Part Two: The Three Forty 600: The Three Part Story of the Baja Nevada

The Race.

Yea yea, I’m long winded. Thanks for sticking around for the ACTUAL (first day) RACE portion of my race story.

Good god, I’m so sorry. This is now a 3 parter

Where were we? Oh yea, race prep, race practice, lets go racin’

Some of you will be happy to hear that ON TOP of riding a bike I’ve never ridden before, I also needed some seat time on the bike to test out my brand spanky new Leatt knee braces!

yes, after countless lectures and tongue lashings and being shamed into buying them, I finally scrapped together enough cash to buy a set of Leatt C-frames.

Don’t ask me for a review, because frankly I have nothing to compare it to. Literally. I’ve never ridden with anything on my knees. And as of this post, I’ve spent 2 days and 1 340 mile race with them.

I will say, don’t wear them without the little leg condom sleeve-thingys they come with. That shit rubbed all day and hurt by the end of the day Saturday.

But beyond that, I really barely noticed them after about 10 minutes of riding someone else’s bike. Have yet to crash test them or ride much with them, so yes? I like them? I think?

Welp, Wednesday morning. Loaded the bike, my mechanic stuff, my gear, Allison’s mechanic stuff, Allison’s gear, my camping gear, Allison’s camping gear, Allison, me, and some food into the truck. Was honestly pretty packed to the gills for a shortbed crew cab 1500 ram.

I Love road trips. I do. I really do. I don’t care if I’m stuck in a truck for several hours with someone who doesn’t match my political views at all whatsoever. Just that ‘therapist’s view’ of staring out the windshield discussing the nitty gritty of someone and their life and your life and how you see the world opens up a brand new way of knowing someone.

Allison and I bonded. We always got along great, but I could 1000% see us teaming up for the next 10 big races. Race buddy for life! Everything from planning the race, coordinating logistics, to executing the race itself, we totally meshed well.

Which kindof surprised me, considering my ADHD scatterbrained fly by the seat of my pants mentality compared to her careful planning measure twice cut once type personality. Maybe Yin-Yang? Idk. Her opinion may very well differ. 😂

I guess now is the time to discuss the next obstacle I had not yet tackled in our preparation: Pit plan.

See, driving down to Vegas, it was

Allison,

and Me.

Which meant, late in the game for me to become aware of, that

we were our own pit crew.

Which meant that day 1, I would be busting my ass, hands, and body racing across the desert on the longest race of my life, and Allison would be my support crew. Fueling the bike, fixing any issues, giving me water, snacks, and emotional support, then essentially racing me to the next pit in the truck.

Then the following day…. sore, broken and exhausted, I would be doing the exact same thing for Allison, who would likely also be quite tired from doing the exact same thing the day before!

Which is why it was kindof important I be cognizant of the finish line. I’m not just gunna race Alamo to Tonopah and then lick my wounds for the day. I’d be switching into pit crew chase truck driver a mere 12-14 hours after handing off the bike to my teammate.

Thursday was tech inspection. Typically, very relaxed, over-hyped-under-enforced section of racing for motorcycles. The most in-depth tech I’ve ever experienced involves a decibel measuring- machine and a pokey looking tool to ensure you have a spark arrestor installed. Usually it’s a coat hangar. One time it was an archery arrow.

We woke up early on Thursday, as in eeeeeeearly. Unnecessarily early, but we both get kindof a warm and fuzzy feeling from being prepared, overly prepared, as in we have all of our shit in one sock better than anyone else, as if that allows us some sort of advantage.

I guess in a way it does, in a peace of mind kinda way. If you are ready then you’ll feel ready then you’ll race better.

I should now mention that Monday I got my 2nd covid vaccine. I’m sure that’s quite the topic as of late. But here’s the thought process on that boiled down to 3 statements:

• I’m completely neutral on the vaccine. Rushed? yes. it was. trustworthy? Questionable for sure. But considering I’m a drilling Navy Reservist, and exo-facto government property, all they really have to do is say “you’re getting it” and then yep, I’m standing in line for it. See Also: Anthrax vaccine.
• I recently found out my mother has cancer. The stupid unproven vaccine will not be the reason I cannot go home to see her. Oh, we found out its a terrible and rushed death-causing concoction of biological mistake? Cool, I’ll march face first straight into the afterlife knowing I did all I could to get home to see my Mother before she, god forbid, dies of cancer. Easy choice. Next question.
• Frankly, I’m the fuck over Covid. This shit is a pain in the ass, and I’ll drink whatever the fuck they want me to in order be able to see my friends, go to a concert, not wear a mask, and see the fucking world.

That being said, I’m feeling a little under the weather Wednesday morning headed down to Las Vegas. I have this thing.

In my eye.

Its like, my eyelid is swelling up.

It hurts, and I’m really worried about it fucking up my riding.

90mph on a dirtbike with 1 eye not working correctly is kiiiiiiind of an issue.

Tech inspection passed, we head across the street to urgent care.

