J2 races Baja: First leg of the race and a premature ending

In the hills east of Ensenada

The flag drops and Jason is off! The moment of truth has come for Jason Hill and John Lowe, of J2 Racing. Read yesterday's installment here.

The man with the timer and green flag gave me the 5-second countdown. I revved the engine one last time and at the signal, popped the clutch, nailed the throttle, and roared off toward the wide left hander into the 2009 Baja 1000. Easing up so as not to get stupid in the first corner on the pavement, I got on the gas again thereafter and sped off down the course. I was quickly orienting myself to the streets that had been so crowded the day before, making my way to the wash, and my only concern was "don't eat it going over Red Bull!!!"

I carried a quick but cautious speed through the wash. The not-so-treacherous mud and rocks make Grunt wiggle enough for me to keep my wits about what I was doing. I was focused. Moving forward, I was in tunnel vision just to keep my cool till I got over the jump and out of town. And there it was, the famous Red Bull jump. Now, granted it's not a major jump, but it has legendary status and I knew there would be cameras all over it. I picked up speed as I approached, stood up a bit, got set, and flew right over catching a little air in the process. Grunt's a whole lotta bike to go flying over jumps but she did just fine (and here are the pics to prove it ).

The rest of the ride went fairly well. Early morning sun and lots of dust from the all the bikes ahead of me was a bit problematic but I still managed to run my race. The rocky hill where the shift lever broke a couple days before really wasn't a problem this time around. Experience is the best teacher.

At the top of the hill, however, the locals decided it wasn't difficult enough so they piled three consecutive rows of large rocks across the trail to add that much more of a challenge. I took those in stride and kept on rolling. Even managed to avoid the rock that tripped me up the day before that caused the sprocket-bending crash.

Cresting the mountain and heading down the craggy, rutted path toward the main road, I knew it wasn't much further before I could hand off to John. I have to admit though, as good as I thought I felt, my arms and hands were going numb. The backpack I was wearing was cutting off the circulation in my arms and loosening the straps even a little shifted its weight to a more awkward position. So I just stuck it out and told myself I'd drop some of the pack's weight when I got to the truck.

Stripping off the long john shirt at one point helped a lot, but I was still feeling the fatigue of a week's worth of riding and a long road trip across the country. I pushed through it though, because I knew I could rest for a bit once I found the chase truck. Stopping at Baja Pits #1 gave me a chance to let the bike cool off. It had started overheating again.

One of the guys put a hot dog in my hand and offered me a seat in the shade while a couple others topped off the fuel. I pulled the satellite phone from the backpack and called the chase team to find out where exactly they were waiting. Knowing the trucks and buggys would be leaving soon, I thanked the crew, got last-second instructions on how much further I had to go before I would get to the swap point, and off I went.

I wrestled the big 650 in the deep silt a couple more times before heading down the rocky slope on the back side of the range that overlooked the valley leading to Ojos Negros. I saw cars and spectators again and kept an eye out for the Union Jacks Rod was flying as I hit the valley floor and opened the bike up along the fast flat section.

Finally seeing the chase truck I hit the brakes and skidded past the orange cones Rod had set up. I had barely gotten off the bike when I turned to see John already mounted and revving the engine. He took one look over his shoulder to see what might be coming and roared off into the dust. I didn't have time to mount the video camera on his helmet or give him the SPOT tracking device. He knew the trucks were on the way and wanted to get the hell out of there.

This video, from Jason's helmet cam, will give you a feel for the race.

John picks up the narrative here, as he takes over the bike at RM40.

Jason started the race, and we jumped in the chase truck, and I quickly plugged in my iPod, and tried to get focused. Worked pretty well. As the hours went by, my focus dwindled, and I wanted that bike because I knew the trucks had started and I wanted to stay out in front of them.

Jason came flying into the pit, we swapped, and I was off like a prom dress. I knew I was going too fast, I just could not back off the throttle. I could literally feel the ground shaking behind me, and before I knew it, I was down and being dragged off the course by my gear, thankfully.

No sooner did they move me, the first truck came through, and it sounded like something out of the Book of Revelations. I just sat there holding my arm, listening to the cheers in Spanish, wondering how I was going to get back and worrying about my rescue party, because I knew Rod and Jason were like me, and stupid enough to attempt to come get me in the middle of this tornado. And they did. And here I am.

Next: The rescue (This story's not over!)