Greetings, I missed you!
It’s been one hell of a 2 months.
If you haven’t read my last story about racing, I recommend it. I almost killed someone. (Update on that: the kid is 13. He messaged me on Instagram. and… apologized for hitting me? I was pretty mind blown by that, considering how guilty I felt. He can’t wait to heal up so we can go riding. Not sure why a kid I almost killed is excited to go riding with me, but that’s kinda how that story ended)
The next 3 races concluded my inaugural season of desert racing. If we talk often, you’ve probably heard how the whole season went, but here’s the play by play of the first 3 races.
*update* this post got longer than anticipated. I’ll write about the last 2 races later, but for now, here’s some story for ya:
Summer Break/ Honey Lake MX
Following the long, covid inspired racing hiatus, I spent much of the summer (surprise) not racing dirtbikes, (actually surprised) working out, drag racing, and talking about (sarcastic surprise) racing dirtbikes. I convinced my friends Kelly and Josh to join MRANN, and try their hands at desert racing!
My club race was their first race, which I had to work at, so I wasn’t able to actually race with them. They both (in their own words) did horribly, but absolutely enjoyed every minute. My friend convinced Kelly to join the 4 stroke Novice class (thats C level, for you AMA people), and Josh hopped in the Over 30 Novice. It may have been to directly compete with me, but I’m not completely sure.
I had just finished drag racing, which was really fun, but I didn’t do so great. I had my sights set on dust and glory. My body was in great shape, my bike was amazing, and I needed to show my friends how it’s done.
Needless to say, my first race back didn’t go as planned. I made an entire post about the Fernley race. You can read it here: https://wp.me/pbpuba-3E
Welcome to Hell 100
2 short weeks after that little debacle, my seven hundred dollar gps device is still performing admirably at making sure my dresser doesn’t blow away in the wind, and I’m reluctantly ready for the Rimbenders’ race. A 100 mile odyssey into the northern Nevada desert known as Blue Wing Flat. It was a dual sanctioned event with both MRANN and AMA, which was an incredible treat, because the National Hare and Hound Hooligan class would be running with us, and I finally got to meet Jordan Graham, and his Ducati Scrambler.
It was a blast meeting him, and I’ve never seen someone so jazzed to race. He’s a super cool guy, and I have alot to say about the whole Hooligan class situation, due to KTM crashing the party with…. I wont even get into it. I’ll just say that they totally robbed Jordan of a NH&H victory.
The rumors of the race involved alot of open, dry lake beds. which made me excited to see how Kelly and Josh’s big 450 bikes would do. I was still in pain from the last race, and a little in my head, so I really thought they were going to give me a run for my money on the big open straight stretches. Bring it on!
Turns out this would be a lesson. A hard lesson, I was lucky to learn outside of a hospital bed. The race starts, and I blast through a thick cloud of dust, over obstacles and rocks and other riders. I rode HARD, and refused to give up even one position in the first 15 of 100 miles of racing. ITS ON.
Later, Christina Courtney, the girl I bought my bike from, told me she saw me blast through that dust cloud past her and was amazed at how brave I was, considering how dangerous that could have been.
The joke’s on you, Christinia. I wasn’t brave, I was stupid! 🤣
Christina is an amazing rider, and yes I misspelled your name on purpose to be funny. She’s much faster than I am, so knowing I blew by her in the sketchy dust made me feel like a badass…….. if not for the following events…
My shoulders were really tore up from my tiger crash earlier this year, and the following races and crashes. To the point of definitely needing to see a doctor, but of course I didn’t go see one. My goal for this race was to not fall on my left side, as that was particularly painful.
So about 15 miles in, tearing through a wash, my front tire slid out and I smashed down HARD on my left shoulder, bouncing my brand new Bell helmet off the ground.
So much for that.
About 2 or 3 miles later, I did the same fucking thing on my RIGHT shoulder, head bounces off the ground AGAIN!
This shit hurts!
I start to blame my front tire. Why did I buy a DOT tire, and not a sand tire? WAS I NOT AWARE I RACE IN SAND??
