Please help spread the word about the best Moto event in the Tecate area and the ONLY event that our crew is involved with that is open to the public.
The entry will include camping, pit stop snacks, dinner, and after party Saturday evening!
This is a “Luxury trail ride” with a course marked by race arrows. Ride at your own pace with your buddies!
The course is approximately 35 miles long and will contain challenging obstacles (there will be alternate lines around the tough sections).
This is an EXCELLENT TECATE ENDURO practice loop/ warmup.
If you are coming from far away and would like a trail guide for additional days of riding please send me a message.
This event is hosted by one of the very few trail crews in tecate that does trail maintenance. Attending this event is how we show appreciation for all the new trails and bush trimming Baja Enduro club completes in Tecate!
Camping on site included.
There are very nice AIR BNB nearby as well as two very nice hotels within riding distance.
Also only around 5 miles from Tecate border so if you are short on time you can ride the Moto from the US tithe start. Complete the ride and smash tacos and cut the border line in time to be in the US before dark. No excuses!
Recommend riding with a buddy. Please contact us if you have no one to ride with and we will sort you out. It will be a challenging day of riding and there is no sweep crew. You are responsible for yourself.
Tires:
Recommend a fresh gummy on rear. You will want the extra traction.
Bibs are almost a requirement. I will not assist on trail side tire repairs. If you get a flat I will smash beers and make fun of you while you are stranded
Give me your excuse as to why you can’t show up and I’ll help you sort it out.
The best off-road race in the southwest occurred for the second time on April 2, 2022, but you never knew it was going to happen. You have never even heard of it. Maybe, you still haven’t. But it happened exactly as planned, and discreetly as possible.
This conquest began over two years ago. With hundreds of hours of digging, trimming, and marking course in southern California at a private location of nearly 300 acres of pristine enduro heaven. I was confident that the trails were good, all business was in order, and we had a sold-out entry list. But there was one thing I needed to confirm prior guaranteeing the best enduro race in the southwest… rain.
For the last several decades I have sacrificed my body on an altar of dirt in attempt to please the dirt bike Gods. Dozens of broken bones and countless struggle sessions later, the time had come to collect.
For rain, I knew I would need the Gods assistance, so I set out to bless the course in hopes they would water the track for us.
I visited the racecourse several evenings and sunrises walking through the bushes dodging poison oak and rattlesnakes. I was buck naked with nothing but a 1989 JT chest protector, Bell Moto 3, and beloved Hi Point boots. Burning raw castor oil, I would wave the FMF shorty pipe over the logs and fallen trees. The ritual lasted days; only stopping to go to work, drink beer, and prep racecourse. Periodically I would fire up a two stroke and rev the motor till detonation with the beans and frank falling on either side of the ribbed seat. Id stumble down “Itchy Dick Creek” hanging drawings of flaming dicks on the bushes to deter the riders from getting the itch. On occasion I would assist safe passage to illegal immigrants through “Clints Canyon”. Then during the twilight of the evening, I sat atop “The Reach Around” getting cross faded, reciting the winners of the first ISDE, and playing Motley Crue “Kickstart My Heart” at maximum volume. I promised sacrifice of both blood and motorcycle parts. The Emperor of the Rocks demanded payment in wheels and clutch levers. Victory and safe passage granted, and debts paid thrice over. Finally, I negotiated a treaty with the local wildlife by depositing tiny pools of beer sporadically throughout the course so they too could heckle the passing riders.
I did all of this for you.
And by the glory of every dead dirt biker that ever popped a goddamn wheelie… It rained.
As the prophets of other religions shared their success, I have now shared mine. Follow the protocol and rain will follow. A perfect dirt bike race was achieved but that story is told below.
Relationships with our dirt bikes are a touchy thing. After hours of pampering them in the garage we can be hesitant to offer her out on free rides to others. Many of us don’t really want to share our beloved, and that is totally understandable. After all, no one wants someone else roughing up the fenders on our one and only.
A brand new magazine test bike is a very different thing.
On one hand.. letting someone else ride your dirt bike is like letting someone have sex with your girl. But when its a loaner bike…. its like a orgy porn film where everyone shares, swaps, and cheers each other on. So, when the wonderful Jean Turner invited me out to flog a brand new 2018 Suzuki RMZ 250F at Cahuilla Creek MX. There was no hesitation.
Cahuilla Creek Mx is a spiritual place for me. I aim to get there at least 30 minutes before the track is open and I pace around the truck patiently unloading and taking it all in. Ill often walk over the the freshly ripped soil, listening to the clack de clack of the the dozer track, and pick up handfuls of heavenly earth just to get a feel for it. On especially rough mornings Ill crack open a cold one and try and acclimate to the days events while I watch the mist burn off the chocolate colored cake like soil. This is my church.
