Doherty Motorsports

2003 Whiplash Point to Point

December 7, 2003

Driver/Co-Driver - Mike Doherty/Bob Bower

-When Mike called and suggested that the 'Old Girl' was itching to run the Whiplash Rocky Point race and the right seat was mine if I wanted it, I was quick to accept the offer. After all, co-driving with Mike is something I hold as a privilege and a pleasure. I'd never run in a Whiplash race, and, I had never been to Rocky Point. - He explained that there were a few things he had to do to make the Class 8 Chevy race ready. The spindle needed to be replaced and a few minor things were on the list, but for the most part, all it would take was a fresh service and we would be good to go. You have to understand that I've known Mike for over twenty years. I've watched his racing since the early 80's, and I've had the privilege to run more than one Baja race with him in the past. Heck yes! Let's go! - I get to Tucson on Thursday night. Mike is finishing up the new spindle but we get to talking about stuff and after a little beverage, we know it's time to get some sleep. Friday morning brings a few things that I can do, like putting fresh oil in the engine, hooking up a race radio in the new dually and running some errands with Ellen before we head out to Rocky Point. Errands cost more time than we figured so we leave about 1 ½ hours late. On the road to Rocky Point we pass Kits Peak where the observatories are perched on top, and lots of beautiful desert. It gets dark before we cross the border. - We get to the Oasis RV Park in plenty of time to meet fellow Cheezers Dan Winters, and Poolman, and the rest of those that came to Rocky Point to offer help. Dan has a beverage out of the fridge and in my hands before I can say, "sure, I'd love a Sol!" Very hospitable Dan, Thank You. We register and Mike maps out the chase/pit plan for the assembled group. Then it's off to the house in Cholla Bay, some burritos and bed.

- The sunrise is the alarm clock. Up and bustling, dress and drive back to the Oasis by 7:30 AM to unload the truck and tend to a few pre-race prep things. Air the tires, check the pressure in the shocks and bump stops, fiddle with the radio and sort out the harnesses and make sure the lug nuts are down tight. We are ready for the scheduled 9:30 AM drivers meeting. But, it's delayed because the bikes are still not far enough around the course to let the cars take off. A little before 10 AM Jay holds the drivers meeting, but lets us know that the start will be delayed until the bikes are far enough around the course to let the cars start. Not a big deal to wait really. The race is only 169 miles, so how long could it take? We figure 809 Race should run the thing in 3 -4 hours. Yes, like "A Three Hour Tour". - We get our green flag at 11:33 AM. I can quickly figure out that Rocky Point is all about sand. The first 4-5 miles are uphill in the sand, and it's pretty whooped out. 809 Race is bristling with horsepower. Right away the difference in the new rear suspension is dramatic. We pass another Class 8 pulled over to the side two miles out. A good portion of the first 20 miles is parallel to a highway, so our chasers (Alex and Ellen) can watch the truck run. Some of the course is soft sand, some silt, but there are some sections where that old truck laid its ears back. Alex says the speedometer on the dually was at 97 MPH when the computer shut things down as he tried to keep up. I let Mike know that the high revs are heating the motor a bit. Oil temp headed for 260, water at 230. We back off on the revs, and the temps back off too. We cross the highway and Alex and Ellen are right there. When we are on the other side Mike asks me if I saw some babe flash us. Doh! I'm checking the gauges when I could be checking boobs! We get to Check 1 in about 28 min. Seems like a good pace for 21 miles. Dan Winters moons us.

