Doherty Motorsports
2001 Tecate SCORE Baja 1000
November 8-11, 2001
Driver/Co-Driver - Mike Doherty/Bob Bower
Driver/Co-Driver - Bob Shepard/Scoob Maloney
Crew - Chad, Alfred, Brian, Kim, Josh, Boyle, Tom,
Flying Dutchmen
Mike Doherty Baja 1000 Race Report
Our Glass Is One
Third Full According To Bower…
I have yet to meet the race
driver that takes a green flag without believing they could win the race. If I
ever do meet such a driver, there would be little doubt in his mind that I will
have no respect for him before we parted company. |
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On the other hand, when a racer takes the green flag and
gives all he has to give, and then some, I have the utmost respect for him. Win
or lose. Mike Doherty merits respect of the highest order. He took on the Baja
1000. After two decades of racing, this was the first Baja 1000 he entered with
his own truck and team. He knew there were faster trucks entered. He knew there
were bigger budgets entered. He knew there were larger teams entered. Yet, he
also knew that Baja has a reputation for not caring how fast, or wealthy, or
the size of the army a team brings. The Baja 1000 is a race that Doherty
Motorsports could win. Because it is Baja. |
| Winning the Baja 1000 takes three things. It is almost
like simple arithmetic. 1 plus 2 equals 3. One must accomplish 1 and 2 before 3
happens. #1. You must overcome Baja. The rocks, the washouts, the sand, the
silt, the hills, the washes, the bushes, the sun, the night, the fog, the
animals, the booby traps, the water, and the highway. You have not beat Baja
until you cross the finish line. It takes the whole race to do it. |
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#2. You must overcome yourself. Drivers make mistakes. How
a driver reacts to making those mistakes is the difference between winning and
losing. It is having the mental toughness to move on and drive without losing
composure. It is having the stamina to persevere, regardless of frustration and
fatigue. It is driving slower than you would like because pacing is more
important than passing. It is blowing a turn, or hitting a big rock, or
standing it on the nose and being settled down and back in the rhythm in the
next 100 yards. |
| #3. You must beat your competition. This cannot be done
unless #1 and #2 are done. 1 plus 2 equals 3. We did not succeed at #1, beating
Baja. He did succeed at #2. I watched him do that every mile we drove. He would
gallop when it was right to go fast. He would tip toe when it was smart to go
slow. He would claw and bully our way through obstacles that left other cars
parked. I also watched him succeed with #2 at the bottom of every hill where we
had to wait for a string of race cars make their attempts before we could go.
It was quite frustrating to wait in line, knowing our race truck would make it
to the top of these hills with ease if he picked the right line and was smart
with the throttle. Mike succeeded at #2 as well as any driver I’ve had the
privilege to race with. We did not succeed at #3, beating our competition. Out
of the three things it takes to win the Baja 1000, we accomplished only one.
Our glass is one third full. |
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The Race Report The team arrives in Ensenada Wednesday
evening. With Mike are Scooby, Chad, Alfred, and Kim with his happy
17-year-olds. The boys are exuberant puppies, tails wagging, jaws flapping, not
exactly hyper, but very, very alert. Kim unlatched the leash and the puppies
homed in on Anthony’s like Springer Spaniels to a covey of quail.
Forty-five minutes later one returns to puke, and then trots back into the
Ensenada night. All of us are looking forward to the race. |
| Thursday we get through registration by two o’clock,
unload the truck by three, and hit contingency just after four. A fast two
hours later 805 gets the green band on the cage and we are through tech
inspection. Next, it’s off to get a top off of fuel at the 76 Racing Gas
truck, install the two new Duralast batteries, aim the lights and go to dinner.
