Ok, Last Race Post*

Okay, sorry for all the race posts, it’s kindof taken over my life this fall. Its been almost every other weekend for 2 months-ish, so that’s where I’m at.

You clicked on the link, so you reeeeally have only yourself to blame.

Where’d we leave off?

Oh yea

Broken, beaten, and scarred (mentally)

Isn’t that a Metallica song? 🤔

Anyway.

Following the Welcome to Hell 100, I got the bike home, and realized it was mostly intact, with the exception of the hand guards. The bars that wrap around and protect the levers and my hands were all but toast, and needed to be replaced. aaaaand they were out of stock. Guess I’ll just be careful for now, or something.

Yes matt. Be careful. Novel concept.

The real damage was upstairs.

I stood on it. I was prepared. The bike was prepared. But I still ate shit so hard my ancestors felt it. I wasn’t enjoying it. Ok Matt, just coast through the last 2 races, get your trophy, and go back to, I dunno, riding for fun?

What?!

FOR FUN?!

Yea. Novel concept, right? Just go out exploring in the desert with your friends, see who can climb that one hill, go over that rock, find that cool line. Joking in the comms, take cool pictures of the bike in the sunset.

I talked to Christina. My little racing mentor. She told me the dust bowl I blasted through was one of the gnarliest she’d seen in a while. And watching me charge head first through it was insane… So I asked her… What was the point? Crashing, breaking, healing, concussions, for what?!

She told me how she made sense of it.

I won’t give away all of her secrets, but I took this away from the conversation:

Let’s do some math:

Ride fast. Save time. Crash, lose lots of time.

Ride slow. Don’t crash. Save MORE time than if you crash.

And energy. Bikes get heavier the more times you drop them. Ask anyone who’s struggled on a ride, compared to those who stayed upright on the same ride. You save sooooo much energy by keeping your bike rubber side down than you do by dropping it.

This isn’t a new concept. Adventure riders know this VERY WELL.

I went for a group ride with Emily, Kelly, and Josh. A couple weekends after the Welcome to Hell.

(Because on the weekends we aren’t racing our bikes, we decide to…. just ride… our bikes….more)

During the ride, we would stop for Emily or Josh, who was stuck on the big War Pig, or for me to consult the map, and out of the corner of my eye, I see this Honda 450 doing stunts and goofing off while we’re all resting/ consulting the map.

Its Kelly.

Kelly is doing Matt Things.

See, nothing against Kelly. Poor Kelly has been stuck on a DR650 the whole time I’ve known him. And I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve spent a ton of seat time learning to ride very quickly, so Kelly has never been super confident, nor has he been very fast as long as I’ve been riding with him.

But now he is.

Kelly bought an old 05 CRF450r and started racing with Josh and I. The 2nd victim to my infectious enthusiasm.

Its amazing what a few races will do for your confidence. Its almost like, you see obstacles while out racing that would normally slow you down, and you think,

“well, that does look scary, but I KNOW there’s about 100 guys in front of me that just blasted over this at full speed, maybe I could throw an extra coal on the fire and I’ll be okay”

And I’d be lying my face off if I believed I didn’t get some of that same confidence from racing.

No, Matt.

Pretty scenery.

Taking breaks

Fun with your friends.

Seriously debating whether racing is worth it isn’t so much a “should I/ shouldn’t I” issue for me, so much as a

“how do I explain this to the poor bastards on my team who already curse my name after every race for talking them into racing, that now I don’t wanna spend every weekend nearly dying, even tho I totally talked them into it” 🤣

The Arch Nemesis

Whether I decided to quit or not, I was determined to finish the last 2 races. Dead last, middle of the pack, didn’t matter. Just finish the season, get your dumb little plastic 2nd place Over 30 Novice trophy, and be glad your legs still worked.

I was still 2nd, right?

I check the class standings for the series.

I’m tied for first.

Some guy who managed to make it to all the same races I did.

Did a little research. This guy, when he beats me, consistently beats me by about 10 minutes.

10 minutes. In a 95 to 100 mile race.

There’s this weird vibe you get when you’re racing. Doesn’t matter what kinda race. You can be absolutely fucking toast, and someone will come up next to you, and ITS ON. You ride so hard, run so fast, put everything into it, and its just because someone is THERE. The craziest example I have is drag racing. You’re already at full throttle, going as fast as you can for 12 seconds, out of the corner of your eye you see a car or bike next to you, and you are suddenly going at eVeN fUlLeR throttle. Its so strange.

Thats the exact feeling I got. At work. Sitting on my phone. Staring at this picture.

I have to beat him.

