A decision must be made, and I think our experience in the desert last weekend has convinced us that the Baja 1000 will be our first challenge. We feel good about the car and we have just enough time to train, prep the car and get our own minds and bodies into shape to confront the inevitable oncoming Mexican punishment. I have told Alex that not only must we spend our available weekends training out in the desert near Barstow, but we must also start going to the gym to get into shape. I’m looking to shed 20 pounds, and I think Alex’s weakness for hot-wings must be plugged - he is at least 30 pounds overweight. The punishment in the car will only be amplified by any excess fat we have swinging around in our race suits. Someone once explained to me that “if you want to know what it’s like to race the 1000, shake your head and body up and down violently for 30 hours."
On the drive out to the desert I relayed some interesting facts about falcons to the other passengers of Alex’s 40 year-old (and haunted) Citroen SM. Falcons can handle 25G’s in a turn, whereas a human pilot loses consciousness after 6G’s. Nature has designed falcons in such a way that their bones contain oxygen. If a Falcon were to ever snap a bone it could breathe from the point of fracture. Later, the conversation turned to Alex and I both having to get trained up mechanically and in basic First Aid. Baja is no joke. This is a race where it’s mandatory to list your blood type on your helmet. On mere mention of First Aid, Alex went swore as a half Jew that he was physically incapable of treating compound fractures, which elicited screams of laughter. The photographer in the back seat suggested he could administer mouth to bone resuscitation - in the event of a crash - through the fracture. Just like a falcon. We almost crashed the 1973 Citroen SM at 100mph through the streams of tears.