Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1980's

sc 00 0') ...... Dave Chase heads up the wash on the BMW opposed-twin four-stroke entered by BMW North America and the West German factory. (Above) Ross Jones (left) and Ron Begin check out the cla.s-winning Honda CR260 of Vanscourt/Bolton. (Below) Derek Paiement pits the overall-winning Honda. Baja Journal: All night in the pits By Bruce Newton Puckah, puckah, puckah, fizz, crackle, pop. " Hell o, Honda 13, this is Honda 14. Do yo u read? Over. " Puckah, puckah, puckah, fizz, crackle, pop. " H ello, Honda 13, this is Honda 14. Do you read? Over. " Puckah, p uckah, p uckah, fizz, crackle, pop. " Da m m i t. I can 't get anyone in th is wind," says Ross Jones, a ngrily throwi ng th e radio receiver back into h is truck. Un happily, h e stares o ff into the n ig ht and waits. T hat's all he and co-worker Ron Beg in can do. T hey are Honda's pit crew in the daunting San Matias pass section of the 1985 Baja 1000. It's about 9:00 p .m. and the leading bikes, which have been racing since 6:00 a.rn., will soon be here, i t one of the last serious obstacles left on the run into Ensenada. And that's where the radio comes in . T hey know Hondas are in contention for a nu mber o f class wins, as well as outrigh t victory. They know the leaders left San Felipe a while ago. T hey wa nt to kn o w when they can expect them. But the wi nd is preventing that. It 's blowing at gale force, billowing down through the craggy mountain pass , whipping up the fine-grained sand and bending the stunted trees in its path, and makinl?, radio cornmunication 'impossible,' . • .. . It's a strange scene. The Honda p it , co m prising two trucks, si ts right in the center of this maelstrom, abut· ting the course. There're a few spectators, sitting in their rocking vans and cars. A couple of hardy souls stand next to a fire, while Mexican pop songs play on a tape deck nearby. Just a couple of hundred yards away runs a main highway. People occasion all y tra vel by, cossetted by heaters a n d sheet m etal from the elem ents. A IO-minute drive from here in eith er direction and it 's a nice night. Here, it 's hell. Ross a nd Ron sit in the middle of it, dressed in heavy jackets and jeans, MX gloves and goggles, trying to keep the sand and cold out. Someone is definite ly comi ng though. They're still a long way off , travelling across El Diablo dry lake, but to Ron and Ross the wait for them to arrive is interminable. You do tend to get im pa tient when you're being assaulted by a fierce sandstorm to the accompaniment of static from a useless radio. At least thes e guys are making some money out of this. After all , Honda is a rich compan y, and it 's paying out a lot of bucks to win Baja. Ross laughs at such a suggestion. "Our payback is getting to see our rid ers collect th e winner's trophy," h e says , dead serious. The lights are much closer now, but there 's something strange going on. Instead of powerful racing lights cu tt in g through the blackness, these ar e normal car lights. The answer is soo n provided. Larry Roeseler appears around a bend in th e river wash, riding one-handed, the left hand clutching a flashlight. His Husqvarna four-stroke's lights have blown! . He's travelling real slow, picking his way along, fighting the wind and grit, but he's not alone. Behind him come his temporary ligh ts, two pickup trucks, revving madly in the sand to keep up. It's a crazy sight , quickly swa llowed by the night , although the headlights are visib le fo r a whi le, bounding and dancing o ff the wa lls of the pass. T h is strange convoy has electrified the Honda men. Ra ndy Morales and Derrick Pa iement are in second p lace on a C R500. This could be their chance to snatch the lead , depending on how far they are behind. Ross is quickly to the radio to relay "th e news. • '. - . • . '- "Honda 13, this is H on da 14, come in, over." P ucka h , puckah, puckah , fizz, pop, crackle. He "tries again but there is no answer. He abuses the radio again. It crackles back indolently. The waiting begins again. Everything is set, it has been for hours. The fuel containers, tires, chains, filters and tool-box are ready. All that can be done now is pick things up as they blow over. Then the crazy dance of light begins again. This time though , the light has purpose. It's one long, probing, unified finger. It 's Paiement. Ross and Ron swarm over the bike, refuelling , oiling the chain and checking the rear tire. As he refuels, Ross gives Paiement the word: "Roeseler went through 25 minutes ago without lights. H e was going slow and riding by the lights of a couple of pick-ups, He repeats the message. Paiemen t doesn' t need to hear it a third time. He's gone, back in to the ferocio us n igh t and moving quickly. The stop has las ted maybe two minutes and brought with it a sense of concentrated excitement and intensity. You appreciate just how much effort these guys are putting into this race, how much they want to win. Much of that feeling leaves with Paiement. However, a new type of intensity replaces it, that of a rider waiting for his teammate to show up. Chris Haines has been seated in the second truck all this time. He's partnered with Jim Fishback on a Class 30 XR600. All race long they have battled with the Rahier/Hau Marlboro BMW . The last word had the Belgian just in the lead. Now Haines is suiting up in his Baja armor. He's tense. He walks around in circles, does knee-bends, gives instructions on a replacement air-filter for maybe the 100th time, but most of a ll, he waits. In di fferent circumstances, he wo uld look slightly ridicu lous. After all, yo u don' t see too many peo p le wearing motorcycle helm ets with bicycle la mps duct-taped to the top! The lights are a lon g time coming and there's not a great sense of excitement when they finally do appear, as Ra h ier is the one expected. But it's Fishbackl If Ross a nd Ron are surprised by his arrival, they're too busy to show it, as the veteran desert racer reels off a string of reo quirements. • " We need ne Wjlights, a tire: chain:

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