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From Swedespeed.com Reviews and Road Tests If Day 1 was the cake-walk with an afternoon of highway driving, Day 2 would prove to be the polar opposite. We gathered at 6:30AM for breakfast so as to get an early start. We would be in the cars and off the pavement all day. Bryon Farnsworth, the Baja 1000 veteran on Volvo’s staff, reminded us again to keep pace and be careful.
The car’s 4C system is set on luxury and left there. We figure that with these harsh roads, the softer the better. As the convoy moves into the desert, the contrast is less sociological and more natural. The high level of technology that our cars represent sticks out amidst this entirely raw environment. It feels more like a scene in Jurassic Park – though we find ourselves in a desert rather than jungle environment. We just hope we’re not headed to catastrophe like the hodgepodge of dino-loving adventurers in the well-known Crichton movie. Roads eventually transform into single-track paths. We’re told to watch for oncoming traffic, especially large trucks. For now, we see neither and happily use the entire narrow strip, traveling in single file. Bryon in his lead car and the cars at the front take a rapid pace. With a slower driver somewhere mid-pack, most of the participants in the front cars have time to answer the call of nature at the first stop before the second group rolls up. Standing around waiting for the second group to arrive, Bryon suggests to us that we put the car’s 4C system in Sport and leave it there. He mentions that once you build up speed, the more aggressive dampening will smooth out the ride with a more improved feel. Not far from our stopping point, we’re entirely convinced that Bryon is 100% correct. With the XC70 in Sport, we manage a faster pace with less tumultuous and vibratory posterior feedback. The car seems markedly easier to control on this harsh surface. Our previous critique of the Sport mode not being sporty due to experience at the wheel of Volvo’s road-handling R models seems to be a bit premature. It seems 4C engineers focused more on off-road driving characteristics than they did on stiffening up the on-road ride. In this situation, the strengths of the XC70’s 4C Sport mode become crystal clear. As we begin to climb into the mountains, the primarily sandy road changes to a higher concentration of rocks, varying from pebbles to large and oilpan-menacing stones. As the XC70 claws its way up some of the steeper climbs or throttles down rocky straights to keep up with the pack, we wince as rocks are kicked up and bounce off the belly of the car with loud thunks. My co-driver tries to avoid most rocks, but you can’t miss them all. We do our best to follow Bryon’s advice and aim the larger rocks toward the tires if we can’t miss them altogether. Late in the morning we ford several streams, the last of which becomes quite deep. The level of water seems deeper than the doors, splashing up over the hood as we move through it. We keep our speed up so as to push the water away from the car.
About 100 yards later we stop in front of a small one-room schoolhouse – the XC70’s still dripping with creek water into the dry sand outside the tiny structure. Familiar with the area and fond of the locals, Bryon leads the Americans into the schoolhouse where we interrupt seven children seemingly ranging from 6 to 13 during their morning lesson. Bryon has brought pencils, tablets, Christmas coloring books and candy for them. He tries speaking to them in broken Spanish – better Spanish than any of us has managed, mind you. Most of the children seem more entertained at the odd scene of all of the cars and strange grinning Americans who’ve pulled up than they are responsive to Bryon. But, when he pulls out the candy and begins singing “Feliz Navidad”, they warm up quickly. Leaving the kids to their lessons and candy, we return to the Volvos and the intense drive continues. Moving across the mountains and eventually beginning our descent toward the Pacific, the dust kicked up becomes much worse. Lead cars move down the road, raising beige clouds lazily behind them. Should you get too close, you’ll find yourself in complete white –out, or maybe brown-out conditions. Beige-out? My co-driver, Ben Stewart from Popular Mechanics, begins to recount an off-road course he’d taken. Apparently, the way to pass in conditions like these during races such as the Baja 1000 is to pull up right on the tail of the lead vehicle. Getting into the leader’s wake, the air clears and you can pass with an eye on what’s ahead.
