USRA Round 1: Buzzards Mesquite GP

Finished: Yes
Class Finish: 8 of 8
Overall Finish: 55 of 55
USRA 2008 Season Points Earned: 535
USRA 2008 Season Points Total: 535
Season Points Position: 8 of 19

I'm thinking I might use this little header for each race report. I'll try it out and see if I like it anyways. So as a little explanation with it - Finished: Yes or No (in case I get the dreaded DNF! Being my first season, finishing every race is the #1 goal). (At right: Paul with the big air for the spectators) Class Finish: My place out of the number of racers in my class in that race. Overall Finish: My placing out of the Sea of the total number of Amateurs for that particular race. USRA 2008 Season Points Earned: Points received for that race. USRA 2008 Season Points Total: My running tally of points for the season. Season Points Position: My position out of the total number of racers who signed up for the USRA 2008 Season in the Desert Race Series for Open Amateur.

So as you can see I was dead last in my class and out of all the Amateurs who raced the Buzzard's Mesquite GP. 11 of those who signed up for the season in my class weren't there, so I wasn't dead last for points for the season after this race at least...but that's a small consolation.

But for some people the header may be self explanatory, yet I figure for others new to it that little explanation will help. On to the race report!

About a week prior to the race Paul had brought over his new KTM to my house so he could prep it in my garage. It being January and frickin' cold and he not having a garage...you get the idea. I was prepping the Blue Tank as well and getting all the information I could from him about the race. He having raced the rest of the prior season and my first race having been so long before I was a little nervous and excited at the same time, and talking about it helped.

Paul knew that the race would have a motorcross track in it and then an eight to ten mile loop out in the desert - it would be a timed race so you'd keep doing the track/loop until time ran out. Since both of us had ridden a lot in the area around Mesquite, we figured the terrain would be similar to what we knew out there, so we expected fast jeep roads where the fastest bike (coupled with the rider with the most nerve) wins. Paul would be well off on his new bike which was more than fast enough and of course he having more nerve than the average ten racers combined.

I commented off hand to Paul in a jokingly way, but secretly being totally serious, about how he might react if I beat him this race. (At left: Paul in the rhythm) He joked back but put it plenty bluntly that he would be pretty upset. The reason I was serious was due to my gym workouts. While I hadn't been as regular as I would have liked, I was going somewhat often, and I don't think Paul was doing much at all in that regard at the time. I still remembered how tired I had been in my first race and knew that physical fitness was key. I figured if I could have more strength and endurance than anyone that might be faster than me, I could still beat them because they would get tired before I would.

Ahh the sweet innocence of youth! Watching Paul's first race wasn't enough to open my eyes and be realistic...why should my first race have been any different?!? That is the great mystery...or something. Of course Paul would be upset, because he had a whole lot of experience with these races compared to me, rode a lot more, and, well, knew what he was doing. Yes if I pulled off and somehow beat him...ha, well it didn't happen and it's not going to for a while unless he hurts himself or something!

Anyways the race day came. Cruising around the pits/camping area before the race I sized up the competition. I had come down to the race feeling pretty confident, but as I noticed all the other Amateurs my confidence started to wane (this would become a recurring theme each race). Then the Experts went out on the course. Watching them fly around the motorcross track I suddenly felt very underskilled and in over my head. The motorcross track was the part that worried me the most. I'm perfectly comfortable flying through the desert at 90 mph not knowing what's ahead by going off those big jumps is completely unnerving.

However I was glad I chose this race as my first real race where I was on my own and not part of a team because since it involved the motorcross track there wouldn't be a dead engine start bomb run. I was still completely leery of those and wasn't excited to experience one. This race would start motorcross style - engine's already started, waiting for the gate to drop. On top of that, they ran the race only by division - so Experts had the course all to themselves and after they were done the Amateurs went and then Novices and so on. Due to the limited space on the starting line they started us a few classes at a time instead of all the Amateurs at once. I thought that this was a good way to get eased in to the racing scene instead of just taking the plunge with a dead engine bomb run next to 75 other guys. The Open class was in the first wave...which is one of the benefits of being in that class...so I figured I had a head start on the rest of the Amateurs. All I had to do was stay ahead of them and I'd place pretty good!

Lining up at the start opened the flood gates of the growing anxiety that had been building all morning. My breath was already short and my heart rate was going way too fast. I could feel the sweat already. There was a short riders meeting before we went, and it was there I received the worst news I could have received: the desert course was deep sand and deep whoops. In other words no fast jeep roads. Yes, I was definitely in over my head.