It was then that I caught my first glimpse of her. She peeked out behind a sprinter van as it lumbered up the hill to the parking area. My attention immediately shifted as the sun shine upon her glorious curvature. It had been overcast and suddenly there was vibrant sunlight caressing the edge of her lips like the sun kisses the ocean at the last second before sunset. This was no petite thing. This beautiful beast had girth and stood proud taking in the morning rays. A solid six foot tall she towered over the landscape and foliage yet looked very much inviting. Theres nothing beautiful about dainty flat and board like corners, to earn real awe they have to pack a little heat. Fire this lefty had!
“Lord have mercy!” I whispered silently and my pace picked up unloading. Absolute desire rolled off my lips as the sun faded back to shade.
I had to have her.
There were a million reasons I couldn’t or shouldn’t have her but god damn it I was going to try.
There I am sitting in my lawn chair with my pants down, skin and balls clapping against grainy lawn furniture as I take a pause from sliding my knee braces on to take her in again.
Deep breath in.
The hair on my legs stand on end as the clouds part to shine those electrifying rays across her backside. My mouth relaxed open as I gaze at her entrance. Its perfect… How has no one else seen this?
I suck the drool off my lips with my upper teeth take a deep breath in while looking around to see who else has witnessed this glorious spectacle. There are crowds gathering now. All stammering about; unloading as if its some kind of race to get the cooler out of the truck. No one has noticed? It cant be.
“She will be mine!” I proclaim out loud with no one in earshot.
My heart rate is climbing as I scramble to get my pants and boots on. Constantly lifting my gaze to monitor her position as struggle to buckle my boots. Its as if she is dancing for me without even moving, light bouncing off the imperfections of her moist crusted chocolate skin.
I am ready now. As I push down the kickstart on my faithful steed I glance over again.
One last visualization before I try and ram it in there.
She’s a Heavy left with a steep lip and deep, soft backside. Towering hight and plenty of stout curvature so you don’t have to be gentle. Theres no passion in being gentle. This berm will take all the abuse you can throw at it, and I have come armed with some pent up frustration and a bright yellow ball of fire to ride. I accelerate toward her and can’t help but notice that the few who entered before me had chosen an early line. Why in the name of Malcolm Smith would anyone go in premature on a beauty like this??
Extremely wide, I roll in as the dirt below the RMZ spreads like a teenage girl on prom night.
IT IS GOING TO HAPPEN.
Front brake digging harder and harder but she continues to shine like a princess unscathed by the exploitation of energy. My hips slide angrily across the ribbed seat cover. Foot out, head up, I focus on the apex but before I get there I begin to feel it. Lil Miss Suzy starts to stand up so I lift the front brake and dump the clutch simultaneously. My glove tears and twists across the nipples of the crispy new grips as the lil RMZs motor comes to life.
Hallelujah!
The tire spins wildly, dirt showers into the air, and the front end lifts like a a crop top at a Motley Crue concert. Its all hanging out now. With dirt flying everywhere, somehow my form feels spot on as I lean all 200 pounds of beer crusted moto mass into the seat.
But wait… theres a bit of a hesitation. The Mid range of the lil RMZ struggles to carry wheel spin in the deep sand and my victory dance begins to fade as I grab for a lil more clutch.
PRAISE BE!
That little dab of clutch while totally buried into the sand really brought her back to life as I wheelie out to the majestic Heavy Left. Foot slowly lands back on the peg and I get some weight off the seat and into the pegs to wrestle my Lil yellow lover over some cupped out holes exiting the corner. The finely tuned suspenders soak the fight right out of Heavy Left and I pour the rest of the throttle on.
As me and suzy scream down the straight my eyes water a little.
I have had had sexual encounter with the Heavy left, on a loaner bike. And It was good.
I cant thank Jean Turner enough for letting me play in the sand with the cute little RMZ. I felt like I could flop all over that thing and she’d steer right through it all. If I had a complaint I would ask for a bit more juice in the mid range and Id probably move the bars to the forward position to compensate for my long… arms.
Otherwise she was the perfect date. Thanks to Cycle News, Precision Concepts and Suzuki for letting me play with your stuff. You may want to wash Lil Suzy off before anyone else takes her for a spin. mwa!
The Jimmy B Classic “Hammerdown Norte” is done and dusted. All things considered I am very proud of what a few people accomplished on such short notice.
In total we had a 7+ mile course with a pro lap time of approximately 30 minutes. There were some pretty rowdy rock sections and we spent about 200 hrs walking through bushes and landing stakes for a Enduro GP type ribbon course that I personally dreamed about for years.
