APRIL 27, 2025
STAGE 2:
SAN FELIPE TO BAHIA DE LOS ANGELES
MILES: 254.7
Racing is a team sport — driver, co-driver, and crew. The driver drives. The co-driver navigates. The crew does everything else, by any means necessary. If you’re part of the vintage International Harvester® world, you probably know Dan Hayes and his parts business, Binder Boneyard. You’ve probably bought something from him too — he’s got it all. Dan, proud of the too-many International Harvesters parked in his front yard, is our crew chief.
Beside him sits Larrance McGee — Larry. Up at the New Legend shop in Iowa, Larry is humble, deliberate, and a sheet metal expert. The sheet metal expert. At just 26, he knows the insides of a Scout door panel better than anyone alive.
These two are the glue holding us together.
Last night, Dan and Larry were up until 12:30 a.m., swapping a differential while Sean and Owen slept. After concerns about a four-wheel-drive noise — and finding glitter in the diff fluid — we knew we’d need the fix before today’s rough stages. Camp the first night had infrastructure; tonight’s wouldn’t. Better to be ready.
Dan finally crawled into his tent. Larry cowboy-camped under the stars on the trailer.
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Hours later, the sun cracked the horizon over the Sea of Cortez. Terracotta desert, turquoise water, and a warm, inspiring light. Sean stretched and commented his neck was finally feeling better. Fighting a truck through hundreds of miles of sand is a unique kind of workout.
It’s Day 2, and Sean is already planning Day 3.
“It’s not slow and steady,” he says. “It’s medium and steady.”
Today’s a long one: nearly 250 miles. We drop a few pounds of air from the tires — 22 PSI up front, 20 in the rear — for better traction. Canyons to carve, rocks to crawl, some wide-open sections ahead.
At 10:35 a.m., the green flag waves. We’re off, south of San Felipe, straight into a special stage. Immediate racing.
A bridge spans a dry riverbed — traffic and tourists overhead; Race Terra roaring underneath. Spectators crowd above and alongside, cheering as we vanish into the desert.
Most trucks out here run big V8s. We stuck with a small, original four-cylinder. It’s a unique choice — and it sounds incredible, screaming through the sand.
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The first time Sean and Owen meet the crew today, it’s quick: hop out, snacks, stretch, status check. Dan and Larry dive straight into the dirt, checklist in hand.
“It’s a whoop-fest, man,” Sean laughs, pulling off his helmet.
“Clearly!” yells Dan from under the truck.
The rear differential is leaking again — bottoming out so hard the fuel cell is striking the diff bolt, tearing threads and causing play. We’d already tried grinding for clearance. Not enough, apparently.
“It’s like delicate surgery,” Dan says, screwdriver in hand, pulling the bolt.
He pulls out orange earplugs — those kinds of earplugs — seals the fix with a heavy coat of RTV and Gorilla tape. In racing, you do what you have to.
Sean thinks fast. “Let’s double up the bump stops.”
Owen calls out times. Another crucial job of the co-driver: clock management. “We gotta leave by 1:25. 1:30 latest.”
Larry grabs the bump stops box. Owen jacks up the truck. They get it done.
Sean mentions the four-wheel-drive noise again — not totally fixed. Noted for later. You prepare for everything… and still expect surprises.
Sean shakes his head, thinking back to the last section. “Forty miles of soft sand. We were at 3,600 RPM in second gear for like an hour straight.”
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By the time the Race Terra takes to the course, motorcycles, trophy trucks, and a slew of other vehicles have left their mark, tearing up whatever was. By the time our class makes it through the course, we’d argue the terrain was even tougher.
“But it’s running good, better than ever,” Sean finishes. Last night he dropped in a new carburetor jet, going up one size to richen up the mixture. The truck is responding better now, probably getting seven miles to the gallon.
Larry quickly uncouples the front drive shaft and packs on as much grease as possible. It’s a last-ditch effort to try and remedy the four-wheel-drive noise. The wind blows some sand and rocks in for good luck as we button it back up.
Even the livery looks fast. And it looks so good covered in dust. The 33” tires splash through the sand and over whoops, the late afternoon sun is to our backs as we race down towards Laguna Chapala. This dry lake is another incredibly iconic part of Baja. Back in the early days of desert racing, when some of the first Scouts were down here, Laguna Chapala served as a common pitstop for crews. But instead of chase trucks, they had Cessnas. The terrain was worse, support vehicles were less capable, and flying made the most sense. Fuel drops, parts drops, and a great view, too. The dry lake provided ample room for service. But also allowed racers to open things up. Some cars and trucks will easily see triple-digit speeds here. But again, our motto is “medium and steady.” The Race Terra is soon a mirage.
“Dry as a bone back there!” Dan yells the next time he sees the truck. He’s underneath the rear checking for any differential leaks. All clear. “The four-wheel drive is better, too, but not perfect,” Sean responds. And then they’re off again.
South of Laguna Chapala is the Valle de los Cirios, the largest protected nature preserve area in Mexico. Out of nowhere, thousands of towering cirio plants and giant saguaros fill the desert void. They’re like weeds out here, as far as the eye can see. Tall, ancient, foreign.
The Race Terra sends a GPS message to the chase crew asking for five gallons of gas. Facts are more important than excuses; the chase crew responds that they have none, but will try and source some. Again, an entirely new truck this year, and we’re still learning fuel range two days into the race.
Memories from years past remind us of a roadside “gas stop” further ahead. A local in an old truck with a couple of 55-gallon drums, a siphon, and a hand-painted sign that reads ”GASOLINA” magically appears.
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“Lleno, por favor! Fill ‘er up, please!” We never know the quality or octane of gas we’re getting with a stop like this, but it’s necessary at this point. Dan mixes in race fuel concentrate to raise the quality as much as we can. The gas cans get transferred to the four-wheel drive chase truck and readied for a gas deployment.
It quickly turns back the way it came and finds a dirt road that leads towards the course. The crew gets out on foot and sprints forward, arms full of 10 gallons of gas. We catch the Race Terra by 60 seconds, flagging it down and filling it up. It was perfectly synchronized, like we had done it a million times. “That was the most adrenaline I’ve felt in a long time,” says Larry, half out of breath.
From here, it’s the last stretch into Bahia de Los Angeles. The sun is low, and the mountains over the coast into the bay are painted purple. The Race Terra pulls to the finish just at dark, the KC Daylighters illuminated, grinning from ear to ear, just like the drivers. The relief of pulling in for the day is hard to beat; all the past worries from the day melt away for a little while.
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Stickers are like currency here. Locals crowd the finish line, kids and fans alike come up to the racers, shake hands, and take pictures posed against the trucks.
Over dinner, we discuss our maintenance for the night. “Everything,” Sean says. “We hit a big rock pretty hard”. Sean asks Larry to grab cardboard and a permanent marker. “I’m a little scatterbrained, let’s make a list,” he says with a mouth full of dinner.
Dan and Larry get busy inspecting the truck. It’s second nature at this point. Sean puts on his mechanic suit for the first time on the trip. He crawls under the truck and starts working. The list is long for tonight.
From beneath the drive shaft, we hear Sean report, “We have to push hard tomorrow. No room for error.”
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