A Huge Crash While Leading the Baja 1000: Robby’s Racing Chronicles

(This is continuing from the article two weeks ago: Click the link if you missed it and want to read it! ‘Near Death Experience In Baja‘)

I’d maintained the lead through the first sixty miles of the 2005 Baja 1000. But instead of relaxing into that, the longer I held the lead the higher my adrenaline rose. I knew Steve Hengeveld had started just a few minutes back, and the weight of having the fastest rider in Baja behind me—with that iconic 1X number on his (and Johnny Campbell’s) XR650—kept driving me to push myself harder.

I was past Ojo’s Negros safely, where the mass of spectators traditionally gathered; and I’d made it through the next 15-20 miles of rocky and sandy terrain that I didn’t particularly enjoy. Now, I was coming into a section of course that I really liked. The terrain turned smoother, a bit harder-packed, and it began winding through sparse sections of trees and cactus with a fast flow that I’d gelled with in pre-running. My adrenaline was still sky-high, but I felt a bit of confidence building after making it to this section still in the lead. Just under 10 more miles and I’d hit the small stretch of highway at KM77 where I could take a deep breathe and relax for a moment—before getting back into the dirt and getting back after it for the final thirty miles of my first section where I’d give the bike to Kendall Norman.

I still didn’t have communication with the spotter in the helicopter flying above me, but there shouldn’t have been too many people out this far from the highway. So, I kept pushing myself from corner to corner as the course serpentined and undulated along the desert. Clicking up to fourth gear, I accelerated on my XR650 down a straightaway before downshifting to third for a sweeping corner. The course then straightened out once more, demanding fourth gear as I picked my eyes up and sped across the desert.

As the trail entered a thicker covering of trees, and a shallow dip (not quite a ditch), I downshifted my Honda to third gear to prep for the following right-hand bend. The thicket of trees was casting darker shadows over the dip and at the last moment, I’d realized the dirt on the backside formed a kicker. It didn’t make sense. I’d hit this section numerous times while pre-running and hadn’t logged in a sharp dip with a kicker on the backside of it. But it was too late to adjust. I’d carried too much speed into the dip and as soon as my rear end hit the kicker, my bike unloaded me over the bars.

I cartwheeled through the desert, shaded by the surrounding trees and brush, and as I hit the ground, the full weight of the big 650 landed on top of me. I gathered my bearings as I sat up off my back, with the bike laying across my legs, pinning me down. My 150-pound body didn’t stand a chance of lifting the bike off of me from this position. Instantly, my heart started to race as I rapidly began thinking about how I was going to get up (and if I had any shot of maintaining the lead).

Just then, out of seemingly nowhere, a handful of people cam running toward me from the surrounding trees. They helped me get the bike up, and seemed all too eager to push me in order to get me back going as they hooted and hollered. At that moment, it started to make more sense what had happened: These guys had dug the dip a little deeper and stacked the dirt on the backside. Maybe they were thinking it would be a cool jump and had no idea it was too small and peaked out; or maybe they knew what they were doing and wanted to see a bit more action in causing racers to crash. Either way, I didn’t see anyone standing around as I had approached the section, which would have been a signal to slow down and add a bit extra caution to my riding—slowing just slightly and adding extra attention when spectators were trackside was a golden rule, as you never knew if they were there just to watch, or if they’d messed with the course.

Looking back, it’s quite possible I was so ‘in the zone’ that I wasn’t scanning well enough to see the spectators as I raced along the section. It’s also possible, though I’d say less likely, that they were hiding. One thing that was certain was that I hadn’t been looking up the course well enough. No doubt the shadows hid the kicker on the backside of the dip, but I also should have been reading the terrain further up the trail. Instead, I was fully concerned with racing fast enough to maintain the lead (or maybe even pull away!). And in Baja, when you lose respect for the fact that the conditions are unpredictable and dangerous, that’s when you’re inviting chaos into your race.

A surge of anger swept across me at that realization that the spectators had dug out the dip. That feeling was quickly mixed with a sense of panic as I also started to comprehend that I’d just royally wadded up while leading the Baja 1000. Fortunately, with all the adrenaline, my body felt okay. And the bike was definitely a little banged up, but not unrideable. So, I fired my XR650 back to life, still physically in the lead, but suddenly in much less control of the race, and still with over 800 miles to go for me and my teammates…

Robby Bell