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Place:
5th
Site: Alvarado,
TX
Final Standing: 6th,
758 points
What is it about motorcycle riders and trophies? What would drive an otherwise sane.....hmmm...perhaps "sane" isn't the best adjective to describe myself...how about "reasonable"...yeah, that's it, reasonable, individual to ride a motorcycle through 8 miles of soupy muck and varyingly nasty creek crossings.....when said reasonable individual hates.....no, "hates" is too mild an adjective when it comes to my feelings about riding in mud....how about despises? Or detests? Take your pick. Whichever, rest assured when I tell you that "mud ain't my bag, baby".
Well, mud was what faced me in the last race of the 2000 TCCRA season. And it couldn't have come at a worse time: I faced a close battle in points for the final year-end trophy spot in the 125/200 Expert class. Anyone who's seen me ride in muck knows that it defies the laws of physics to go any slower than I do and still remain upright.
Because it had been apparent for several days before the race that conditions would be...less-than-desirable...I decided I would be racing Cindy's KDX 200, as the KDX is much more manageable in muddy conditions than an antsy 125. We arrived at the race site Saturday under ominous skies. The camp area was already VERY soft. More rain would produce a quagmire of the highest order. Not long after, the sky unloaded. The result was a semi-quagmire. Unfortunately, the weather reports said the Saturday rain would be "light", merely a prelude to a Saturday night deluge.
Rain it did. A lot. The camping area looked like a giant diaper accident gone terribly awry. My only hope was postponement of the race. Patman and I had ventured about after the Saturday afternoon rain had fallen to scout the condition of the race course. It looked particularly nasty even then. I could only imagine what it looked like after an all-night pouring session. I wasn't confident I'd even be able to make it around the 8-mile loop. However, due to my place in the overall standings I HAD to go out there. If I wanted the aforementioned year-end trophy, that is. I began to seriously question my IQ at this point.
The riders' meeting took place and it appeared the "race" was a go. I "slid" over to the starting area shortly after 9 AM. My only approach and aim was to avoid getting stuck. If I could avoid that, I figured I'd be OK. The flag flew and I immediately realized that a) I should have started in 2nd gear, because b) a stock KDX, while extremely tractable, doesn't rev very far, and I wasn't going very fast trying to wind out the motor in 1st gear. Consequently, the rest of the class pulled ahead and proceeded to empty their diapers all over me...uh, I mean, they roosted me. My goggles were covered, but the roll-offs did their job: I wore them in order to keep my eyes from being covered with goop immediately. We slipped and slid around the motocross section that constituted the first half-mile or so of the race course. Then we hit the first ravine crossing. It had already claimed a victim: Russell Horn (J35) couldn't make it up the other side in the snot, and was turned around backward in order to come back up the entry to the ravine and try it again. Chris Horton (J31) and I waited until Horn cleared and then Chris tried to cross. No sweat, he made it. Then it was my turn. I selected an unfortunate line that popped my front wheel directly into the air and sideways when I hit the bottom of the ravine. After extracting my bike from a small sapling, I noticed there was no way out except to ride along the length of the ravine, which would deposit me back onto the motocross section where I had started, and I could try this again.
This time I made it across. "It's gonna be a long lap". However, I knew there were a LOT of places to get stuck, so it was still well within reason that I'd see class competitors again. Slip-and-slide-and-dog-paddle I went, hoping to catch SOMEONE and also avoid getting stuck again. After each creek crossing I was that much closer to finishing. Then a few miles into the loop it happened again. I took a line exiting a creek that, uh, didn't work out for me. I didn't carry enough momentum to propel me out of a hole and up over an exposed tree root. My rear wheel would only spin. Of course, by this point the bike and I had taken on enough mud so that the bike tipped the scales just shy of the poundage of a Honda Gold Wing. Push, pull, and yank I began. No dice. Perhaps I can call for a crane. I didn't see one available. Luckily, I wasn't blocking the only route out of the creek, so I wasn't a deterrent to someone else making it across the creek. Or getting stuck themselves, as it turned out.
Along came another rider, who proceeded to take the line immediately to my right and get stuck. In the exact same manner, wheel spinning in a hole behind a root. At least I wasn't alone in my misery. As the other guy proceeded to release his frustration at being stuck, I continued to try and extract myself from this hole, to no avail. It became apparent to me that this was a two-person job. I left my bike standing in the hole and went over to help the other rider out of HIS predicament. This was not necessarily a magnanimous move on my part: I figured if we both got his bike out, we'd both get my bike out and we'd be on our way. It just happened that I was the first of us that this became apparent to.
I told him we'd get him out. "Grab your bars and push, I'll lift your rear wheel and push forward". A few strains and grunts and groans later, and we had his bike out of the hole and atop the creek bank. "That wasn't too bad, shouldn't have much trouble getting my bike out either". I walked back over to my bike, ready to continue. There was one thing I hadn't counted on: my "helper" was gone. The rider who I'd helped out of the same predicament I'd faced had gotten on his bike and taken off. I stood there stunned, dumbfounded. "Am I an idiot, or did that guy just &%$! on me?!?!?"
Regardless, he was gone. I went back to pushing, pulling, and tugging. Shortly thereafter I freed the bike and was atop the creek. I dog-paddled forward, making every creek crossing in no small part thanks to the friendly power of the KDX. When I reached the checkpoint, I assured the workers and bystanders that yes indeed, "the number on my bike IS my IQ". I navigated one more corner and here came the sound I was waiting for: somebody was riding as if the soil was perfect mail-order dirt. It was the overall leader, ensuring that if I could traverse the last mile of nastiness, I would be finished. I let him by, then waited, as I heard 2nd overall coming too. There was one more extremely nasty creek crossing to go. Assistant Track Supervisor Bubba Anders, among others, was at the top directing riders to the passable line out. I dropped into the creek, headed for the "good" line and hoped for the best. There were LOTS of spectators watching this creek crossing, which every off-roader knows is an indication of the difficulty of the obstacle. The "good" line was pretty nasty. I made it almost all the way up before dumping the bike. Not really stuck though, which was good. With a little assistance from spectators and some frantic scrambling on my part ("I gotta get outta the way!), I was on my way. Whew, last nasty obstacle cleared.
I dog-paddled my way to the finish, securing 5th for the day and 6th for the year. It was an interesting end to the year, which contained its share of ups-and-downs. I would have preferred not to have had to muddle around in the slop and instead have had a real "race" to end the year, but it just didn't work out that way. I must offer thanks to my extremely kind spousal unit for allowing me to ride her KDX for this nastiest of races. I don't think I'd have made it around the loop on my 125. That, and I didn't want to get my pristine new bike all muddy for it's first ride, did I??
Next stop: Red Mountain, CA. January 14, 2001. Look for my report of the fourth-annual trek shortly thereafter.
