Sweet Sonora
A Mexican Romance with Rally
Words: Kyra Sacdalan
Photos: WESTx1000 by Justin W. Coffey, Edo Bauer, Victor Eleutério, Julien Delfosse
A cross sits at the crest of the tallest mound in the horizon, warning all those who dare sail across this tumultuous sandy sea. At speed, that’s exactly what it feels like: sailing. Navigating through a seemingly featureless body of camel-colored ocean in a vessel designed for tarmac and gravel (and friction). It’s a magical sensation, if done right, to slide toward an indistinct destination with only a loose hand on the wheel, aired-down all-terrain tires, and inertia to keep us afloat. The racers understand this sensation. Veterans often find calm in the dunes, while others find it terrifying, an unpleasant obstacle to overcome if they ever intend to reach the finish line. That cross is only a reminder of just how uncertain this environment can be, if done wrong.
By this point in our timeline, we had yet to see any Americans take the top step of a Dakar Rally podium, let alone watch three factory US riders, several pros in the side-by-side classes, a triumphant rookie, a 19-year-old record-breaker, and another championship contender, compete together in one single event as we did in ’22 and ‘23. So why, now? Why, at long last, after more than 40 years of this sport, are we (finally) seeing so much success from the States? It may be a coincidence, yes, but one can argue that almost all of those star athletes started their roadbook careers or sharpened their skills at the Sonora Rally, a trial first fashioned after its prestigious international predecessors in 2015.
It was a particularly bright morning that year, sailing through the dunes, and we stood under a brutal sun waiting for a number of these alumni to eventually cross our path. They’d left the bivouac at about 6:30 am.We’d left a bit earlier, giving ourselves more than enough time to park, scout and stand still in silence listening for the initial telltale buzz in the distance. Justin adjusted his camera in preparation for the coming wave of bikes, then UTVs and maybe a stray quad or two (I can’t remember). I wasn’t there to snap photos, but rather to absorb it all, take in my surroundings, watch the mayhem of motor vehicles come and go, then pen my thoughts for the day’s race report. This was our introductory year in mainland Mexico, taking part in North America’s only globally recognized rally-raid.
Ricky Brabec was the clear leader on the board. For those who don’t know, he’s a good ol’ boy from the highlands of SoCal – mentored by Baja legend Johnny Campbell – historically molded into one of America’s first Dakar Rally winners only a couple seasons later aboard a Honda. Casey Currie also nabbed this prestigious honor alongside his comrade in the 2020 SxS class. Both have utilized Sonora as training ground for the Big Show with the Altar Desert, this same one we found ourselves in at that very moment, boasting the tallest and most robust dunes in Mexico and the US. So, the scene is truly set south of the border for those aiming to join a proper FIA/FIM event and hoping to become contenders across the pond. It’s an environment which doesn’t solely prepare pilots for the rigors of racing but also the puzzle of navigation.
Adventure is a word thrown around a lot in pop culture these days. Subaru commercials aside, the term is used for everything from backpacking around the world to hiking atop a local peak to wading through California’s merciless interstates during rush hour. Trying new foods is even an “adventure” to the right person. To be fair, with as broad a definition as “an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity” (Google’d), all of these activities do apply. However, to me, this concept is more complex. It requires too many facets to perceive it as simply black and white.
While I commend anyone who chooses to venture beyond their comfort zone, merely leaving the house or enduring a minor amount of distress won’t draw out enough of the quality ingredients necessary to cook up a blood-pumping, soul searching, mentally challenging recipe for a hearty crusade. To start, a key element missing here is mystery. Add some risk, a dash of healthy competition, turn up the dial on emotions, and the average outing becomes a true Hero’s Journey. Just as there is a beginning and an end, there must be an arch. Hurdles must be overcome, lessons learned, and growth achieved, no matter how miniscule. Perhaps this is why I fell so hard for Rally-raid. From every angle, with each role played in the bivouac, on-course, and during the liaison, this sport is demanding. At camp in some of the bigger rallies, even going to the bathroom becomes a burden. Admittedly, a bit of a masochist, but the pain I would endure to have the privilege of documenting motorsports history, and to see how well I survive, has been enticing.
Our love affair started on a Mediterranean island just off the coast of Italy. Justin was hired to photograph a privateer race team and negotiated bringing his significant other (me) along. Even then, I’d been writing a tad about motorsports, but most of my work centered around personal experiences, and zero regarded rally-raid. It was a complete stranger to me, save for the Dakar Rally, on which Justin generously schooled me from the moment we met. He taught me the rules behind the roadbook and nuances of the vehicles, the courses, stages, classes, bivouacs, the roles of the athletes, and team members. Anything he didn’t know, I researched online or gleaned onsite or absorbed during interviews. From then on, we jumped at each opportunity to document rally-raid, sometimes at all costs. The Sonora Rally was no exception.
With only one or two passes a day – per vessel, per pilot – reporting on a navigation race is an avant-garde art form of its own. Constantly evolving landscapes, contestants, technologies, and problems similarly force the journalists to endeavor on their own parallel, and no less precarious, expedition to the finish line. We often find ourselves driving at speeds well beyond the legal limit, on two-lane roads with blind corners, unpredictable conditions, stray dogs, wandering locals, and foreign traffic laws. God help us if it’s dark. We do all this to beat the fastest pilots in the world to our next shooting location. If you’re too slow, you track in the press truck and point the lens out of a window. If you miss them entirely, you snap photos of whomever is in eyeshot, then regroup, make a new plan, and go.
