MULEGE, BAJA CALIFORNIA, MEXICO -- Our nostrils still coated with a powdery film from driving through massive clouds of polvo (Spanish for dust), Don Olsson smiles and agrees that ripping across the rugged, unpaved back roads of Baja in a Volvo XC70 should dispel the image of station wagons as "mom-mobiles."
"Yes, I think that should be true," says the tall Swede, a former ski bum who directs product introductions for Volvo Cars. "The cars we are driving are production spec cars, with only different [Pirelli] tires, a larger power steering oil cooler and full skid plates underneath."
After two days of the wickedly difficult Baja 1,000 off-road race course, it seems fair to say Volvo has orchestrated a valiant effort in trying to reposition station wagons as outdoor adventure vehicles, not car-pooling commuter runabouts.
Problems? None of the dozen or so XC70s actually broke down with a serious mechanical failure. Although our particular wagon failed to start once, in the middle of nowhere. The culprit was a faulty immobilizer in the ignition key. That was set right by removing the battery, which rebooted the immobilizer system and allowed the car to read the key again.
But for someone not so technically savvy, this no-start problem might have led to a night or two alone and stranded in the Sierra San Pedro mountains filled with rattlesnakes, scorpions, tarantulas and the like.
And the same test vehicle also serenaded us with a high-pitched squeak for much of Day 2 of our three-day, 530-kilometre Baja driving adventure. That would be the longest stretch from San Ignacio to Mulege by the Sea of Cortez.
All in all, though, not bad for a tallish, $46,495 XC70 station wagon you can buy at any one of Volvo's 44 Canadian dealers.
"What we have found," says Volvo Canada marketing boss Larry Futers, "is XC70 customers are more active -- skiing, biking and hiking. So what we're doing here fits with our target group."
Perhaps. But those Volvo customers might want to meet three-time Baja 1,000 winner Bryon Farnsworth before they try such an adventure. After nearly four decades of experience in Baja, if what he says doesn't scare them off, surely it will make them stronger.
"This first part of the Baja 1,000 course we're going to do is all dirt, rocks and real sandy," he said on Day 1 of the trip, just minutes after Steve, our pilot and a former Marine Corps flyer, touched down our KingAir 200 in gale-force winds on a nasty red-dirt strip beside the tiny village of San Francisquito.
"When the driving gets really rough, you just creep and crawl. Believe me, you will experience every type of driving over the next three days," Farnsworth told us. "And be careful on the salt flats tomorrow. Off the road, the ground may look firm, but it's a pie crust. If you get out there you'll break through and then you'll be living in your Volvo."
Farnsworth knows all about getting stuck. Back in 1967, the first year of the Baja 1,000, he and a partner entered a Jeep that did well for a while, but eventually got bogged down in muddy sand. They were stranded for four days.
"We started hiking out and found a village where they fed us tacos and kept us going," he says.
Farnsworth, a long-time motorcycle racer, one-time fireman and former Yamaha motorcycle development executive, was eventually found and rescued. He was also bit by the Baja racing bug.
In the 1970s, he was co-driver in a truck that won its class, and he has twice won his grouping on a motorcycle, the last time being 1993 in what he calls "the old fools' class."
"In my 20s, falling off the bike after hitting a goat was a piece of cake. Now I'm afraid it would kill me," he laughs, adding that while he's had his share of crashes out here, he's never been air-lifted out with really serious injuries. "Had my share of breaks and bruises, though."
His best time to finish the race is 18 hours on a motorcycle. Eighteen straight hours of non-stop riding.
That's right. The Baja 1,000 is not a multi-day race through the Baja outback. No, the annual November race starts at dawn and goes 1,000 miles (or sometimes kilometres, depending on the course for that year) until you are done. The best time ever for anyone is about 16 hours, also on a motorcycle.
"So you're averaging, what, 100 km/hour the whole time; that is something, huh?" he says with emphasis.