This sounds good in theory, but given our group’s relative newness to desert driving, we were content to sit back and suck in the dust of the four or so cars ahead of us and marvel at how dust-free the cabin was. At some points, the wind across the lead car changed and the view out of the windshield becomes a blank canvas. The dust is so thick that you cannot see the corners of the road to either side of the vehicle. A driver’s first instinct in this situation is to hit the brakes hard so as not to go off the path or nail the car in front of you. Follow that instinct though and you’re likely to get hit instead by the car behind you who is likely just as blind – a similar phenomenon to the large number car pileups that happen in thick fog on major highways. In a tight convoy, I ignore the instinct as best I can and make a constant effort to back off and give the lead cars some room. As the hours pass, and many a rock has bounced off the car’s underside, the nose or tow hitch has scraped on a hard approach or departure, large rocks have clunked ominously underneath or scraped gratingly along the exhaust, we become almost jaded to the sounds and find more ease keeping a faster pace. Color returns to the knuckles, the grip on the wheel begins to loosen and more conversation begins to take place. The rocks turn to sand and the ruts become almost swallowed into the ground. Rounding corners you ride the sides of the ruts high, using them much like Dale Earnhardt Jr. uses the banks at Daytona. In this case though, we’re doing this to keep the car’s underside from rubbing against the ground. At some point the road drops down and I steer to miss a stone. It clunks below the car, like hundreds before it throughout our morning drive. About two miles further up the road, Bryon pulls the group into a wide flat area to stop for lunch. As many scamper off amidst the cacti to relieve themselves, I get out of the car and think I smell oil. Peering underneath my XC70, I see a relatively rapid drip of the black fluid coming from underneath our car like the blood of a wounded gunfighter who just lost a draw. It’s pooling on the sand, so we pop the hood to get a better look. The Volvo technicians come over to take a closer look.
What I’d later found out is that I’d managed to rupture the oil pan with that last rock. Skid plate aside, if the rock hits just right, there’s not much you can do about it but watch in dismay as the engine’s lifeblood drips into the sand. I receive plenty of well-deserved ribbing from the other drivers and Bryon’s candidness comes out in some commentary about our being the first journalist to damage a car. I later find out that two Swedes in the first round of the Enduro managed similar feats, the worst of which resulted in a ruptured radiator and the driver continuing to drive with no coolant. Fortunately for us, our car dropped below safe pressure levels after the engine was turned off, but there’s not much pride you can take in killing a car in such a barren place or even knowing that perhaps you weren’t the worst to damage one of the cars. Our now inoperative Volvo reminds you of the brutal nature of the environment. If not for that, one almost forgets where one is as one cruises along at a rapid clip, the 4C system soaking up an impressive amount of road harshness, the cabin filter keeping the dust on the outside, the airconditioning blowing ice-cold on the inside and the impressive sound system thumping along with the latest from Jay Z. Break down out here, though, and there’s not exactly a roadside assistance option. Fortunately for us, Volvo had a support truck for situations like these, as the nearest Volvo dealer is in Mexico City. As most of us finish up our lunch that had been kept nice and cool in the rear-seat accessory refrigerator, we watch as the large Ford pickup pulls ahead of the XC70 and a tow strap is connected. It’s hard not to feel incredibly sheepish or appreciative as the Volvo staff point us toward one of their XC70s. The tech that had been driving in it is rewarded to the remainder of the ride home in a non-air-conditioned car, windows down, dust flying and power steering inoperative with the engine turned off. If anyone deserves a badge of honor from that day, it’s the tech from Volvo who had to deal with the receiving end of our mistake. Considering our now slower pace affected by having our old car in tow, Bryon prods everyone to get back on the road. We still need to be there by dark. The Pacific soon appears on the horizon and as we creep closer we notice the small fishing town of El Datil coming up in the distance, given away by the electrical and telephone poles hanging above the small piecemeal lean-tos like a net. Houses are predominantly made of corrugated steel and plywood. In odd contrast, most of these small structures also have satellite dishes. Cars mostly from the ‘80s and early ‘90s appear still in use, while burned out husks of cars lay upside down – apparently it’s the popular thing to do with a vehicle that no longer works. We’d see more of these black and rusting hulks throughout the drive. Our caravan comes to a halt at the far edge of town. Some children run alongside the last hundred yards or so. El Datil is apparently a popular stop for Baja 1000 racers. One English word the local children seem to know is “stickers”, and the team decals adorn the locals’ cars in large numbers. Today the kids are treated to candy thrown from the back of the support truck by Bryon. It’s hard to make sure the eventual crowds of little ones all get a piece, but somehow our guide pulls it off with a smile from behind his large mirrored sunglasses.