We saddled up and fired up the bikes ready to go...the countdown began...5...4...3...2...1 and the gates dropped! Well, they didn't drop so much as they just gently came down - I remember thinking how long it was taking the gates to go down. (At right: Paul off the start with the front of the pack. The new KTM gave him the Holeshot!) I had no idea when to go because of the gate, but as soon as everyone else around me took off I did to. Within 10 feet of the start I ate probably 30 pounds of roost (kicked up dirt from the back tire of the guy in front of you) from the two guys on either side of me.

I quickly decided that this was crazy, and backed off and let everyone else go so I could putt around the track undisturbed. I figured I'd let things thin out a bit and then make some passes one on one after the track - being all clustered together like it was off the start seemed a sure way to hurt yourself. I also had a minute or so before the next line started so I knew I had some time to get into a groove.

Surprisingly the track wasn't as scary as I thought it would be. After going over a couple jumps I found myself excited for the next one, revving it up and launching into the air with a big grin on my face. I found a rhythm and was able to clear some of the bigger jumps with gaps and was quite happy about it - until the whoops section came. Giant mounds of hard dirt closely spaced together with sharp peaks at the top. I still have yet to figure out how the good motocrossers can just fly over those things...however as bad as they were, I would soon come to look forward to them. I only had to experience the desert loop of the course to gain an appreciation for the motocross whoops.

Completing the first part of the track I got up on some straight fast stuff and proceeded to show everyone how I did on my kind of turf. Flying through that section I passed a few people and felt pretty good about the race now...somehow having forgot what I was told at the riders meeting already (or probably not wanting to believe it). This section was short lived, and the road took a dive into the Virgin River area, and it was there I saw the horror of what was to be the next seven miles.

The motocross whoops are intimidating because they're tall and sharp, really close together, and hard (so if you wreck on them it will hurt). However for those same reasons they're also extremely predictable, so it's just a matter of learning how to ride them. The whoops that were the majority of the desert loop were another story. They were tall and large and deep, but round tops (which is nice...but not nice enough to outweigh all that was horrid about them), not super close together, but not spaced far apart either. If they were just that it would have been tolerable - I can navigate those (or I could have at the time at a decent pace...I still would have suffered the same issues I did as it was, just not as severely). However the icing on the cake of these whoops was not actual, real icing...it was sand/silt about four to six inches deep. You could see the tracks from those racers who were in front of me going all over the place, evidence that I was not the only one who had a hard time in the sand.

(Front and center: By the look of those shadows you'd think they were going to land on each other...not so in this case (it's just a cool picture), but that's definitely a possibility and one of the reasons riding with the pack on the track is so frightening (as if wasn't enough with those big jumps!))

This stuff was next to impossible to control your front tire through. It felt like I riding over a sea of hands that would suddenly and quickly (don't forget extremely often!) grab my front tire and yank it to one side. While battling this I was also having to deal with the up and down of the whoops (a very tiring exercise). The key to tackling whoops like that (supposing there was no deep sand involved...well and even if there's deep sand involved, but without control of the front tire faster just means more crashing - or at least it did for me that day) is to go faster so you can get into a rhythm - this way you conserve energy and can get through them quicker because at the higher speed the bike is doing more of the work. Due to the sand keeping my tire out of my control for the most part I was not able to go as fast as I would have liked or needed to. Going over whoops slow will tax your legs like you're doing jump training for several hours in a row. As a result of this deadly combination, I was getting a double workout attack - my arms were getting extremely fatigued due to fighting the sand, and my legs and back were begging for a respite from the whoops.

I learned from this about one of the most necessary pieces of equipment a racer will get to modify his bike with: a steering damper or stabilizer. I'm still not entirely sure how they work, but since this horrific experience I have added one to the Blue Tank and can speak with surety that they do in fact work...they work wonders to be precise. There are a few hardcore guys out there who still do really well at the races and don't run stabilizers, and my hat goes off to them for such an amazing feat.

This little eight mile desert loop has since earned a place in history for me, as easily the longest eight miles in the world. Battling these elements wore me down in a hurry. Before I got to the one and only checkpoint in the desert loop I had crashed five times - two of which were so bad I went over the front of the handle bars. After the checkpoint I went down at least five more times (to be honest I lost track around ten crashes), with at least three of them being over the handle bars. Oh what a fool I was to even have thought that I might beat Paul this race!

I got back to the track where I was so happy and relieved to see hard pack dirt and jumps (remember the track was what had previously worried me the most!). (At left: After 30 agonizing minutes I finally came back to the track!) Sarah and the boys were right next to one of the jumps I had to go over, and with my new found confidence on the track I was eager to put on a show for the boys. I got to the jump and gassed it so I could clear the gap. However with my new enthusiasm for jumping I was still very new at it and unskilled. Motocrossers have incredible control over their bikes while in the air - something I still haven't figured out how they do. One of the most essential controls they have is keeping the bike level with the ground, so that the back tire doesn't hit first. If it does hit first and if you're vertical enough you could fall off the back and hurt yourself pretty good.

