Boy Scout Crew 35 Off Road Race Truck Blog: 10/26/08

First, some of my video footage:

Second, the rest of the story.

The call came through at about 12:03. Kent was off. Our race had begun. We split into two groups with two different call signs, KORE Chase and KORE Pit. It was KORE Chase's job to shadow the race truck from the highway and be nearby if something went wrong. KORE Pit was to go ahead to the scheduled pit stop locations and prepare for a routine pit stop. We were following KORE Pit.

For the first hour, we saw nothing of the race. The starting line had been on the side of Donovan Mountan and the first fifteen miles took racers over the top and down the other side, away from the highway. Our first chance to see anything would be on approach to Pit 2, codenamed Cotton Tail.

Five miles shy of Cotton Tail the race course finally came out of the mountains and we caught our first glimpse of trucks. And what a sight. The first thing we saw was the red Mopar Protruck to our left. We were amazed when it passed us like we were standing still, despite the fact that we ourselves were doing eighty miles an hour and had the advantage of, you know, roads.

We pulled onto the pit access road, which was when we were introduced to silt dust. A buggy drove by, kicking up said dust, and for the next twenty seconds, nothing outside the car existed. There had been a man standing fifteen feet away. He was gone. There had been a bright green canopy set up ten feet away. It was gone. There had been a parked support truck, five feet away. It was gone. The dust made everything outside the car just vanish.

Slowly, the dust cleared and vision was restored. Just in time to be destroyed by a second race vehicle. KORE Pit decided to set up at by a turn at the entrance of the pit area, keeping us all upwind of the dust. It also put us in prime position to watch the trucks come down out of Mt Dunfee, seven miles away. Trucks began their lives as long dust trails in the distance, like a ground-skimming comet. They would slowly get closer, not making a sound. Then in a blink the truck would be on top of you, roaring like a wild animal.

Kent finally rolled in around 2:30, with a big dent in the right side bed fender. Kent never said a word about how it got there. The crew changed the filter, sprayed the dust off all the important things, and the truck was back on its way. We packed up the pit and headed on to Pit 5, codename Millers, 55 miles down the road.

On the way to Millers, we drove through the largest non-military town on the route (excluding the Dayton finish line). It was a town called Tonopah, though I wouldn't be surprised if it were better known as "Fuel Stop." According to the 2000 Census, Tonopah has just over 2,600 residents. The place is so small, they are actually advertising themselves as the "Stargazing Capital of America." That should give you an idea how small the town is (remember, you can't stargaze with city lighting). Tonopah has the good fortune of being almost exactly halfway between Vegas and Reno, making them located exactly where and when you want/need to stop to refuel your car, eat, and stretch your legs, no matter which way you're headed.

Sure enough, Tonopah on this day was a hub of race support teams refueling their chase trucks and stopping at the only McDonalds within 200 miles. By my estimates, if all people involved with the race stopped in Tonopah at once, it would nearly triple Tonopah's population (which both shows how small the town is and how massive the race is. The true biggest town between Vegas and Dayton was in fact the race itself). We fueled up our rental Subaru, which was getting a nice 30 miles per gallon, grabbed some snackage, and snagged a few cans of Monster. The KORE gang meanwhile went to Burger King for the only flame broiled Whoppers between there and the finish.

After filling our tanks and getting something in our stomachs, we went on to Millers. Millers, located at mile 179 of the 255 mile course, located on a dry lake bed, allowing trucks to fly through at insane speeds (in the video you can see the team Voss truck scream through at 80+). It was also the first pit where we got to see some of the carnage of the race. The #44 Cattrac sponsored trophy truck team was a prime example. First, they had their sign run over by #1117 (which is in the video), then about a half hour later the trophy truck rolled in with roof damage, the rear fiberglass gone, and a flat tire in the spare tire rack. They had rolled the truck somewhere on the course. But like most desert racers, they were determined to see the finish. The spare tire was swapped out for a good one, the truck was fueled, and the light bar was added. The team started the truck up and, as one of the pit crew members said, the engine "sounded like s**t." But the truck took off anyway, determined to finish. It was back less than an hour later. Team 44's race ended at Millers.

At 6:32 Kent pulled into his pit. This was to be a much longer and more thorough stop, including a full driver swap, a complete refuel, and a very thorough inspection of the truck. It also included replacing a shock adjustment and tweaking the transmission, which had been giving them some trouble. Ten minutes later, the truck was off with a new driver and co-driver. As we began packing up, we heard over the radio that the race had been won. It had only taken Rick Johnson 7 hours and 41 minutes to cover the 455 miles in his trophy truck. Dad was shocked. I was impressed. The KORE crew were neither. We got back on the road. The first trophy truck may have crossed the line, but the 8100 class was still up for grabs.

We didn't get far before we heard over the radio the transmission was still in trouble. The truck was being nursed to Mina, the very next pit. We hauled ass to get there to meet it.

When we arrived at Mina, the truck was already there and being worked on by Baja Pits. The hood was up and there were greasy parts laying on a sheet of cardboard. To the untrained eye, it probably looked like the end of the road. But after about an hour or so of work, the truck was back up and running. At this point, the crew mentality had gone from winning to a podium finish. The team knew the Hall Hummer was long gone. But the rest of the field was still fair game.