It’s not all bad for us media braving the field. Aside from a considerable lack of sleep, showers, or downtime, chasing a rally is actually fun, and the challenge is fulfilling in the end. But what coalesces these chaotic escapades is something deeper. As it turns out, the true beauty of adventure is connecting with people, making new acquaintances or seeing old ones from a fresh perspective. Oftentimes, communicating with only gestures and tones or tacos and Bud Lites (or whatever local beverage is available).
Not too long ago in Siberia, Justin and I were invited to an exclusive parking lot afterparty by the resident Russian drivers of the event. They hardly spoke English, and we damn sure didn’t speak Russian. But somehow, we managed to laugh, sing songs, exchange stories, and smoke like gangsters all night. The homemade hooch might have had a little something to do with it. In truth, Google Translate came out a few times. But nothing really bonded us like the heatwave-stricken hell we’d endured over 3,000 kilometers those prior two weeks. We’re all cogs in a great big machine, whether it’s a rally, a country, or just life. The more I travel to different places, the more I realize just how similar we all are. Change the environment, the status, or the resources, and everyone still wants the same things: To find happiness or contentment, to become successful, to give a future to their families, and have the freedom to choose their own path.
This mindset creates kindred spirits across vast distances and diverse societies. Leaving the confines of the home or a nation can help a person discover that a lot of patience, some sincere curiosity, and a little generosity speak louder than words, and that laughter sounds the same in every language. There’s something so special about coming across folks in the middle of nowhere who appear so staggeringly dissimilar from us at first glance, yet during these chance encounters, we discover thick common threads which unite us. A passion for motorsports, perhaps? Or for exploration, combustion engines, tasty food, good times, or even homemade whiskey. Customs can also align if you dig deep enough. It’s these silky strands which sew together all the hardships, tragedies, and shortcomings to the epiphanies, triumphs and expressions of love which not only unify us but also turn our stories from mundane routines into quests, weaving colorful tapestries about our lives. Even the smaller moments at a rally, like standing with each other quietly in the wilderness anxiously waiting for that familiar noise to break the tranquility, signaling action, can become a cherished lifelong memory.
Returning to the Sonora Rally, we’re anticipating the primary wave of riders to reach this Waypoint sometime soon. More than once, we’ve been utterly alone at the bottom of a bowl in the Gran Desierto de Altar. No features distinguished the terrain for miles except a shape shifting sea of sand and, for whatever reason, a BBQ grill. It’s been well over an hour with no movement in sight, when suddenly the eerie silence was cut by distant V8 sounds. A caravan of short-box Chevys equipped with LS motors blaze onto the scene, unload and fire up a makeshift kitchen before we could even register what was happening. In each instance, there was a distinct impediment of verbal exchange between the lot of us. Their English was better than our Spanish, but we couldn’t put together a full useful sentence between us. Fortunately, a swapping of cold brews, charred meat, high-resolution photos, and a love for large-displacement American automobiles somehow made us fast friends. What could have been a monotonous afternoon snapping photos in the desert became an impromptu tailgate party unwittingly bearing witness to a podium pursuit.
Before ever stepping one foot in this arid oasis just south of Arizona, I was already up to date with the history of Dakar. In short, a Frenchman took a wrong turn in the Ténéré Desert and created the most infamous navigation race of all time. It was 1976, and Thierry Sabine rode into the depths of northern Africa. After becoming dangerously lost during the Cote-Cote Rally, he had the brilliant idea of inviting as many similarly unhinged privateers as possible to a timed expedition from France to Senegal with only a compass, indiscriminate points of interest and hieroglyphs scrolled onto paper as their guides. Whomever ultimately completed the stages in the least amount of time was crowned the winner. The prize for the victor was, and would technically always be, glory. This set the course for an array of raids to follow from every corner of the earth, North America notwithstanding. A close relationship between the owner of the Sonora Rally and the current Director of the Dakar created a bridge between the events with Mexico hosting the only Dakar Challenge, otherwise known as Road to Dakar, this side of the Prime Meridian.
That opportunity is more or less a gateway to the international circuit, a stepping stone for the underdog, primarily in Canada, the US and Mexico, who for forty-odd years hadn’t been considered contenders. For them, the Sonora Rally was only the start of their voyage, Leg One of a great adventure which awaited them beyond the fringes of normalcy. It’s a bootcamp for events twice as long, with distances twice the length and dunes twice the size. For us, the hired lenses and newshounds, it was all of that plus the opportunity to give a voice to an athletic pastime hardly recognized in our neighborhoods. We can once and for all observe greatness in our own backyard and pay homage in our declarations which followed.
To feel the air forced against your chest as bikes, cars and UTVs alike whistle or roar on by, unaware you were even in the way. Hearing their motors rattle against your eardrums so loudly it tickles. Smelling the petrol long after its dispenser faded into the horizon. Then, rush into your rig to try to cut off the Top Ten again at the next Waypoint. It’s a game of chance, and the consequences vary from ground floor to perilous heights. Joseph Campbell examines the Monomyth, as defined in his book The Hero’s Journey, as various stages where the protagonist faces a crisis and wins, then returns home victorious. In the case of Sonora, every person involved encounters their own set of challenges. Everyone is ultimately triumphant, if not of the most prestigious goals, then of the achievable, nonetheless progressing forward to the next battle. That’s how I define an adventure. Striving for something better. Contributing to a cause. Vanquishing enemies,real or inanimate. And, if all goes well, leaving behind a legacy.