Sam, too bad I didn't see you out there. Kept my eyes peeled and everything, but I'm not that familiar with the terrain, so I didn't even know where I was for the first day or so. Instead of starting a new thread...here's my experience.
Got into Oceano Dunes SVRA at about 01:00 Saturday morning, after leaving LA at 22:00. Hit the sand, dropped it into 4LO and no CDL or ABS disengage...damn CDL switch is acting up again. Figured I'd just have to go open diffs until I could address the problem, and hope for the best.
First thing I saw was a ~40' Class A motorhome, stuck in the sand just off the ramp. Pulled up and a girl was standing there looking helpless. Turned out to be a Chilean family of four from Palmdale, disabled mom, older father, and two twenty-something daughters on their maiden voyage with their brand new motorhome, stuck to the axles. Pulled out the tow-strap, shovels and went to work. Hour or so later, they were free and moving. I couldn't believe how many people drove by, and not only didn't stop for help, but either laughed or yelled out the window ("HAHA! FxxxIN' IDIOT!"). Jesus, I'd just gotten there and already I wanted to punch someone. One more vehicle with a tow strap and we'd have gotten them out of there in seconds, but it was 02:00, and most everyone out there was either beer-drunk or giddy on speed. And we're not in Mexico, so you can't just EXPECT that the first group of drunks in a pickup are gonna stop and help out in a fit of mezcal machismo.
Met my friend along the way, and he escorted us through the general camping area, and first thought to enter my mind was "WHO...RUN...BARTERTOWN?!?!" There was every type of dirt vehicle under the sun: ATVs, motos, dune buggies, sand rails, monster trucks, and off-road golf carts, all doing donuts and speeding between trailers, tiki torches and American/Confederate/Raider Nation flags and banners, staggering drunk people, and the sweet smell of ganja mixed with two-stroke smoke wafting on waves of thrash metal, Dirty South hip-hop, mariachis, and über-patriotik country music. Oh.......fxxx. Now I know what Sam meant about the place not being kid-friendly. I was so glad I dropped my nine-month-old son off at the in-laws!
We were camped on the outskirts of Competition Hill. I had a few beers, set up my tent, and crawled inside to catch a few winks. The last bike flew past the tent, throttle wide-open at around 04:45, and I drifted off to sleep. The night crew had finally crashed out, and all was peaceful...for about thirty minutes. At 05:15, the morning folks woke up, got on their bikes, and though I'm sure this sounds like an exaggeration, it seemed that the entire campground, what seemed like a thousand two-stroke 250's and open-hedder sand rails did donuts around my tent until I just got out of bed to make coffee. Thirty minutes sleep, head pounding, wife cranky, and I was ready to clothesline the first motherfxxxer that came within twenty feet of my truck and beat him into a bloody pulp.
I was ready to fxxxing kill something, so it was decided (wisely) to cut out, head for a more peaceful beach and crash out for an hour or two to regain my Buddha-like calm.
All the state parks were full, so we ended up booking a fleabag motel room in town ($175! Damn!). Took a nap, had a shower, ate a good meal, and I was ready and willing to face the dunes (and the throng) once again. Got back to the SVRA in the early evening, and since my own attitude had changed, the faces in the crowd were decidedly less ugly. People were laughing and having a good time, jumping off the dunes and enjoying themselves. The cops were regulating speeders and dangerous drivers, and people were staying generally polite and friendly. There were some really cool vehicles to see too.
It was my wife and I in the 80, and our friends in their FJ Cruiser. We drove along the back fence, exploring possible future campsites which may give a little more peace and quiet, when the FJ Cruiser got stuck at the bottom of a sand pit. Damn. The more it tried to get out, the more the soft stuff swallowed it up. I parked the 80 at the top of a hill, pointed slightly downhill, and walked back to the FJ Cruiser. I couldn't figure out why it wasn't getting out. Told them to try the locker. Wouldn't engage. Then they radioed "Uh...the ATF temp light just came on..." Crap. "Engine getting really hot here." Okay, so I told them to turn it off. We popped the hood, aired the tires down, and started going through possible scenarios. My faith in the little FJ Cruiser was being tried...and it was failing all the tests.
My friend, a seasoned 'wheeler, opened the driver's manual to see why the RR LOCK might not engage. He says "Oh! I have to be in 4LO and L to lock up the rear." Huh?
"You're not in 4LO?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Didn't think it was necessary."
"You're a fxxxing idiot."
"What should I do?"
"Put your head under the tire and use it as a sand rail."
Four Wheeling 101--Grade: F. Closed the hood, put it into 4LO, and the thing BOUNDED, no, FLEW, no, GLIDED (yeah that's it) right out of the hole, up the hill, and back in tow. Operator error. Not Toyota's fault. Nothing to see here.
Headed back to the top of Competition Hill to BBQ and watch the fireworks and chaos erupt. For those that have not witnessed Oceano on a Saturday night, the scene is a lot like Burning Man, minus the creativity, and with Rednecks and Chicanos instead of Freaks. Thousands of drunk, stoned and tweaking humanoids, all crammed together in a spontaneous city of toy boxes and diesel pushers, all driving top speed in and on every manner of dirt throwing mufflerless oil spewers at all hours under a non-stop shower of highly illegal fireworks, weaving around gasoline bonfires, collapsed vomiters, unattended toddlers, and everything, everything covered with and filled with sand, endless sand.
If and when I go back, I'll remember to bring ear plugs. And way more booze.
Hopefully I cam make it next time.
Just find a spot where you're visible from far away! I did put flags up last time anyway...
