The hairy Mexican weighs a buck fifty, not including the Sasquatch volume hair on his back, front, top and I assume, bottom. He's a great navigator. He's good at bookmarking the GPS on pre runs, and is a Mexican national. He is as motivated to be in the car as anyone I've ever seen. Doesn't drink much, and definitely not a drugger. Couldn't turn a wrench to save his life, but he has learned to change a tire (if you have 7 or 8 minutes to spare). He also is familiar with the majority of the terrain we race in.
But the biggest reason Marc keeps him in the car and not me (because I tell it like it is), is that the bouncing around would make the beer in my stomach come foaming out of my ears. That would happen
before regurgitation sets in, and I definitely don't have the sense of urgency that Marc does while he is racing. I loved to go to the races as a spectator to drink and film, but participating in the event, it's not for me. A second there, a second here, just give me time to finish my beer.