That was the plan, but that’s not what happened. |
 
 
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The new batteries go in just fine. When Mike hits the
starter button, nothing happens. A click. Hit it again, a click. WTF. Mike and
Bob go to the drivers meeting while Scooby, Chad and Alfred work to sort out
the problem. Mike and Bob get back from the drivers meeting by 9 PM, and the
starter problem gets worse. Alfred gets the spare installed, but without the
correct shims, it gets chomped up by the ring gear. The starter problem is
solved by 11 PM and we head back to the trailer. We get stuck in the street
driving back to the trailer. The starter is not working. The night ends about
2:00 AM, but the truck is ready. |
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Race morning we get in and line up for the start. Mike has
his race face on. We talk about the start, the wash, and booby traps. We inch
up toward the start. We get the thirty second count and the flag drops. Mike
leaves the start line without so much as a chirp from the tires, drives nicely
around the convention center and steps carefully into the wash. Very nice. Very
controlled. Then, it’s on the gas. No booby traps, but thousands of
people. We catch and pass 804 in the wash, and then it’s on and off the
pavement onto the dirt out of town. Dust. Cliff Road. Left into the hills. We
talk. Mike is comfortable, the truck is happy. We go around a few cars in
trouble. More dust. Congestion, rocks, and more dust, but the car is well
within control and the horsepower is pushing me into the seat. Yum. |
| We come around a left turn in the hills about nine miles
in and see cars broken off to the side at the bottom of a gnarly hill. We start
up through the rocks and dust and the car darts to the right. Mike steers left,
but the car heads for the edge of the drop off. We stop. It won’t steer.
We back up. It won’t steer. We go forward, still won’t steer and now
cars are starting to stack up behind us. We’re broke. He backs it up as
far as he can into the hillside to make room for cars to go by and shuts it
off. The pitman arm is busted. We have a spare. Mike and a crowd of locals go
to work on it. Now the line of cars is stopped. Cars are stuck. In a short 20
min. we are belted up and ready to go. |
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The line of cars is ahead of us. A gray HUMMER gives us a
show. It drives up to the back of a 5-1600 and touches it. Then a huge billow
of black smoke shoots out the back of the HUMMER as he pushes four cars up the
hill. We leave. It seems every car in the race is in front of us. One by one,
they fall behind us. The fuel pressure gauge is doing a dance between zero and
ten pounds. Not good. The engine dies. Mike is out and at the fuel pumps in the
back. He fiddles with them. The flow is good. Back in the car and the engine
starts. We go. Fuel pressure is steady at four to five pounds. We turn onto the
highway and put fifteen or twenty cars behind us. We hit 106 MPH and the car is
calm. Into Guadalupe wash. No dust. Almost no people. No reason to go slow. We
hit one good-sized whoop and the car just sucks it up without a hitch. We land
straight and on the gas. Mike shows the twenty years of driving experience.
He’s doing a great job. By now, I’m starting to get the feel of the
truck and I like what I feel. |
| At mile 35 we find another line of cars stuck and stopped.
We stop and watch a 5-1600 car repeatedly attempt to climb into the side of a
hill to get around the stuck Stock Full Ford of Dave Sykes. Mike makes his
move. We go around the outside of Sykes, up into the bushes and trees on the
hillside, and tip toe our way past the problem. Masterful throttle control and
steering by Mike is the only reason we made it. One may think that a race
driver needs skill to go fast, but the way he drove us through that situation
showed how much skill is needed to go slow. High fives in the cockpit of
805. |
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On to Ojos Negros. It’s rough going, but Mike sets a
smart pace for us. We take speed where the course gives it to us, and we go
only as slow as necessary though the rest of it. We come down into the Ojos
Negros area and finally figure out our radio is not working. We can’t hear
a thing, but we transmit anyhow. Just after the fast rollers approaching Ojos
Negros, we come to a Mexican Sippy Hole. Mike drives through it at about 3 MPH,
but there is still mud everywhere. We see Scooby and the crew as we blow by. We
stop at the highway crossing to see if they can catch up with us to check out
the truck, but Scooby calls us and tells us to go ahead to Check Point 1. We
are critical on time. We go. |
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Our run to Cerro Colorado is frustrating because the
course is not giving us much chance to run hard. Yet, we know it is a good pace
for finishing the race, and that finishing will mean good position and possibly
a win. At Mile 96, we see Scooby and Bob Shepard. We stop and they look the
truck over. Things look fine and we leave. We get to the first BFG pit at about
3:30 PM. We take on a full load of fuel, pull the light covers, meet Poolman
from the Cheese, and head out for the Summit thirty miles ahead. |
| Mike wants to get over the Summit before dark. We have
plenty of time to make it. We get to the bottom of the Summit at about 4:15 PM,
but we are in another long line of cars and have to stop and wait. And wait.
