“I’m not sure why, but I feel like I could invade San Felipe”, I said to myself quietly, as I left the pre-race briefing, my body full of testosterone and mind brimming with logistics. But that’s not where this story starts.
The almost straight highway down from Mexicali to San Felipe is awash with textures, mountains that don’t seem to get closer until you’re in them, and sky-blue water from the Gulf of California. It is tranquility. Beautiful, relaxed driving in its simplest form. An almost perfect contrast to the high-octane race I was heading toward.
