave; he was pretty surprised to see us cheering him on in the middle of nowhere!The riders were all smiles at the end of the race. Everyone praised the great course and the near-perfect conditions. Aside from Bonds' mishap off the start, everyone agreed it was an incredible race. .We were all proud of Jimmy for finishing seventh overall, and also because his head stayed above water the entire time.PACKING IT INAfter the race, it was time to pack it all back in and head home. We weren't in a rush to wait in line at the border, so we decided to have dinner first. Jimmy insisted we eat at "Los Panchos Tacos," a hole-in-the-wall sidewalk caf in Tecate. He had pointed it out the day before and said, "That's where we're eating dinner on the way home." We soon found out why he was so adamant. The food was incredible, and surprisingly, so was the service. We wolfed down plate after plate of smoky grilled beef tacos and quesadillas on homemade tortillas with spoonfuls of guacamole.From our table, we could see the line of cars waiting to cross the border. It extended all the way down the street and around the corner. "That's a good 40-minute wait," Jimmy said. Diamond Dave decided we weren't going to back-track a mile to the end of the line and announced his plan to cut into the line right across the street from the restaurant. Jimmy quickly talked him out of it, explaining that if you try to cut, everyone starts honking and the Federales come after you. After dinner we piled in "Snoopy" and Diamond Dave reluctantly headed to the end of the line. Minutes later, we saw a Chevy pickup trying to cut in line. Sure enough the surrounding cars started honking and the Federales were all over it like a hobo on a hotdog. The guy was promptly bounced out of line and set to the back of the line. Instead, he headed down an adjacent side street. The Federales anticipated his next move so they zipped down the main drag to the next block. Stupidly enough, the Chevy pulled out and tried to cut in line again but the Federales were already waiting for him. "That's a trip to jail," Jimmy said as we watched the guy get rolled.Note to self: Listen to Jimmy when we're in Mexico.We got across the border with minimal inspection once again, and made ourselves comfortable for the drive home. Before nodding off, we mused over how much fun we all had that weekend. Our only complaint was that it was too short. It definitely needed to be a four-day trip; perhaps next year it will be.

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