And wait. Cars are everywhere. 1-1600’s, 5-1600’s, 12’s,
3’s, and this one Class 8. People everywhere. Out of the cars, talking,
waiting. Mike joins them. The line starts to move. I honk the horn to get him
back in the seat. We move forward, but only about 100 yards, and then it is
back to waiting. The light is going away. We finally get our turn to go. Mike
waltzes up the hill and over the rocks like he does it on a daily basis. A fine
job. We clear the Summit at 6 PM and descend into the wash. The wash is long
and punishing. We make it to Cohabuzo Junction by 7:15 PM. |
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Now it is the cross grain. Mike gets the most speed
available without pounding the truck or smoking the brakes. In and out of
ditches, up and down little hills. I am impressed with his driving. The pace is
good, the lights are good, the truck is happy, we are moving right along. We
get to Jose Saldina at race mile 180 about 8 PM. |
| The next 10 miles is silt beds. It was not silt when Mike
went through it on his prerun, but it is very silty now. First silt bed, we
motor on through, but it is deep and you could tell it wanted to grab the truck
and hold it in. The silt is gobbling the power and we feel the drag on the
truck. Then we come to a huge silt bed. Cars are stuck, but almost invisible
because they are buried so deep. Roof lines show, an occasional engine cage
from a buggy can be seen. It’s spooky. No lights. No movements. No
nothing. Just silt. We go to the left side hoping to find something to give us
better traction. Mike takes a shot at getting across. The truck sinks down and
shudders. He gets off the throttle. We back up. Then we see a form coming
toward us. It’s a human form, but we can see only the top half. It’s
the driver of one of the BC cars. He’s walking over to us, but he is waist
deep in the silt. He guides us backwards so we can get a good run, offers to
have his chase guys pull us through with their 4WD. Mike thanks him, puts it in
gear, takes a deep breath of air, and points 805 at the silt. We hit the first
deep pocket and things go black. The silt is up over the hood and flying over
the roof. Our lights are totally blanked out by the silt. The truck is
wallowing and thumping. Mike keeps his leg in it. His eyes, nose, and mouth are
slammed shut. He’s holding his breath till we get to the other side. We
wipe our visors, and there we are on the other side. We can see. We have
lights. We have traction. We are on our way to Borrego. |
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On the way to Borrego, we lose the right bedside to a
tree. The racecourse is so chewed up and rocky it seem hardly fair to call it a
race course. 20 MPH is too fast in some places. 10 MPH is too fast in others.
We are seeing lots of chase trucks coming backwards on the course through here.
Others are pulling race cars out on a strap. Their dust slows us down in places
we could have gone quicker. Now Borrego is just ten miles farther, then five.
We are pretty hungry, and we are feeling the hours. We’re looking forward
to getting into the pit to fuel and freshen the truck and the two fools inside.
That being said, I would not have traded my seat for any other at that moment.
This is what the Baja 1000 is. This is why I came, and what I wanted to do.
This is the time to dig deep, and “Give Old Mr. Fatigue A Green Eyed
Grin”. Twelve hours ain’t nothin'. Gimme another twelve. Hell,
it’s only 9 PM on the first day. |
| We call the BFG pit to let them know we were a few miles
out. There it is on the right. Wow! What a blaze of light and friendly faces.