I failed to take into consideration this lack of skill when hitting this jump to show off for my family...as well I failed to remember how exhausted I already was - I had been out for maybe 20-30 minutes (so painfully slow), only done 8 miles, and I was ready to throw in the towel and sleep for the next ten hours. As mentioned in my post about my riding history, showing off seems to take precedent over any sort of common sense, so I proceeded to hit this jump and impress my family.

Oh I impressed them alright (see Figures 1, 2, 3, and 4 at right). (At right: Fig 1)

Immediately upon launching the jump I could tell something had gone wrong - the back tire was dipping down and the front tire was coming up...I was going vertical. To make matters worse I also realized pretty quickly that I hadn't been going fast enough to clear the gap. (At right: Fig.2 ) These two problems put together spelled certain doom for me, because I was now likely to have my back tire hit the top of the jump and then the force of my landing coupled with the downhill part of the jump would only make the bike go more vertical, essentially throwing me off the back. It was all but guaranteed.

I held on tight and braced for the worst, trying to lean forward to prevent this terrible crash. As luck would have it, I managed to land forward enough that the bike didn't throw me off, but the force of the landing caused a great jolt which in turn made my right hand turn up the throttle. (At right: Fig. 3) I was in a low enough gear that doing so brought the front tire right back into my face and again a spectacular crash was certain. So certain in fact I was already hearing all the gasps and "OOOH!"'s from the crowd that was there watching. I can't take credit for thinking this clearly since I was so tired, but this unfortunate turn of events warranted a knee-jerk reaction from my right foot, which applied itself to the rear brake making the front tire come back to the ground where it belonged. (At right: Fig. 4)


Disaster had been averted! Or had it? After this incredibly tense and stressful situation there was a 90 degree right corner directly in front me of. Adding more pressure to the back brake and now grabbing the front brake I slowed to where I could turn and went on my merry way. Indeed I had shown off for the people watching that area of the track, though not in the way I had intended! A near crash like that is always entertaining to watch, and I definitely didn't disappoint.

I rolled into the pits an exhausted mess. I was so tired I even turned the bike off, drank a whole bottle of water, cleaned my goggles off, and then just sat there for a minute (or two or three). I finally decided that I didn't come down all that way (Mesquite, NV is about seven hours from home) to quit after one lap, and that I would finish. I fired it back up and went back out on the course.

I played it a lot safer on the second loop - when I could tell I was getting so tired as to make me crash I simple pulled over, stopped, and rested. I figured I wasn't losing anymore time doing this than I was by actually crashing (which cost more energy to do anyways). I was able to finish the race without any more crashes. Speaking of the crashes of my first loop - there were a couple where I was literally pitched off the bike and sailed through the air. While the sand was the cause of my dreadful racing that day, I was thankful for it all the same for those few crashes. I hardly felt them since it was so soft of a landing!

When I got to the checkpoint on the second loop I bummed some water off the guys there who were nice enough to help me out. (At left: Carlo gets some hang time) I made a big mistake not taking the camelback on that course (I figured if I got thirsty I could make it to the pits and drink...too bad I didn't realize it would take me forever to do that!) but lesson learned! I made my way back to the track and was able to win over my show off desire and just play it safe and roll the jumps. I felt ok going through the pits and went out for another lap without stopping. Immediately upon returning to the dreaded sand whoops I wondered what my problem was and why I didn't stop! Time went by and I finished the loop and thankfully the race was over for me. I did three loops - all the other amateurs did four or five.

On the course I had been lapped a few times by the leaders, one of which was Paul, who placed 10th overall. The first time he lapped me he saw me off to the side stopped and figured something was wrong. I was trying to indicate what place he was in based on what I had seen in people passing me but stupid me (I blame it on the exhaustion...seriously) it looked to Paul like I was telling him to stop. As soon as I realized he was slowing down for me I waved him on and he flew by me. He passed me one other time. Carlo did as well. It sure is humbling getting shown up by a guy in his 40's!

To this day I can vividly remember the exhaustion I felt. My gym workouts had availed me nothing it seemed (granted, I really hadn't been that consistent with them back then), but the race at least motivated me to become regular with the workouts. (At right: Just look at those tired eyes...they're saying "Make it stop oh please make it stop!") I promised myself I would never get so tired as that again in a race. I was right about how much the physical fitness aspect played into racing - I was dead last because I simply did not have the energy to push as hard as I needed to in order to go at a good pace. A stabilizer would have helped a ton, but even without one had I been in tip top shape I could have done better and probably completed four or five laps.

After I saw what this race did to me and where I placed I wondered if I had been mistaken to join the Amateurs. I wouldn't feel good about that decision again until the next race...which hopefully you will be hearing about shortly! Until then...