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Once I had resigned myself to not getting on The Julia Lynn, George and I decided to trek down to Punto Conejo.
Following a 9 mile dirt road to the beach, we came across a "toll booth" where we were charged 20 pesos to enter, handed
a trash bag and told to clean up after ourselves. I caught up with a group of campers who have been to the last six Baja
1000s that traveled to La Paz, always camping out at the same Punto Conejo corner. A glorious corner, about 100 yards
from the Pacific Ocean and a north breaking surf spot. Don't tell anyone!
We were invited to stay with the group. All were married and in their 50s-60s . . . except Troy. He was in his 30s, single,
and a bit odd. To each his own. Some people think I'm nuts, but that's okay too. Well, Troy got roaring drunk on whiskey
AND tequila. Ouch! Between raw oysters, cigars, lots of food, drink and the anticipation of the race passing by, we were
ready . . . err drunk'n ready. Well most of us. I was still feeling the effects of Montezuma's Revenge and abstained except
for one Pacifico to wash down the oysters. By morning our little party had grown to more than 300 people camped along
the race course. And as you will see in the next page, standing within feet of 800 hp Trophy trucks barreling by at more
than 50 mph. Yeoowww!