A small boy with big brown eyes walks up to me as I stand next to our second XC70 of the day. I look down and show off some basic highschool Spanish saying “Hola.” The boy doesn’t say a word, but looks at me quizzically, then quickly sticks his hand out for me to shake. I look at the grimey little hand, a stark contrast from the neatly dressed school-aged girls who’ve also gathered, and I’m at first hesitant to take it in my own. I almost instantaneously change my mind though, a bit embarrassed by my own concern. I take his hand, giving it a firm shake. He smiles and runs off for some candy. Very quickly, I forget about the oilpan. As I walk around the XC70 to get back in for our departure, I notice a building nearby with a sign reading “Tourista Informacion” or “Tourist Information”. The structure is at best plywood and looks as if it will fall over at any time. I wonder to myself how many tourists actually stop in with questions in this place that seems so far from our cities back across the border. As our wagon train begins to move again, the kids pile into the backs of pickup trucks heading back towards the center of town. They wave, and the sheer contrast hits me again – this time, though, it's safety on my mind. I’m buckled in to one of the safest cars in the world and surrounded by airbags and fitted with equipment such as the car’s Dynamic Stability Traction Control system. The kids, on the other hand, stand crowded in the unprotected bed of a pickup as it bounces back into town. While there’s a lot to admire about the simpler life, I’m very thankful such equipment is becoming standard fare for many cars on the road back home. Later in the afternoon, we’re moving along at a rapid clip on a rocky road. The car in front of us gets a little bit loose and pulls over. We swing around and off to the side, seeing they’ve had a flat tire. With roads so grueling, the sidewall had basically separated from the tread before the driver could safely get the car to the side of the road. The extreme rocky surface we were experiencing had made the tire and the wheel so hot, it was difficult to remove from the car and even more difficult for the techs to put into the back of the truck. Still, the Volvo staff makes a tire change that would make a pit crew proud, getting everyone back on the road within minutes of the truck rolled up on the stopped car.
Not long after this we arrive in the town of San Ignacio and stop in front of the former Jesuit Mision San Ignacio de Kadakaaman. We walk inside this old and well-kept church to have a look around. Exiting the church I catch wind of a wicked plan to have some fun with Bryon. Volvo PR veteran and guru Dan Johnston decides that Bryon’s lunchtime ribbing of us and our damaged car (while he enjoyed the luxury of being out in the front and not having to deal with the dust and already knowing the roads so well) had earned him some ribbing of his own.
Bryon had either been bragging about his particular XC70, or maybe over-emphasizing it to offset our car’s mechanical failure due entirely to my own driver error. His car had very respectably done the route about six times from what he’d said, with nary a breakdown and only one filter change. Bryon’s skill, combined with his well-learned care for the terrain that make up the Baja 1000 course had worked well with his XC70 and it had been performing flawlessly. As even more evidence of his pride, Bryon had the car washed each morning before we left our bases of operation for the day’s drive. He was rightfully proud of the car and bragged about it generously, with particular emphasis and volume that afternoon around those of us who’d been riding in the damaged car. Poor Ben had to deal with it as well – his only guilt being that he was my co-driver. Mr. Johnston, not one to let this go unanswered, had apparently for the second time dumped some water underneath Bryon’s car. As we exited the Mission, Dan walked up to Bryon who had the hood up and a Volvo tech looking at the engine. Dan asked with a grin if there was anything wrong. “No,” Bryon said in an authoritative tone. “We just check it from time to time,” he added. “It sure looks like you’re losing some fluid Bryon,” Dan continued with a smile. “There was an icecream truck parked hear when I pulled up,” Bryon quickly answered. “It’s probably from that”.
San Ignacio is a popular stop in the relatively slow world of the central Baja Peninsula. Roughly half way between Cabo and Tijuana, this small town boasts ancient cave paintings and Baja 1000 traffic in addition to the old Mission. A small general store that also sells T-shirts and a few souvenirs can be found across the street. Several minutes later and several blocks away, we wearily check into the hotel before heading off to a popular restaurant called “Rice & Beans”. The small cantina is a regular hangout for the Baja 1000 racers, with evidentiary team decals, photos and paraphernalia covering all the walls. As we decompress from the stimulus overload, a side effect of the hours of heavy concentration, we gobble down Pacific lobster, chips and guacamole – chasing them down with a generous supply of Margaritas. Relatively early and still somewhat on remnants of East Coast time, I hit my bed hard, not even bothering to turn on the television – the first I’d seen since I was in California. ARTICLE SERIES LINKS 1. Introduction 2. Part I: Loreto to Mulege' 3. Part II: Mulege' to San Ignacio 4. Part III: San Ignacio to San Francisquito 5. Trip Wrapup
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