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Yep, the ugly guy in the nomex suit is Precision Engine editor Mike Mavrigian. With the passage of time, he’s even less attractive today.
I recently spent a few hours trying to clean my office, and came across an old photo that sparked some humorous memories.
Once upon a time (back in 1979), I had the opportunity to “co-drive” in the Baja 1000 desert off-road race, from Ensenada to LaPaz, on the Baja peninsula in northwestern Mexico. To make a long story short, we only ran about 7 miles before the car dropped and the team gave up. Now for the long version.
Back in late 1978, I received a call from a public relations guy (I’m going to leave names out of this to protect the innocent and the dumb) who was working for Monroe shock absorbers. “Dude, how’d ya like to co-drive in the upcoming Baja 1000? All ya have to do is to get your butt to Ensenada, Mexico, and everything’s handled from there. Just bring a helmet, goggles, gloves, boots and a driver suit. It’ll be a hoot. You could write a story for your magazine (a publication I worked for back then).
As it turns out, “co-driver” translates into the guy who sits in the passenger seat and reads the map…no driving involved. But hey, a chance to participate in this revered off-road torture event? Who’d turn that down?
The car was a 1977 Challenger, prepped for a passenger car class, by a small team in Los Angeles. The plan sounded way cool. We’d all meet up in the northern town of Ensenada, just south of Tijuana. We’d hit the local hotspots (grungy bars) for a couple of nights before the race, then we’d blast, bump, jump and maneuver through all sorts of nasty desert and mountain terrain for a legit 1,000 miles, then we’d party, say our goodbyes and fly back by way of Mexico City. Sounds like an adventure.
After a United Airlines flight from Ohio to San Diego, a colleague and I drove a rental car down into Mexico-way, to the run-down Mexican version of the Mayberry burg of Ensenada. I’ll summarize a bit here to save time…after finally being reunited with my lost luggage via an Air Bahia flight (long story), and after being accosted by local hookers and a few AK-47-armed federal cops (an even longer story…..we weren’t customers, by the way), we met up with the team, at which point we sampled the local food and drink (yech) and planned our strategy. The next morning, we regrouped at the staging area. The car had a few problems, including a front steering foul-up that required us to re-align the wheels using string, a plumb weight and a tape measure, and the need to correct an engine overheat problem. Anyway, there we were at the starting line. The town’s mayor released each class by firing an old nickel-plated single-action revolver (I’m pretty sure he was using live ammo, not blanks). With a resounding pop, we left the starting line and blasted through the town’s paved-then-gravel-then-dirt-then-sand roads, and entered the wilds of the desert. How cool is that?
The first challenge was to make it through a large moonscape section of powder sand (the stuff was super-fine…like thick drifts of baby powder). The driver (again, I’m leaving names out of this) yelled through his full-face helmet that “we can’t stop here…we can’t even slow down, ’cause we’ll get our asses bogged down in a heartbeat.” With a full-throttle intent, we busted and blasted our way through the puffy stuff, avoiding a few almost-unseen rocks and boulders along the way. As soon as we thought we were out of the powder bowl, the right front wheel snagged on something (never knew what), and ripped off of its hub. The car dove, dug and spun, sending us directly off of a small cliff. The car did one roll and landed unceremoniously on its belly, gasped for air and died. Wheel ripped off. Control arms bent. Right fender and door mashed. It wasn’t the worst, but it was a concern.
After the dust cleared, we simply looked at each other in expressions of disgust (as you would). “Well, let’s grab the spare,” I muttered in a cool and calm voice. “We could,” the driver replied, “but all of the spares are in the support truck, which is heading down the peninsula to the first check point.”
“Oh, then let’s call the support truck,” I quickly noted, “and let them know what’s happening.” His reply was delivered in classic comic straight-man form: “Well, we could, but we left the radio microphone in the support truck too.” After about 10 seconds of silence, we looked at each other and busted out laughing. After all, at that point, the options only included laughing, crying or whining, so we mutually decided that laughter was the best choice.
So, we waited for someone to mosey along. And we waited. And we waited. While we stood around and chatted, I noticed a hand-painted script on the car’s rear deck that read “Thanks to Jennifer.” Making smalltalk, I asked about it. The driver noted “That’s my wife’s name.” I then innocently pushed for details. “Oh, is she part of the team?, I asked. “Nope..this is her car,” he replied, avoiding eye contact. “Oh, so she’s the team owner?” Again, I was being innocently nosey. The driver, his eyes glazed over, looked at me with a deft 1,000-yard stare and said “No. You don’t understand. This is her car. The race deal came up and we needed a car. She went out of town to visit her mom, so my buddies and I gutted the Challenger and turned it into a race car. This is gonna be bad.” What do you do in a situation like that? Of course, we laughed our butts off (what the heck…I could laugh…after all, I didn’t have to face his wife).
After about 2 hours or so, a bunch of kids in a donkey-drawn cart appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and stopped to laugh at the gringos who had gone awry. Shortly thereafter, a spotter helicopter that was monitoring the race buzzed overhead, announced something over their loudspeaker (couldn’t understand a word), and took off. Apparently they called a tow truck in Ensenada, because about an hour later, the oldest and most rundown tow truck I’d ever seen showed up by taking a round-about route over the lower flatlands (made Fred Sanford’s truck look like a brand new Hummer). We towed back to town, where we met up with the team’s support truck. At that point, I assumed that we’d make the repairs and get back onto the race route. Unfortunately the team decided to quit and call it a day. Not exactly my idea of endurance racing, but it wasn’t my call.
The adventure continued with a few days of race car repair in Los Angeles, a trip to Vegas (where the car was to be on display at the SEMA show), and a noteworthy side jaunt into the Nevada desert to grab some “off road” photos before the show. Other events of note ensued, including a not-so-minor crash of a rental car in Vegas (I wasn’t driving), getting to know the Vegas cops and firefighters, a humorous visit to the hospital and other fun stuff, but we’ll leave that memory alone.
What does this story have to do with engine work? Not a thing. I just thought you’d enjoy the tale. I’m still cleaning the office. Who knows what else I’ll find?
- Mike Mavrigian, Editor
LETTERS FROM OUR READERS
It’s always flattering when readers take the time out of their busy schedules to sit down and write letters (whether they’re complimentary or critical). I’d like to share two of the most recent letters.
Directly thanks to your editorial in the October 2008 issue (on the crate motor illusion), I have netted two more high performance engine builds. I could tell you some crate motor horror stories that were even stranger than the example you mentioned. In my opinion, you should win something for your editorial!
Jim Ferguson
Wildhorse Racing
Awards aren’t necessary, Jim. The satisfaction I get from hearing that the magazine’s information is of some value to our readers is thanks enough (of course, winning a new bass boat wouldn’t offend me).
- Editor
I have been an avid subscriber of Precision Engine magazine for about three years now, and would like to take this opportunity to congratulate you on an outstanding technical publication. The depth of quality information far exceeds that found in the big enthusiast monthly magazines. I have been following all of the engine builds and find them to be extremely well done, from inception to dyno, documenting every phase of the builds in great detail. The articles provide us with invaluable reference material, and definitely helps us to sell such builds to customers. Once we show a customer the articles, they want the same build, using the same products.
Thanks again for a great publication.
Bob Madara
MarineKinetics
Knowing that somebody appreciates the sometimes- anal level of detail that we provide makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. It’s nice to know that the magazine and our readers share the same degree of passion for performance engine work.
- Editor
Tags: Racing, Reader Feedback
