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Place:
DNF
Site: Ardmore,
OK
Current Standing: 6th,
693 points
I guess I'm just not meant to do well at Lake Murray, my favorite local riding area. This past Sunday was my third time to race there, and it ended up being my third mechanical failure of some degree. The first time in '97 I had bent my shifter under the case, had to ride approximately 5 miles in first gear, and ended up breaking a ring and cheesing my cylinder. Then earlier this year I mangled my brake pedal about a mile into the race and was slowed for several miles before straightening it out and getting rolling again. Sunday? Well, I can't ruin the suspense, but the end result wasn't pretty...
The weekend started brilliantly. A strong cold front had come through on Friday, and the weather was outstanding; great riding temperatures and cloudy. We set out for Ardmore about 11 AM, coincidentally the same time the kickoff was set for the OU-Texas game. It ended up being the finest drive to a race I think I've ever had. Hold on...this just in...the Sooners have just scored again! You see, I am perhaps the world's most fervent Sooner football fan, and there is nothing more delicious than a complete and total ass-whipping of the HATED Longhorns. Usually I'm a good sport in victory or defeat; all bets are off when the foe is Texas. By the time we reached Ardmore the game was securely in the refrigerator and I couldn't have been happier. Turns out the weekend had just reached its apex.
Patman and I had made the trip to Ardmore on Wednesday for extra practice/line-scouting so I was pretty familiar with the course laid out by the Hillhouses. I made my two practice laps on Saturday and was struck by how beat up the first couple miles already were. Quite a bit different from Wednesday. However, the bike was loving the cold weather and running great. I took it easy on both practice laps to try and conserve energy for Sunday; I knew it would be extremely demanding, and to top it off I was going to be racing in the afternoon when my energy level is usually jack squat.
Having purchased a new bike last week, this was to be my last outing on the '98. As I made my way to the line, an evil thought entered my mind: my last ride on my '96 YZ had resulted in a broken finger that required surgery. "Dammit boy, get those vile thoughts of doom out of your mind!" The thought was quickly swept away by a gale force wind, which stirred the sand of the road leading to the starting area. It was the first time I'd ever been dusted blind before a race even began. I made a few trips down a road to thoroughly warm the bike up, and headed for the starting grid.
John West punched my card, wished me good luck, and I took a spot near the inside of the starting line. One by one the lines peeled away until the 125 Expert class stood at the front. Engines screamed in panic revs as we all made sure our motors were thoroughly warm. Marty Cathey, Ace Flagman, made sure we were all set to go and headed to pick up the green flag. A moment later he raised his hand, waved the flag, and off we went. I got an excellent jump off the line. Dwayne Gensler (J36) beat me off the line, but he was the only bike I saw as the rest of the bikes receded. We reached the apex of the left-hand first turn, and on the far right was a red flash, and whoever it was was really moving. He swept around Dwayne and I but we squared the corner and pinned the throttle. I had the motor revved to oh, about 20,000 RPM at this point plowing through the sand and got into the attack position as some large whoops lay ahead. That was right about the point my race ended.
Weeeeeeeee, waaaaaaaaaaaa, wooooooooooohhhhhhhh. Dead motor. My first thought was piston. Nope, compression is fine and motor is kicking over normally. Fouled plug? Let's check that. Rob Cook and the Buds Beunier scrambled to help me (thanks guys!). Got the plug out. Looked perfect. Swell. Changed it anyway. No go. Am I getting spark? Yep. Maybe I sucked something into a jet or maybe the carb isn't getting fuel. Fuel line off. Fuel pouring out. Carb off (you YZ 125 owners know what an ass-whipping task this is). Jets clear. Crap, what could it be? Reeds? Some sort of filter disfugalty? Filter off. Bike will occasionally start but dies when I apply throttle. Finally, when Rob returns with another filter, I spot the failure. There seem to be little black chunks of something on the rim of the filter. Gee, looks strangely like...CARBON FIBER! A reed had exploded. Well, I'm done. By this time everyone was starting their third lap, and there was no way we could switch out the reed block in time for me to do two laps and get finishing points.
The race developments made my misfortune even more difficult to take. Chris Horton (J31), who was 18 points ahead of me for 5th overall entering the race, wasn't having his best day and was well back in the pack. My opportunity to make up ground on him had exploded like flatulence after a lunch at Taco Bell. Not only that, but my lead over Darren Fleming (J30) for 6th would shrink as well.
Not the best of outcomes, but at least I'm healthy and will be able to race the season finale in two weeks. Any shot I had at 5th overall has now vanished, and my heretofore comfortable cushion over 7th has now shrunk to an uncomfortable 28 points. I'll have to do well, and luckily it's a morning race.
Just the latest chapter in an up-and-down season...