The happiness and good times created that weekend only happened because the Vogt ranch exists. Without the decades of hard work and energy that Mike and Kelly have put in we would not have had a “home” for such an unusual event. There are no words to describe my gratitude for all of those efforts.
I’m not much for celebrating birthdays and holidays but these events mean a lot to me and to see the number of people enjoying themselves makes all the hard work worth it.
Special shout out to The Man Jimmy B for all his time and efforts to get this done. He was out cutting bushes and building track and did a great job doing all the PR work that I don’t like to do!
Thank you all who participated, helped out, and spectated.
Here’s a couple of takeaways and improvements for the next one.
Hits:
In total I believe the course ended up close to perfect. With a limited area to work with I set out to make the longest lap time possible and therefore limit the number of laps and reduce trail deterioration. Only a handful of guys did more than two laps of the 7 mile course. Success.
We had a total of 56 riders and it seems like that was the right number. There were some bottlenecks but they were pretty spread out after lap one.
Duration was close. I think next time we throw the checkers at 90min and save some guys from being out there for 2.5-3hrs. Somehow the leaders did 5 laps when I hoped they only completed 4, but they may have cut more time off than we anticipated. I’ll try to make sure pro lap time is over 30 min next go.
For our first enduro and a crew of people who were new I thought everyone did a spectacular job.
Misses:
With a crew of 4-5 people that actually knew the plan we somehow missed the fact that the track had dried out between practice and race start. I was pretty disappointed with the dust. This was an honest mistake as we’d thought it was still wet enough and did not think to send the water truck out. Won’t happen again.
We had a couple sections barricaded by pink ribbon that didn’t last through the day. This caused some minor confusion. We will plan to have a more confirmed and consistent ribbon setup next year. I think it was 90% good but we can improve.
Our paper backed arrows did not handle the rain/ wind and caused some to curl and be hard to ID. Plastic next year.
Id like to see more people stay the night and enjoy a bench racing camp out. We had a ton of food leftover. You guys missed out!
Hire a sweep crew! I rode sweep solo and missed the party, and we all know how I feel about parties. I completed 4.5 laps for the day and I was smoked.
I had a comment box made up and ready to accept anonymous criticism. Unfortunately the cards fell through the cracks and were not available on race day. I encourage you to drop me a message and let me know your thoughts, the goal is to make the best possible event for the entrants and the only way we will know how to improve is to let us know.
Several years back I was passing through a small town in Mexico and I couldn’t help but stare off into the distance at a couple of ridges.
I pulled over to the side of the road on a hill and gawked at the splendor that lay before me.
How had no one ridden this? Why aren’t there tracks all over?
These giant monoliths to the sky were stacked by sand so steep that I couldn’t believe it could pile that way. The sparse grass blanket surely held it together and prevented it from falling away and flattening out.
For the next several hours I couldn’t help but think that I needed to put a wheelie there. It would be a trail so rowdy that it would severely limit willing participants and it would ultimately get blown out by failed hillclimb attempts but I felt it had to be done.
Over the next 3 years, I passed by this spot looking up to the tips of those majestic ridges dreaming about blowing the top off those berms like a crop top tee shirt at a Motley Crue concert. But it kept getting put off.
Until it happened…
The short 3 mile section will be named “The Hellraiser” by those that find it. The name will become far more understandable as you bounce that 450 off the rev limiter climbing monstrous hills in attempt to try the pass.
Watch on for a little teaser and if you spot anything recognizable… Find it and kill those hills. But don’t share.
Thanks again to @Gregmash for putting the video together!
The sun bakes the sand into my skin as I contemplate my surroundings. Warm air sprinkles us with salt water and the gentle glow of a half dozen silver bullets caress the otherwise battered and torn soul I carry along in my meat cage. All is calm for a moment.
“I drank way too much beer at that pit stop”
With the push of a button and twist of the wrist we are at it again. Block passes, loose power slides, and cliff jumps are the way. The first crew in and the last to leave… Love us or hate us; we are here to rip sketchy wheelies, blow out berms, and drink your beer. Burnouts Forever.
I almost felt bad sandblasting the boys stuck on the hill, almost.
Special apologies to the guy I ran over, we was getting wild, shit started skating on the rocks and WHAMMY! We went down. Ill leave the door open and set you up proper for a retaliation block pass whenever you are ready.
@gregmash compiled this edit and did an awesome job even after I launched that Agave trunk at him and took him out (2:25).