-From Check 1 to Check 2 is about 35 miles, and no chase access. Over the next 10 miles we head up toward the base of the hills and leave some of the sand behind. We get past a rocky out cropping of the hill and start to wind our way out of the rocks at about mile 33. It's twisty and there are fewer rocks, only those that are there are bigger. That's when I see a rock about the size of ice chest. Momentum from the turn slides us toward it on the outside of the turn. The right front catches it and spits it into the path of the right rear. For about a half mile I had myself convinced the tires took the hit and survived. But then you know something is a little off. A little extra sway and droop from that corner of the car. The other three corners of the truck seem alert, but the right rear is lazy. Mike feels it now too. He asks me to try to look back at the right rear. I tilt the mirror down and can see above the tire in the inner fender. Sure as heck, what is left of the tire is flinging sand and rocks everywhere. Shit is really flying! - We look for a place to pull off the course and change the tire, but all we can see is Cholla Cactus everywhere. Mike tries to get it off the course but there's a two foot bank to get over. He gets the front end over it, but there is where it stopped. No traction. Not good. The ass end of the truck is hanging out on the racecourse. We un-buckle, but leave our helmets on. Mike shuts the motor down and gets out while I dig through the tool bag for the hammer. By the time I get out with the hammer Mike has the jack out and is putting it to work. The tire has come completely off the wheel and is wrapped around the trailing arm, the axle housing and the rear brake. I try to grab the tire and untangle it from the truck. OUCH! That sumbitch is HOT! Too hot for my office hands. Mike gives it a go. Ha! Too hot for his plumber 's hands too! - Eventually we get the tire out of there and put the spare on. He puts the jack away, jumps in the truck, hits the starter switch, and CLICK CLICK. -- Nada. -- Nothing. -- No fire. - We are at Mile 34 with a dead battery and no jumper cables. We left the start line within the hour. Now it seems about a week ago. Our calls on the radio got no reaction whatsoever. We unplug or shut off everything electrical and hit the starter. It turns over, but does not fire. We wait. Try it again. Nothing. We wait longer; it turns over, but no fire. Cars are coming down the course. We wave them around, some almost clobbering a big Cholla on their driver side. Fewer cars are coming now. We stop a guy in an old Bronco and give him a stuck stub we make by tearing up our course map. Mike asks him to find Poolman at Check 2 and let him know where we are. The Bronco agrees and leaves. We used the time to install a spare alternator. We had to shade tree one of the mounting bolts because the bad alternator had a trick belt adjustment contraption that the spare did not have. OK, the new alternator is installed and ready for this truck to run. - So there we sat. A nice day in the desert really. A pretty sky. The balmy air. We talked and told stories. Then I took a nature walk and shot some pictures of the Cholla and the dilemma. Then I shot some pictures of Mike, and the truck, and the Cholla, and, oh yeah, a couple of purple flowers. Mike found an old cistern and spent some time investigating it. He ended up pitching rocks and bottles into it for target practice. On my nature walk, I got tagged by some Cholla, so I retreated to the shady side of the truck, and laid low.

- And then it happened. What a vision! It was Poolman coming along the course to our rescue. Somewhere in the area of three hours down, and Poolman is here to get us going with jumper cables. Whoo Hoo! I can't tell you how good you feel when you hear that motor fire. I'm all buckled in and ready to go. I realize we are now short on time before the sun goes down. It's after 3 PM and we have 135 miles to the finish. As far as we can tell, we're still in second place. - We're off and running. The scenery is outstanding. The truck is running like a scalded dog. We get to the place where Check 2 is supposed to be, but it is gone. A yellow box truck is there, and a fella named Mike Leung (spelling is probably way off… sorry), who is attached to the Ron Dalke effort cracks a smile with his butt for us, and gives us a thumbs up. From here the course parallels the highway for about 15 miles. I know we are going to need fuel soon, but we don't know where our chase is with the fuel we need. I'm watching this yellow box truck pace with us on the highway and thinking to myself, "Hmmm…" "How do I tell this guy we need any race fuel he might have on board that box truck"? Little did I know at the time that he was thinking, (Hmmm…?" " I'll bet these guys will need some of the fuel I have in the back. I'll just hang with them for a while".) Mike and I get to the industrial park when we are supposed to meet our chase for a dump of fuel. Nobody home. We decide to run along the highway until we run out of gas if we need to. About 8 miles later I catch a glimpse of Mikes dually headed north on the highway with dump cans in the back. We stop at Two Bridges and take a full load. - Now it's after 4 PM, but we have a full tank of fuel. "Who knows?" I ask myself. We just might make it. Then we come to a fence line with sandy whoops that seems to go on forever. Mike tells me it is 10 miles long. We get to the end of the fence line and see that the course goes to the right, along another 10 miles of the same fence, only on a different side of the ranch. Whoa! This Jay McKinley guy at Whiplash has a sense of humor! - We finally got past that lousy soft sand by the fence line and onto a good hard pack road. It was taking us back toward the highway and about race mile 130 or so. By then, it was clear that we had no chance to finish before the clock did. Clearly, the Whiplash people manning the Checkpoints had long since departed for Rocky Point because after Check 1, we never saw any Checkpoints, but we should have.

- The sun went behind the horizon, and we went to the highway toward the Oasis and Rocky Point. We were not going to finish this one. - So. What do two guys who have some time on their hands while they drive to Rocky Point talk about after a day like this? I'll tell you what we talked about. We talked about how much fun we had. We talked about how that fun is the drug that keeps us all coming back regardless of the outcome from last time. We talked about how good it is to have family and friends join that fun and how it would be so impossible without them. We talked about how much we hoped they had as much fun with their day as we did with ours. We talked about what it means to be out there doing it, rather than just talking about it. We talked about the sweet voice of the engine at 5300 RPM. We talked about the days in the past when I first met Mike in the early 80's. We talked about that desert. How it does not care who you are, or what organization is using it for a race. We talked about how tough it can be on you. How unforgiving. How impartial. And, we talked about how much we love doing this. How it seems that you are never quite as alive as you are between a green and checkered flag, and how few ever get to experience it. - We are both quite lucky to have had the miles we have. Quite fortunate to have both the wins and the non wins. For us, it was a "Three Hour Tour" that ran long. BB "Life Is A One Lap Race!"

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