Oh, side note: While picking up all the trail markers and signs from the Honey Lake race I worked at, I mentioned how disappointing it was seeing all the discarded tear offs on the trail. On a track it made sense, you could go back around afterwards and pick them up. For desert racing, they just kinda stay out there, littering the countryside for all eternity. I hate using them.
For non-moto people, welcome. I appreciate you here, so here’s a quick explanation: tear offs are thin sheets of clear plastic that go over your goggles. Usually about 10 of them fit over the lens of your goggles, and as your goggles get covered in mud, sand, etc and blind you, you grab the little tab, and tear it off, leaving a clean sheet to see through.
So Anyway.
About….
no.
Exactly….
26.2 miles into the race (ask me how I know)
I come up out of this soft sand wash and onto a road. Dirt, relatively flat, hard packed road. Typically, its an easy way to make up for lost time in the wash, so you hammer on the gas, and go as fast as you can with confidence in a lack of serious obstacles.
Or a rest if you’re tired.
Or a chance to wipe off 20 miles worth of dust off your goggles.
I chose to do all 3.
Going about 60 mph, sitting on my seat, one hand wiping the dust off my goggles, since I did not install tear offs, I decide to hit a rock.
Okay, I didn’t decide to do it. My hand was covering my face. I simply didn’t see it jump out in front of me.
You guys know what a tankslapper is?
It’s when your front wheel looses control and your handlebars uncontrollably shake back and forth, making it look like they are slapping the gas tank.
It’s terrifying. Especially at 60 mph, with one hand on the bars, half blinded by dust.
I don’t remember how I hit the ground. I remember feeling myself drift off side of the road, unable to catch the bar, knowing I wasn’t going to recover, needing to get away from the bike before it ends up wrapped around my neck…
“Goose, I can’t reach the ejection handle, you’re going to have to bail us out!”
I fell. I heard
not felt.
Heard.
a crack.
I vaguely recall the feeling of my feet going over top of me.
I sit up. My brand new Bell helmet fit differently.
No way I’m getting up from this. no. fucking. way.
Fingers…… toes. Forearms….calves. Elbows….. knees.
Holy shit.
I’m not dead!
Someone stops and asks if I’m okay. I give them a thumbs up and point down the road. I’m pissed. I don’t want help.
Also I’m a little arrogant. I was so far ahead, I knew if I needed help there would be people after this guy. I had time to figure it out.
I check the beta out. The forks slipped a little, meaning the front wheel and the bars aren’t quite perpendicular. Put the front wheel between your legs and move the bars a little and they’re good. She fires right up.
Have I mentioned that I LOVE this bike? Came out of that crash better than I did!
Hey Matt, How do you know you were 26.2 miles into the race?
Because I fell so fucking hard, that it not only stopped my rever app, cracked my phone screen, it also killed the display on my bike!
Thought about my dad. Started riding again, slower this time. Adrenaline still flowing, no way to know for sure what is actually broken on me or the bike.
Is this what I started riding for?
I specifically remember talking to people, many years before MRANN, before moving here, before I ever bought a dirt bike… specifically remember talking about all the dirtbike people I know who are broken, dismembered, addicted to painkillers, fucked up in the head, all from motocross or crashing dirtbikes. I very clearly remember saying NO, FUCK THAT, I LIKE ALL MY PARTS TO WORK. NO RACING FOR ME.
What the fuck am I doing out here? I haven’t seen Josh or Kelly or Nate or Christina or anyone I race with since the starting line. why the hell am I out here? Not riding with friends, thats for sure. I’m not seeing anything cool, just a cloud of dust and sand wash after whoops after hillclimb after rocks.
I remember back at the first race, seeing an amazing beautiful mountain pass, but I was so worried about riding through it quickly and safely I never really got to see it.
Nope. This aint it.
I started riding dirtbikes to get in shape. To become a better rider off road. I have no idea what brought me here. Except to see what the deal was. what everyone was chatting about.
I found out.
I’m not a fan. I break my body and my bike and replace parts on the bike and possibly wind up seriously injured, or have the guilt of putting someone else in the hospital.
For what? A plastic trophy with my name on it (probably spelled wrong) that will collect dust in a box somewhere?