Around 7 am this morning, Christmas Eve, I found myself standing in a pool of oil underneath an elevator. As I am a repair technician, this sort of disgusting disaster happens from time to time. As for this particular day, it was not the gnarliest pond I’ve ever dove into without my floaties but it was big enough that I could have snorkeled a bit and had my very own “Hunt for Red October” reenactment as I spun shut off valves and sprayed myself with oil. There amidst the sloshing oil and curse words I spotted something shiny on the pit floor. I rolled up my sleeves, held my breath, pinched my nose and flopped in there to retrieve the glorious splendor that awaits in the bowels of a 5 star hotel elevator pit.
“What could it be?” I dreamed as my hand glided across the décolleté wasteland of oily concrete.
Maybe it’s jewelry! Or a small strange shaped foreign currency that will make me rich?!
As it neared the surface my anticipation quickly turned to disappointment.
There I was, standing in a mess of shit on Christmas Eve… Holding… A crack pipe.
This was not what I was hoping for when I suited up in search of treasure, but par for the course.
I spent the next hour slipping and sloshing through the oil at the bottom of this concrete and steel hell while my treasure lay there in my dirty dustpan awaiting it’s safe deposit into the dumpster.
Drenched, filthy, and my arm hair glowing vibrantly from the shine of the oil I climbed out of the pit, grabbed my dustpan, and reached for the trash can. Just about this time, a well dressed younger mom stumbled around the corner in hopes of piloting the elevator to her destination. She was lightly pulling along a 2 foot tall child who was clearly mid tantrum as they approached me.
The lil Devils eyes full of tears and upper lip curled tight as she tugged at his arm while he clenched her skin in frustration. Startled by the elevator pit exposed and a daring gentleman covered head to toe in oil, grime and all sorts of slime; she cautiously said, “Oh look how interesting”.
A fruitless attempt to distract the tyrant from his rampage.
“NOoooo!” He screamed as he attempted to escape her grasp. I laughed a bit. And uttered some sort of greeting as the little bastard yelled.
“I’m sorry, he’s having a rough day”. She responded calmly.
“No no no mom!!! NOooo talking to DIRTY strangers!!!!
Immediately I wondered if he’d spotted the crack pipe…
I then followed his hollering up with a hearty “BAH HumBug!!
Mom and I started laughing out loud… And he began crying.
There comes a time in every boys life when he has to stand up, pick the man pants off the floor and rage into battle head held high. In these rare moments of clarity many things can happen that will forever alter the life of the individual.
On a January evening in 2009, while marveling at the splendor of Anaheim Supercross, one of these situations arose like the Loch Ness monster from the depths of the sea.
There I was, smashing down “Werewolf Killers” one shotgun at a time when I had an epiphany. As I leaned forward in my stadium seat the spent silver bullets clambered around at the floor below my feet. The cans rang like heavenly bells initiating my speech as if I were tapping a wine glass, only far more classy. Moaning, I coughed out a beer powered belch, stretched out a butt cramp as I stood, and cleared the airway to deliver my speech.
“I am Going to Start a Wave!”
The proclamation poured like a fine wine infecting my team with laughter as they dismissed my retardation. This dismissal only served as fuel for the quest as I tripped, poked, and pulled my way through the crowd in a desperate stumble to reach the walkway below.
My faithful friends now laughing and pointing at me in disbelief as I stare into the eyes of thousands of water molecules waiting patiently to be put into motion.
I raised my hands high into the air, channelling my inner William Wallace as I bellowed at the top of my alcohol permeated lungs.
“DO A WAVE… WAVE…”
My arms waving right to left in a desperate attempt to lead the charge as I ran up and down the aisle.
The still of the night was taking the wind out of my sails after the first few failed attempts. My desperation increased as I jumped and hollered obscenities in between the one tangible word… Wave.
Then it began.
The littlest of children took notice of my mad flailing and they were aghast with courage as they jumped to their feet one at a time. The minions led the way, each drawing the strength of their parents as the surge grew stronger and stronger. With each additional standing person my torment of failure faded.
The numbers grew like the tax column on a paycheck stub. Exponentially gaining volume; The crowd now cheering and smiling away. Working together as a team we broke in to the next section of seats. Then three sections…
And there it was…
I stood still now, awestruck from the gallant battle fought as the crowd roared around the stadium.
“Dear god we have DONE IT!!!” I screamed as the tidal wave of joyous radness returned from the other side of the stadium.
High fives, hoots and hollers, blasted from every direction.
It raged on… Blowing past our position and continuing around the colosseum with magical power. Three full rotations it made. Infecting tens of thousands of people with happiness and cheer.
Im fairly sure I saw Miss Supercross herself point up to the crowd and wink in approval. Although, I could have hallucinated that part as the tears of joy dribbled down my face.