*Imagines 12 year old boy flipping end over end into a tree*

Yea, or not. The fuck is THAT worth? Nothing. It’s simply not worth that. You have a plan. Stick to it. Finish the season upright. Leave the dick measuring to someone else.

Anyway, I show up to the 2nd to last race wearing a devil costume. Because it was on Halloween weekend. Kelly is a clown, Josh goes All Out, as Josh tends to do, as Macho Man Randy Savage.

Slow. Steady. I have my cardo on my helmet for the specific purpose of listening to music. Something I’ve been doing while riding since, oh I dunno, the whole damn time I’ve been riding motorcycles. It was for the purpose of reminding me to JUST…. RIDE…

not race. just….go…..ride.

Coast into 2nd. Or 1st. Who knows? I made the stupid mistake of finding this guy’s number on the bike, so I knew the combination of colors and gear on him, so I’d recognize him.

Le Mans start. That means we run on foot a short distance to the row of bikes to start. Running in moto boots is a fun thing to watch. Not so fun to do.

My friend Lacey warns me: stay to the left of the start. There’s a nasty ditch at the end of the start, and the farther right you are, the gnarlier it is. The ambulance is positioned right there for the eventual shitshow. Got it. I warn my team mates. It’s not about winning, its about finishing safely.

Josh trips off the start. Yellow and red tassels everywhere. I only caught it out of the corner of my eye, but it was definitely the highlight of the start.

Once I was on the bike, there was no “bravely” blasting through a cloud of dust. There was just me, trying not to die.

I get to the end of the start, and I see a pile of bikes, just like Lacey predicted.

Right in the middle of the shitshow, a whittle white ktm wrapped up in another downed rider, and a wheally pissed off whittle rider 😭 The irony was kinda heartbreaking. She’s such a good rider.

I slide right into the wash and race hard to try and stay ahead of the crowd. This is exactly the same dumb shit was trying to avoid. I hit something, I think, and my front wheel tucks.

I hit the ground, I lost my little devil tail. Dumb fuck. You ever gunna learn, or no?!

I can hear my dad’s voice. The one he used when he was dissapointed in me:

Mathew Thomas…..

Okay okay

I slowed down. I kept a steady pace, chose my lines carefully, I took care of myself and the bike. Survive. Steady pace. Take care of yourself.

See 40. Not from a wheelchair.

Top of the first hillclimb. Guy on the side of the trail. Blue bike, O’neal Gear. 6p. Shaking his hands out.

Wow…. Caught him pretty quick. 🤔

Arm pump is a bitch, ain’t it? 😂

Alright, passed him, he recognizes me. FULL THROTTLE OMG GO GO GO GO.

him. that was him. not me. I pull over very kindly. So, we recently became facebook friends, and he mentioned his dog had recently died, and he was racing for him today.

I pulled over, waved him on. Sorry for your loss, bud.

Down the hill, Up the next hill, down into a valley. Across the desert. Washes, Whoops, Washes, sharp turn. More whoops. Another sharp right turn up the rocky hillclimb.

Ain’t desert racing fun?

By the way, I loooove this beta, have I mentioned that? Can’t kill it. Just trucks it’s way up everything.

Top of the hill. blue bike. Oneal Gear. 6p on the side of the trail, shaking out his hands again.

He turns around, and sees me coming. FULL THROTTLE GO GO GO OMG OMG.

I decide, enh, lets try this “battle” thing everyone talks about. Lets see if he was actually ready to go or not. We haul ass down the hill, except when you ride fast, navigation tends to go out the window. I follow him up to the left of a little canyon, off track. I look to my right and see a row of bikes headed down into the canyon. SHiiit.

We both skipped a whole ass obstacle. Shit.

I back off, and wallow in my guilt for a minute. 6p disappears.

Oh well, 2nd place trophy looks just like the 1st place one, a few years from now when it’s covered in dust, with the added bonus of you didn’t end up in a wheel chair trying to get it.

I finish the first lap, and roll into the pits with only the 1 crash. I’m the first one of the group through the pits, and my buddy Tim gives the bike a good look over. My left footpeg is hanging a little funny. Turns out on the 1 crash, I sheered off the bottom of the pin holding the left peg on. Which was pretty miraculous, as if I had hit the rock an inch higher on the bike, my race would have ended.

I ask a random person “hey, did 6p roll thru yet?”

Yea! He left a while ago!

Oh well. Just finish, Matt.

I tear off into the 2nd lap, renewed energy, as I had conserved myself and ran a 100 Mile Race, instead of a 60 something mile race. Strong pace, but not too fast.

My mind starts wandering. I probably won’t see ole 6p again. He’s probably skipping all kinds of obstacles, just trying so damn hard to beat me. Oh well, I’ll finish healthy and…..

