The North Texas area had a new series: the Texas Off-Road Organization Championship Series.  After my stellar performance in this year's TCCRA season I was hopeful that I could save some face in this new Winter series.

Race #1 was to be held at Brian Storrie's farm near Denton.  I was fortunate enough to be able to accompany Mr. Pre-Race Recon himself, Patman, for a mid-week preview of the weekend's race course.  We went out on Wednesday for a short scouting mission, and I was very impressed by what Brian had done with such limited acreage.  There was a lot of turning (my weak point) but it didn't feel like stupid unnecessary mile-making turning, and there were a couple of fast sections that were fun.

Luckily I was able to make that mid-week scouting session because it didn't appear I'd be able to make my scheduled practice time on Saturday.  Church was in session, you see.  Live from Lincoln, Nebraska.  As it turns out church didn't work out as I'd hoped, but my mighty Sooners will prevail come December 1 in the Big 12 Championship.  My trust lies in the all-powerful Stoops.

The weekend weather was pretty good: highs in the low 70s.  Course conditions could have been better as it was pretty dusty, but I much prefer that to riding in 6.5 miles of diaper matter.  TORO also decided to start their races properly, the way off-road motorcycle races should be started: dead-engine.  So I had that going for me, which was nice.

So there I am, calmly getting dressed in the trailer when I get this message from Cindy: "the siren just sounded".  What the...???  No way!  My recurring nightmare had just come true!  I had pants and socks on at that point; no tape on my sissy-hands, no band-aids on the ni...(uh, never mind), no baby powder in the gloves, no headband, no nothing.  I proceeded to break the land-speed record for getting dressed, the exact opposite of what I'm known for.  I knew the starting line would be crowded and I wanted a decent spot.

So I get to the starting area and...what the...???  Again!  Hardly anyone was over there.  Turns out I was duped by a false alarm.  Kooky dames.  Oh well, at least I had several choices for spots on the line.  I selected a spot on the outside, which was not coincidentally in a shady spot.

The lines in front of the +30 B class all peeled off one-by-one and there sat the 25-plus rider field.  I was confident I could get a decent start but was a little worried about the jetting bog off the bottom that I haven't been able to solve.  All was silent save for that incessant throat-pounding, then the green light came on and we kicked and throttled.  The motor fired first kick but bogged until I quickly fanned the clutch and accelerated hard toward the first turn, a sweeping left-hander.  A couple guys were in front of me but I was in decent position.  A little clever negotiating of the fine-handling YZ 125 and I was clear of the first turn in 5th.

A couple guys dumped it in the very slick hardpack turns and I worked my way up to 3rd.  I held this spot for several miles until I stalled and two guys made their way by me, including Mark Marshall (B411).  I quickly re-started and fell in behind Mark and began a fun, lengthy battle.  Around and around we went, neither of us really gaining ground on the other.  A full-on dice session (racing term).  I tried to gain ground while Mark wowed me with some impressive gymnastic moves.  Some of the contortions he made while saving it in some of the slick turns made my groin muscles hurt.  He Blackwatered out of the creek just past the check but was able to get going just in time to stay ahead of me.  Next lap at the check I had managed to get right on his rear wheel entering the check.  He chose the left, and I went right.  We emerged at almost the exact instant, and I was able to stick my wheel in front of his on the downhill entrance to the creek bottom.

As I made my way into and out of the creek it occurred to me that I had probably not acted in the most sportsmanlike of ways passing someone at the check.  So, when I got to the top I stopped and let him go back by me.  Of course I got a little anxious and came that close to clipping his rear wheel when I got back on the trail, but was able to narrowly avoid disaster.  I fell in right behind him and we resumed our big fun.  About a mile or so later he stalled in an ultra-tight 1 mph tree section and I was able to get by.

I was able to hold him off for another lap-and-a-half or so, then my growing fatigue rose up and bit me in the arse.  Mark was far enough behind me so that a small mistake wouldn't allow him to go by.  But he was close enough that if my wheels shot off he'd be ahead.

Step One of my great undoing was dumping it in a corner.  No problem, this was the aforementioned small mistake.  I scrambled up and re-mounted but was at a bit of an awkward angle in relation to the ensuing trail.  I tried to give the bike gas and spin the bike's direction a bit to straighten myself.  Uh, no.  I shot off into the brush to the left of the trail.  This constituted more than a small mistake.  I was now facing the opposite direction from the trail and mired in a viny, thorny jungle.  There went Mark.  "Bye, it's been fun", I thought to myself, thoroughly embarrassed.

What to do now?  I assessed my options and the best option seemed to be foraying through the jungle at an angle that led me back onto the trail.  How was I to know there was a booby trap lying in wait ten feet ahead, licking its chops, ready to nab some unsuspecting ding-dong?  I took off and ten feet later my bike was in a five-foot deep hole.  It was a scene straight out of a cartoon, or better yet, the desert scene in On Any Sunday.  "Anybody got a crane?"  "How about a helicopter?"  Nobody heard me.

I stood there a moment and assessed the situation.  "Self", I said, "you're an idiot.  How the hell can someone get ten feet off a trail with no discernible obstacles and land in the Great Pit of Despair?"  "And not only that, but these vines from Hades are stabbing you everywhere and more importantly are probably scratching the hell outta your bike!"  I hemmed and hawed and finally extracted the great beast from the massive chasm.  I climbed the Great Divide and got back on the trail.  Of course at this point my muscles had deteriorated from Jell-O pudding to Jell-O gelatin and I was done.  I picked a nice shady spot just up the trail and spent the remainder of the race enjoying it as a spectator.

Not quite what I'd had in mind for the first race in a new series, but it was fun while it lasted.

 
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