We made a quick stop at Luning (pit 7, mile 275) and watched some race traffic go through. Around that time, 10:00 or so, dad decided to call it a night. He knew one of us would have to drive back to Vegas on Sunday, and Saturday was two hours away. We broke off with the KORE gang and headed for our hotel in Reno. The game plan was for me to drop him off, then return to the race for the finish.

We made it to the Peppermill in Reno around 1:00 AM. The #8 trophy truck and chase trucks were parked in a corner of the lot, indicating we weren't the only team staying at this particular hotel. I suspect that has something to do with what happened next. Dad, covered head to toe in race dust, walked up to the reservation desk. They promptly bumped him (us) up to the executive sweet, the best room on the floor. Mahogany antique style desk and chair, silk pillowcases, and a flat screen TV in the bathroom. The room was tricked out. Not that I was going to get the chance to enjoy it. I had a race to catch up to.

I decided the only chance I had of seeing any action was to head to Weeks, the final pit of the course, only 45 miles from the finish. I arrived there at about 2:30, after stopping to buy myself two Monsters (I had been up for 22 hours, after all). A few stock team support vehicles and support trucks of those who were having a bad day lined the edge of the race course. The red 7303 Ranger was there with the passenger side dented in and the dashboard completely missing. Despite all this, the team was happy. They knew they were going to finish. It had taken them over 14 hours to travel 410 miles. That was too much of a commitment for them to give up now. As the truck left the final pit, I could see the sense of accomplishment on the faces of the chase crew. They had done their job, and done it well. Now it was all up to the drivers.

Other cars and trucks blew through Weeks. All of them seemed excited as they did so, often giving a jubilant toot of the horn. Weeks was the final pit, after all. They knew going through it meant you were just about home. You could pretty much smell the finish from here.

A few big names in the spec class rolled through. Jerry Zaiden's Tundra crawled its way through, making sure it didn't break in the final fifty. The bright yellow Mongo Racing F-150 rolled through a fair deal faster, apparently smelling that finish line. Emily Miller in the fourth Rod Hall Hummer gave a blast of the freight train air horn on her way through. Her passenger side headlight was flickering, confused whether it wanted to be on or off. Apparently light issues had been the word of the day for her.

At 3:15, I decided it was time for me to move on to the finish line. It was clear there wasn't much left out there. I made the trek to Dayton, by far the biggest town on the course, with a whopping 8,000 residents. Its size made it a bit more difficult to find the finish line than it had been to find the pits. Fortunately, the Camburg support truck happened by at that moment, so I dropped in behind it and followed it to the finish.

The finish area looked like a nocturnal version of the staging area. Race and chase trucks were everywhere. Cots and sleeping bags were scattered about, set up on any flat area. Ground, trailer, in the back of a box truck. If it was flat, it was fair game.

It was about four in the morning when I reached the Red Bull arch. The 7303 Ranger was there. The team had finished, just like they said. Behind them, another dozen trucks were trying to make the finish. I sat with Casey alongside the BITD truck, watching the mountain for headlights. Every now and then, a set of lights would appear, slowly winding their way down the side and eventually crossing the finish line. Mongo and Zaiden finished. The last two trucks in the 8100 class to finish. But they finished. And that was what mattered. Emily also made it to the finish in her Hummer. Giving one final blast of the horn, which I would say woke up many of the sleeping racers, but I'm sure they were so exhausted the could have slept through Pearl Harbor. Four buggies also crossed the line, representing classes 1000, 1100, 1500, and 2000.

The sun rose just before six in the morning. According to the radio, there were still two trucks out there, along with one lone UTV. Suddenly, a set of lights appeared at the top of the mountain. It began descending at an absolute crawl. A member of the UTV team said "that's probably us." We all watched as the set of lights descended at what seemed like walking speed. Minutes later and probably a mile or two behind, a second set of lights appeared, moving much faster than the first set. Suddenly, it became a race within the race. Which would arrive first, the slower UTV, or the faster car/truck, whatever. The gap between the two was closing quickly, but so was the gap between the first and us. Finally, the UTV made it close enough for us to make it out.

But it wasn't the UTV. It was the last buggy to finish, Tyler Crouse in the 1069. Crawling along like he had all day. It was as he made the final left turn toward the gate that we saw why. There was virtually nothing left of his left rear tire, aside from a few stray flaps of fabric. The faster vehicle had in fact been the UTV, and it finished seconds behind the three wheeled buggy. Both teams were just excited to cross the line.

I sat there for another forty-five minutes without seeing another vehicle cross the line, so I decided it was time to go and finally sleep. Casey and the crew were starting to pack up and take down the finish. I left, about ten minutes shy of getting to see the first and only Jeepspeed cross the line, finishing last (103rd), but finishing all the same. Half the field couldn't attest to that.

8 AM arrived before I did, marking my 28th hour awake. I was grateful when the "fruity looking" Peppermill sign appeared in my windshield. I parked in the garage, made my way to the hotel room, and as I recall never made it beyond kneeling on the bed, still fully clothed, when I fell asleep. It had been a long, exhausting race, but it had been an incredible race. What had been seen and what had been learned was immense. I woke up in the afternoon, ready to do it all again.

It was an adventure just being a witness. I can't wait till we're a competitor.

Thanks for reading, dudes.