"Do we need a juicer?" It's a simple question, but right now, standing in the Mexican equivalent of an L.A. freeway, surrounded by angry, speeding Mexicans, I struggle to choke out an answer. It's chaotic. One of our racecars is broken. The junkyard schlep helping us is doing burnouts while directing traffic with his middle finger. There's honking and gesturing. We just bought off the Federales. No one has slept in days, it's loud and it stinks. And unless we're talking fajitas or frijoles, my Spanish sucks. Still, she demands an answer.
"This isn't really the right time to talk about juicers, honey," I say into the cell phone in my sweetest oh-I-love-you-so-much voice.
Not good enough. She's just spent the day stomping around Robinsons-May on a mad dash to complete an already late wedding registry, and we either need a juicer or we don't. In the meantime, the Burnout King has brought the road to a halt, our car is being shoved through the gate at Yonke Venezia and we're negotiating a price for a makeshift tow bar. It's an appropriate end to a weekend of open-road racing, Mexican style.
This type of competition should be a rite of passage for every enthusiast. Nothing is certain here. There's no guarantee you'll be timed correctly. No guarantee the road will actually be closed. No guarantee there will be a crew to retrieve your car. And certainly no guarantee you'll get justice from the authorities. In fact, the only thing that's certain in Mexico is that there will be an adventure and that there will be chaos. Especially if you're driving 20-year-old turbocharged Dodge Omnis.
Racing turbo Omnis at La Carrera International was the brainchild of resident Omni geek and friend Steve Foster. Foster burdened me with the task of co-piloting his super-Omni in the race, promising 400 hp, a limited slip and adjustable Konis. But when I saw the Omni in all its sublime green glory a few weeks ago, it was clear Foster didn't make his horsepower goal. Still, I was impressed. The car is one of 500 original GLHS number cars built in 1986 in collaboration between Chrysler and Shelby American.
But that's only half the story. While Foster and crew were prepping the green super-Omni in his driveway, another hopelessly obsessed bunch led by driver Todd Steffens was prepping a flat-black turbo Omni across Los Angeles in an airport hanger-turned-workshop. The B team toiled without the bottomless budget of the super-Omni, and when Steffens and the black beast showed up only hours before our departure, the seat for co-driver Glen Hara, aka "Lt. Sulu," still needed to be bolted in solidly. Plus, the beast stinks of raw fuel and neglect every time its throttle is opened.
Together, the Omnis are a picture of '80s Americana-predating modern performance cars with styling only Mother Mopar could love and turbos with glacier-like response. But, frighteningly enough, they make disturbing self-destructive power. Of particular concern is the green super-Omni's massively oversized intercooler that blocks every square inch of radiator from valuable frontal airflow. It would be OK on a car that only needs to make power in short bursts, but is grossly oversized in this road racing application.
I protested briefly but quickly caved, realizing that all true Mexican adventures involve being stranded in the middle of nowhere. Despite an 18-hour delay while the super Omni crew struggled to make the car run, at 10 p.m. Thursday night we threw everything into the two cars and an old Jeep Grand Cherokee and headed south of the border without a trailer, resigning ourselves to race as much as possible and still drive home.
La Carrera is a one-day open-road race run on a 16-mile stretch of narrow two-lane north of the coastal town of Ensenada, which is a couple of hours south of San Diego. It's put on by the same folks who run the Silver State Classic and the Nevada Open Road Challenge in America, but it's managed by a terrifically flexible group of Mexican enthusiasts who ultimately make all the critical decisions. You know, decisions like how much delay there will be from the planned start time, how many cows will visit the course and what color flag will wave at the finish line. Somehow, after three hours of sleep, we showed up Friday morning to qualifying with both cars still running.