Feature: Baja Humbug
February 1, 2008
I’m in the middle of the Baja
California desert waiting my turn to descend a rocky canyon path, when the
temperature gauge of my pre-production 2008 Hummer H2 goes on red alert. A
quorum of Hummer engineers from our chase vehicle convenes for a quick
investigation and returns a speedy verdict of "minor electrical glitch." I can
proceed without endangering the big SUV’s radiator, they assure me, because the
engine only thinks it’s too hot. "We can fix it tonight," they add as they
detach the offending wire.
Good news, but there’s a snag. The H2’s air conditioner—still
under the erroneous impression that the engine is overheating—imperiously shuts
itself down, leaving me with two choices in the 90-degree heat. I can swelter in
a hermetically sealed environment, or I can lower the windows and brave the
swirling clouds of dust that are sure to accompany the day’s route through
silt-covered territory. I choose the latter. And with each spin of the Hummer’s
tires through the slippery material, I’m coated with yet another fine layer of
buff-hued silt. When I arrive at our lunch stop, Emily, a member of the support
team, greets me by clapping in delight and exclaiming, "You’ve gone blond!"
I won’t see a hot shower for a long time, but I don’t mind.
We’re in Mexico to retrace the route of the original Baja 1000, and all the dust
makes the experience feel a bit more authentic. For four decades now, off-road
racers have dueled it out along a variety routes that typically start in
Ensenada and end in La Paz. Our guide—Rod Hall—won the inaugural race in 1967
and is the only driver to have fielded a four-wheeled vehicle in each Baja 1000
since. Today, he races with his sons Josh and Chad as Team Hummer. At this
year’s 40th anniversary race, Rod Hall won in the Mini-Stock production class in
a 2006 H3; Chad Hall won in the Stock-Full production class in a 2008 H3
Alpha.
During our five-day journey down the Mexican peninsula—our pace is downright
leisurely compared to the non-stop race—each of us has a chance to drive with
Hall. When it’s my turn, I take the wheel of an H3 Alpha and think nothing of
jamming my foot on the accelerator, then braking dramatically when I reach the
first obstacle. I smile; Hall frowns. "Some guys race that way, but…" He shakes
his head in disapproval. "Why don’t you try just using the gas pedal?" Soon, I’m
cruising at 60 mph along a seriously degraded road—the locals prefer to use a dirt track off to the side—weaving smoothly around
massive sinkholes, never once touching the brakes. Hall approves. "See?" His
smooth-and-steady style might not be as fun, but it wins races.
Hall has another rule: Allow plenty of space between yourself
and the car in front of you. Follow too closely, and you’ll wind up in a
zero-visibility situation, courtesy of trailing dust. It only takes a few
panicky moments for everyone to accept the wisdom of his admonition, and for
much of our trip we spread out for a mile or more. With a column of dusty plumes
leading the way, no one gets lost, even when we lose sight of each other’s
vehicles.
Stopping at military checkpoints becomes a regular event as we
make our way to La Paz. I’m told we owe the special scrutiny to a recently
busted cocaine ring that used Hummer convoys; but I think the soldiers just want
to get a look inside the cars. At one particularly well-staffed outpost—replete
with several structures arranged loosely around an open courtyard—we wait an
unusually long time for permission to proceed. Does someone want a bribe? I wonder. Or is holding us up
their entertainment for the day? After about
half an hour, the checkpoint’s commander dashes across the courtyard, wearing
only a towel. Several minutes later he emerges in a pristine uniform, polishing
his black belt as he walks toward us. He has freshened up, it seems, for his
photograph with Rod Hall and the Hummers.
Occasionally we join up with the main artery that connects
north and south. A two-lane blacktop for most of its length, Highway 1 is a grab
bag of narrow straightaways, blind curves, dramatic drop-offs and occasionally
erratic pavement. Memorials dot the dangerous road, most improvised with crudely
fashioned crosses and wilted bunches of flowers, while a few are elaborate stone
structures with full-fledged shrines and statues of Mary. On our final day, we
use the highway—without incident—to cross from the cool breezes of the Pacific
coast to the Sea of Cortez and the stifling heat of La Paz. As the Fahrenheit
ticks ever higher, I’m grateful for the now-operational air conditioning, and
for the shower that awaits me at our hotel. The "blond" hair was fun while it
lasted, but I’m ready to go back to my natural brown color—and have a drink.
Hummer, www.hummer.com
Rod Hall Racing, www.rodhallracing.com
Score International Off-Road Racing, www.score-international.com