Mike and I are out of the truck and the crew is checking things over. Bad news.
The air cleaner stud has broken and the air cleaner is leaning over to the
side. We have sucked a lot of sand, silt, dust into the engine. The good news
is the stud and nut did not go down the carburetor. Scooby and the guys take
the other bedside off because it is about to fall off anyhow. The air cleaner
stud is replaced, the truck is fueled, we are fed. We feel good again. Time to
go. We leave Borrego for the right turn at Highway 5 that will take us to Zoo
Road. With a full load of fuel, the truck feels different. We get about two
miles out of Borrego and hit a big whoop-de-doo. We stand it on the nose and
skip along until the thing lands back on it’s wheels. Whoa! What the hell
was that? The truck is not happy. The rear suspension is not happy. We can make
about 15-25 MPH before the thing starts to bounce around. At race mile 240, we
see a group of guys by the side of the course. Mike stops and says he wants to
jack some more weight into the rear springs. That done, he gets back in and we
leave. It is a different truck. It is happy once again. We have a whole race
truck and it wants to go fast. It’s amazing what that can do to your
spirits. All of a sudden, it’s a beautiful night for a race. We smoke it
up to Zoo Road, cross it and gallop down the power line road toward San Felipe.
Life is good. |
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| Kim and the boys are waiting for us with a ten gallon dump
at the end of the power line road. Josh makes a great pit sign out of the ice
chest lid, and writes a big 805 on it with duct tape. They hear us coming and
stand on the edge of the course with a flashlight on the sign. We stop and take
the ten gallons. We leave with the power on. We may have sucked silt into the
engine, but it pulls hard and sounds great. We are flying. We miss the right
turn at race mile 263, but we get it slowed down and hang a u turn. It’s
late, but the evidence of booby traps is clear to see. One man-made bump has
been knocked down, but the fire they set on the other side of the jump is still
burning. Mike is impressed. Me too. We jump into the uphill rocky wash that
takes us to Huatamote. Deep sand and big boulders make it slow going. Mike is
working the wheel and throttle and keeping a good pace. Then he feels the truck
lurch, and we think we have our first flat tire. I can tell from my seat that
it is the left rear. |
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We stop, Mike gets out to see which tire it is. He’s
back in a flash. “Gimme your flashlight”, he says. I wait. He’s
back. He gets in the truck and sits there. Then he speaks. “I think we're
done”. “Holy shit! What happened?” I ask. “We broke the
spring perch on the ¼ elliptic on the left”. Mike tries to McGiver
a fix with some rocks, but they just explode when the jack is let down. We look
over the course notes and map to figure how far it is to the next BFG Pit. We
could weld it there and go on. Looks like about 75 miles. Only 12 miles of it
is smooth. Hmmm. We look at the clock. It’s 1:00 AM. If we averaged 25
MPH, we'd be there in three hours. But, would they be there? We know we can not
average 25 MPH in this condition. Our radio is sick. There are damn few race
cars behind us. San Felipe is 9 miles behind us. We decide. It’s over.
Baja wins this round. |
| We get stuck on the way back to San Felipe, dig our way
out, and meet up with Kim and the boys at the Pemex by the arches in San
Felipe. We drive the highway to the BFG Pit at San Matias, fuel the truck and
take stock of our situation. The fog is so thick it’s hard to see thirty
feet in front of you. It’s 4:00 AM. Ensenada is still 85 highway miles
away. We make the decision to do the smart thing and creep our way through the
fog to the restaurant on the highway at Trinidad and sleep in the cars until
daylight. We leave in the morning about 7:00 AM for Ensenada and park the race
truck at the trailer at 9:15 AM. |
 
  
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We’re back. Safe, hungry, wanting showers and some
nap time. We learn that Nick Vanderwey has just crossed the finish line with
the Class 8 victory. Great news. Our team mate, and a good guy, he deserved the
win. He made the arithmetic work. 1 plus 2, equals 3. |
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