Top of the first hill.

I couldn’t believe it.

There he was, coasting up the mountain, snail’s pace. Just cruising. I come up behind him, and then it happens.

He pulls over, and waves me to pass.

Mighty polite of him…..

I’d bet anything he was too tired to look behind him to see who it was he was waving on.

I could have sworn I heard him swear in his helmet as he saw me roll past him.

It was on.

I wasted zero time getting my ass down that hill, around the bend, and back up the next one. Near as I could tell, Ole 6p was fast as fuck in the washes, but couldn’t hang in the technical hillclimbs. My no-steering-dampner-having-ass beta wasn’t going to survive trying to out pace him in the sand, but you beta your ass I was gunna squeeze every foot of advantage out of these technical hillclimb sections.

Heh heh. You beta… 🤣

Down the hill, Through the wash, stomp out the whoops, I come up on my buddy Donny. Just coasting over the whoops towards the weird goofy house. Weird. Donny uuuusually kicks my ass. He’s fast as fuck for an old guy. Weird.

This pace yourself thing is REALLY paying off for me! The only time I’ve every beaten Donny, he got lost. Like, more lost than I got, so I got lucky.

Anyway, I’m starting to relax. Keep your pace, Matt, but don’t hurt yourself. I haven’t seen or heard from 6p in a minute. I get out to the middle of nowhere, where desert races tend to be, and a sharp right turn gives me a chance to look over my right shoulder.

Beep Beep Mother Fucker

6p.

I can almost see his smile through the damn helmet.

I shake my head, and grab a fistful of throttle.

All that shit about pacing yourself, take care of the bike, see 40 and not from a wheelchair?

Gone.

it was ON.

Whoopshillsrocksturnswashescanyonsmorewhoopssandwashesrocks

fast as I could fucking go.

hard. fast. GO MATT GO.

This particular race was where you did the same lap twice, so I knew, somewhere, at somepoint, there was a gnarly technical section, a rock waterfall, and some tough climbs just…. a…. few.. miles….. away… i think?

Wasn’t sure.

But I had to try

I gave him his pass. RIP to your dog.

Now we’re racing.

My left hand cramped up on the waterfall. It actually clamped down on the clutch and wouldn’t let go.

(real quick: a waterfall isnt like, a real water fall. It’s the desert of course. The water fall is basically a small cliff, or a step down. Or in this case, a series of steps. They look worse than they really are)

At one point I knew I didn’t have the hands to ride down a waterfall, so I got off the bike and RAN down the waterfall, basically dragging the bike with me.

End of the technical section. I take a breath. I ease up. I don’t see 6p, but that doesn’t mean he’s not right behind that last bend. The end of the race is a long series of sand washes and whoops that he would have DESTROYED me on. I gave it my all.

My all was: what I had left, with a VERY conscious sense of self-preservation. I had regained my composure, and I had accepted that my fight had been fought. No idea if I had won, only that I had given all I could give, and If I ended the day behind him, I knew I had tried my best, and I would go home knowing I kept a pace, I battled for a bit, and I finished Safely. Didn’t give a shit what place I got. I executed my plan EXACTLY how I intended to.

I finished the race, mind absolutely BLOWN that my left foot peg was still attached, and that the guys at the end of the race hadn’t seen 6p.

I beat him.

Turns out, in that last little battle, 6p ate some serious shit. Donny found him just sitting on his bike, catching his breath. In the end, he was dead last to cross the finish line… Upright, and on his own power, but it seems he did exactly what I did last race: rode too fast, crashed, and lost alotta time.

Ultimately, I was relieved he was okay, and in reality, despite being the last one to cross the finish line, he actually beat everyone who only did 1 lap, which was a victory in my book.

Lookin at you, Josh and Kelly 😉

6p and I had one more race to end the season where we battled in a similar fashion, and while I won’t bore you with the play by play, but I will say that in the end, I found out my strategy of pacing myself, taking care of me and the bike, and riding a 100 mile race instead of a 60 mile race paid off.

I ended my first season of desert racing in 1st place for my class, Over 30 Novice.

Fucken Now What

holy shit you’re still here.

Thank you. I feel like some of these stories get long winded. So thank you, for sticking around.

It’s taken me a long time to finish this story, because I’ve been battling in my own mind whether racing was worth it or not.

What am I getting out of it?

Is it worth the pain and the tired and the danger and the broken bike and the money…. for what?

I haven’t decided.

Actually, I have decided. If you follow me on Instagram you already know, but I haven’t figured out how to explain it yet. I guess I’ll be making another racing post. Sorry not Sorry. I will say, that I promise it wont be a long time before my next blog post.

Amy’s the best. The End.