No thank you. I want to see the world. and 40 years old. And not from a wheelchair.
All I could think about was calling my dad at the end of the race. And telling him I chose to hang it up before the choice was made for me.
Side story: at the riders meeting at the beginning of the race, the guy told everyone very specifically: “There’s 2 really long lake beds, and you guys with 2 strokes need to periodically hit your kill switch to keep your engines from blowing up. But some of you aren’t going to listen, so here’s the deal: there’s a checkpoint at the start of the lake bed, and one at the end. If you blow up your bike, and I know some of you will, just start pushing your bike in one direction or another.”
I remember thinking, ha! Who the hell is really that dumb!? Blow up your ten thousand dollar race bike by holding it WIDE FUCKING OPEN on a dry lakebed until it blew up?!
So post crash, just wanting to finish, considering quitting early, hoping the bike I had just bought in January holds together long enough to get me back to the pits… along comes this lakebed.
Ah, yes. The fabled straightstretch across the desert. Nice, smooth lakebed to find out just how fast that 250/350/450 goes!
I was just glad for a break in the sand.
And rocks
It was here I first noticed the dash stopped working on my bike. Perpetually displaying 26.3 miles. Reminding me forever of exactly how far into this race my luck had lasted.
The second thing I noticed, was the truckload full of bikes at the beginning of the lakebed….
The third thing I noticed, was the row of 5…..6……7……10 people pushing their dead bikes across the lakebed….
The fourth thing I noticed, was the truck full of bikes at the END of the lakebed 😂😂
Brightened my day ever so slightly…
I made it past the lakebed, up the hill, over the mountain. The massive mountain that my beta just seemed to truck up and over with barely a pause. I ran out of energy sooner than the bike ran out of traction.
To this day I’m still mindblown at the obstacles and hills and things this beta 350 just HANDLES.
No hesitation. Just smooth power up and over.
I’m miraculously the first one in my group of friends to the pits. I decide, if I made it 50 or 60 some miles after my crash without too much trouble, I suppose I could do another 40. Except I wasn’t racing. I’m just going to trail ride it. Because it doesn’t matter if someone finishes lap one 55 minutes before you did, if you complete a second lap and they don’t, you win.
So after some water and gas and a good solid look over the bike by Tim, I climb back on and roll off.
Ain’t no sense in only doing half the race….
I can’t tell you how I went from “I don’t wanna race anymore” to “might as well finish strong” buuuuut there I was. Lap 2. Just out here hittin the whoops and climbing up waterfalls.
The rest of the race was for the most part, uneventful. The trail itself was pretty fun, if I hadn’t almost died and resolved myself to taking it easy and just getting a finisher pin. I ended up finishing a mere 10 minutes behind my arch nemesis. But more on him later.
I called my dad. I told him I was done. 2 more races, I’ll get whatever plastic thingy they wanna give me, put it in a box, and hang it up.
He told me he was waiting for a phone call like this, and was damn glad I wasn’t making it from a hospital bed.
You can’t start dirt racing at 30 years old and expect to go pro, or ride like you’re going to, anyway. Its arrogant. You have to ride for fun, and keep in mind going to work on monday pays the bills, not blasting through a dust cloud like an idiot on Sundays.
It’s worth noting that I still beat both Josh and Kelly. So that was my victory. I’m the fastest in my friend group. Wooo.
I am all but immobile for the next 3 to 5 days. My body is in so much pain I actually take a pill for it. Fun fact: my dumb ass still calls my mom for advice on how to take tylenol.
I discover a bruise in the center of my back from my neck brace.
It becomes apparent to me, that the combination of dumb luck, a fresh helmet equipped with MIPS, and my Leatt neckbrace, are all that kept me alive and functioning that day. I am insanely grateful for this gear that saved me.
I have a short time between recovering from this race, and preparing for the next one. I have so much more to sort out mentally than I do physically if I’m going to finish this first season of desert racing, but for now… i finished. Another one in the books…
That’s all for now. I’ll type up the next 2 races and my thoughts on racing in general in bit! Thanks for reading!
Stand On It 