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APRIL 28, 2025
STAGE 3:
BAHIA DE LOS ANGELES TO SAN IGNACIO
MILES: 212.8
Our chase trucks are packed full of nearly every spare part you could imagine. If something on the Race Terra breaks and it’s fixable, we have the parts and tools ready. Also included in our toolkit is coffee. Good coffee. Whole beans that we grind by hand every morning. We have a Jetboil and two pour-overs. We take our coffee as seriously as we take our racing. Both are methodical and calculated. Both get our adrenaline pumping. As the sun rises over our camp in Bahía de los Ángeles, the smell of coffee fills the air.
The team gathers around the fresh brew, as we do every morning. Sean chimes in with some thoughts about the previous day. “We were pushing it hard, man—faster than what I was comfortable with.” Stages close at certain times, so occasionally there’s a race against the clock. “The sun was low, the light was deceiving. We hit a big rock. Real big.” Later in the day, it’s hard to tell the difference between shadows and hazards.
The big rock did some damage. It first made contact with the driver-side U-bolt plate at the front end, left a sizable dent in the oil pan, and cracked the transmission bell housing. There’s not much they can do about any of that for now—until something else happens. Dan says to run it as is.
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The first two days of racing were tough, no denying that. Our repairs from last night carry into the morning, but now we have coffee working in our favor. Still chasing a four-wheel-drive noise, we remove the metal collar beneath the rear driveshaft, suspecting a clearance issue between the two. Engaging four-wheel drive adds extra torsion and play, causing the yoke on the rear driveshaft to knock into that part.
“We’re losing some coolant too,” Sean continues, running through all the things he can think of. “Grab some coolant if you pass an auto parts store,” he says, this time directed at Dan and Larry. Then to Owen: “Make sure you keep an eye on the temperature.” The Race Terra usually runs around 180 degrees; if it gets above 200, we get concerned. Dan reminds Sean and Owen, “You have plenty of water on the truck. Just keep her cool.”
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Cool. Sean and Owen Barber are cool. They’re Steve McQueen and Paul Newman. There’s a swarm of cameras around them too, which only adds to the attraction. What we’re doing here is iconic. It’s picturesque. Documenting a race crew is an adventure in itself. Think back to all the legendary imagery from desert racing decades ago—all the photos that filled old magazines, the posters that hang in our shops and inspire what we do today. Who took those? Who were the documentary crews responsible for those iconic moments?
We have Chris Hunt, Eric Reding, Ben VanHorn, and Chris Stahl. Chris Hunt sports a Leica SL3 and a 50mm Summilux. This is his third year in a row supporting the Vintage Scout Race Program on the NORRA 1000—a vital addition to the mix. His previous experiences in Baja aid with navigation and logistics. He’s the one who found the dirt road for us to make yesterday’s gas drop along the course.
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Ben carries a Bolex H16 with 500 feet of 16mm film, and also a Leica M6 with a 50mm Summicron. Eric packs a full Sony FX3 kit, with audio for recording onboard driver communications—even a 600mm lens to catch the Scout from miles away. They’re experienced with all things production and media at New Legend and Anything Scout, but it’s their first time down in the Baja desert. Chris Stahl runs Scout Studios, Scout Motors internal content team and is a complete sniper with motion and stills. There’s no terrain he won’t traverse to get the shot.
Between the four of them, their goal is to capture and tell the epic story of this year’s Vintage Scout Race Program on the NORRA Mexican 1000. These will be the photos that hang in your garage one day.
The morning repairs wrap up as other racers and teams walk the pits surrounding the starting line. Those who race Baja are part of an elite few. There’s an unwritten rule down here—we’re racing against each other, but we’re all in this together. Over coffee, we talk about yesterday’s course, laugh about mishaps, and share insights for the coming day. Sometimes, it’s even asking for spare parts.
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11:22 a.m. The green flag drops and the Race Terra takes flight down the coast. Today is another long one—212.8 miles. We have two special stages on the course. One nearing 140 miles, the other pushing 70. The only thing that separates the two sections is less than five miles of pavement. The chase crew won’t see the Race Terra for nearly the entire day. There’s just one opportunity for us to meet.
We start in Bahía de los Ángeles, the “Bay of LA.” While the Scout barrels down the east side of the peninsula along the Sea of Cortez, the chase crew heads back west to the opposite coast. There’s only one way in and one way out of the Bay of LA—paved, that is. Though it feels like a trail of its own, dodging chunks of asphalt and deep ruts. There’s a saying in Baja: “Watch out for the potholes—you can’t miss them. Literally.” There’s no avoiding them.
The next time we see the Race Terra, it roars into Villa Alberto Andrés Alvarado Arámburo. Baja is divided into two states, north and south. Earlier in the day, we crossed into Baja California Sur to catch the truck.
“It’s running great, man. Feels so good,” Sean says proudly. He continues, “So fun—we hit top speeds, a lot of wide-open racing. Hey, check the radiator,” now directed at Dan—but he already is. “You’re seeping a little and your overflow is empty.” Owen responds that temperatures stayed cool, so the leak is manageable—for now. Dan grabs a jug of water and starts filling the radiator. Then ten gallons of race gas goes in the tank.
“Dry as a bone!” Dan yells from beneath the rear end, making sure his earplug fix in the rear diff is still holding strong.
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Just as the mechanics have a routine, so does the media team. Cameras out, questions asked, repairs documented. The Race Terra is parked between a banco and a supermercado. The locals have a routine too. Kids flock around the truck and ask for stickers. Employees of nearby businesses step out to take photos and ask if we need help.
Sean and Owen are elbow-deep in beef jerky and trail mix. That—and coffee—is the fuel that powers them through the day. Soon, the roar of other race cars fills the streets. A Porsche flies by, followed by a Class 11 vintage Baja Bug just now catching up to us. Both started the day well before we did—but that’s Baja. Anything can happen. The desert doesn’t discriminate.
“So good,” says Sean, still thinking about the last section of racing. Owen chimes in, “Today we’re ripping,” mouth full of raisins and chocolate. Today’s stoke almost makes up for the previous days’ trials and tribulations. There’s nothing that says the first couple days are supposed to be easy. Helmets are back on—now off to San Ignacio.
Sean’s wish from the previous night—to push hard today and have no room for error—came true. The sun is still bright in the sky, golden hour just beginning as the boys pull into the historic town square. San Ignacio is a true oasis in the desert. Thousands and thousands of palm trees instantly appear out of the thin desert air. There’s a river that runs through—it’s the most green we’ve seen all trip. A long and winding road leads to the top of town, where the San Ignacio Mission towers over the flora. Built in 1728, the mission and surrounding architecture feel frozen in time. It’s a sleepy town that comes alive during race week.
Sean and Owen exit the truck and kids immediately surround them yelling, “Stickers! Stickers!” Right on cue, Dan and Larry bury themselves beneath the truck.
“Looks good, no leaks,” Dan reports.
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