Its….. just a sty.

I’ve never had one of those before. Definitely not a reaction to the fucking covid shot. Calm down Matt.

Yea so throw that on the pile of headaches going into this race.

We leave Vegas, a city I really kinda like, and drive passed the ole’ stomping grounds known as Apex OHV park. Plenty of good times had there

Roll north on 93, get to Alamo, find out the start line is not actually in Alamo, drive a little further, meanwhile trying to coordinate starting line camping with good ole Josh.

Yeah, about that.

Josh moved to Idaho?

Don’t ask me. We’re all confused by it too. Guess he just totally fell in love with the place when he did the IDBDR last year. Whatever. Anyway, I *think* he has running water up there now?

So anyway, I hadn’t seen Josh in like 3 months, and we’re all pretty sure he hadn’t seen any other humans in that long either. But here he was in Las Vegas making his way through tech inspection, and then headed up to camp with us.

Hindsight 20/20, I was convinced Josh had quite a few heavy hitter racers with him, and we’d see him at the starting line and not much after that.

Pro level and all that.

I was wrong. In the wrongest way possible.

All of Josh’s heavy hitter racer friends bailed.

It was Josh, a friend of a friend, and the Racer of Record.

Being racer of record meant that you had to start the race, or finish, or start one day? or finish one but start the other?

Not sure, but Josh’s Husky 450 was being used, and Josh and his *mostly ready to race* bike parked and setup camp next to us, just as the sun was going down.

Josh’s mostly setup race bike was not quite setup, which caused him to spend most of the evening working on it rather than catching up and telling us tales of all the squirrels he made friends with back in Idaho. Or is it potatoes? I dunno….

I forgot my sleeping bag 🙄

Rookie mistake.

I hate sleeping on the ground the day before a race. Not that I don’t enjoy camping. Just being uncomfortable and roughing it the night before being really uncomfortable and really roughing it all day just doesn’t appeal to me.

And now on top of that, I get to sleep in my tent in whatever temperature ends up happening because I looked right at my fucking sleeping bag and didn’t throw it into the truck. Tonight AND tomorrow, because we couldn’t book a room in Tonopah.

I phone a friend. Roommate, actually. You guys remember Amy? The girl from the race track where I tossed my Seven Hundred Dollar gps unit? No? Read about it here

Small life update: I live with her now. Temporarily. Anyway, she agreed to drive 3 hours down to Tonopah to meet me with my sleeping bag, and maybe watch me finish my portion of the race. She’s pretty okay. She has the most adorable dog named Kahlua ever. Yes, you can absolutely see a picture of him:

Anyway, back to Josh;

On top of the known fast guys bailing, there were some significant concerns regarding Josh’s pit strategy and the existence of his teammates, who had chosen to stay in Vegas for the night, wake up stupid early and then *hopefully* drive to the starting line *hopefully* in time to see Josh leave for the start of the race.

Significant concerns.

Backup plans were made. Mostly just “Give us one of your gas cans, if we need to, we’ll leave it for your teammates somewhere if they don’t show up tomorrow”

Alright Matt, here we go.

Its 430am.

You haven’t ridden much dirt in the last 3 months, you’ve skipped the last 2 MRANN races, you’ve ridden this bike for 1 weekend, and have never ridden 300 miles in the dirt in a single day. You’re out of shape, your eye is leaking, and the race is in an hour and you haven’t packed up your tent yet.

The starting format of this race is different from Mrann, obviously. Harescramble starts are typically lined up by class, dead engine start, then the banner drops. All 100+ of you start your bike and tear off into the desert like maniacs.

Not here. Racers are lined up, one by one based on class, then let off at one minute intervals.

Some would argue this is even more nerve racking than dead engine starts.

Said my goodbye’s and good lucks, and off to the starting line. Spectators and support and pit crews were not allowed to hang out past the starting chute thingy, so Allison got a few pics before they kicked us out and then headed out to meet me at the first pit.

I found out later that Josh’s team did in fact show up, and everything on that end went off without a hitch. Near as I can tell from photos, Josh was 6 riders ahead of me, which came out to be an approximate 6 minute lead.

To be absolutely honest, you don’t race your friends without at least a tiny bit of competitiveness, so one of the few goals I had beyond finishing safely was to catch him.

Without his heavy hitter friends, I was hoping to safely eat up that 6 minute lead over the course of the day and turn it into a tiny little personal victory. Considering how quickly I had surpassed my ADV-big brother in 100 mile desert racing, I was curious if long distance racing was really his secret forte, and I’d actually be in for a struggle.

I’ve found from personal experience, and many conversations with several other racers from varying levels of skill and success, that desert racing requires a very reckless sense of blind luck. Jordan Graham, Kelly Thompson, Allison, Phil Fell, all of them just seem to send it and pray. And usually it works out well, and sometimes it doesn’t. But the allure of desert racing keeps you wanting to keep trying and keep rolling the dice with it.

The timer goes off, its a smooth, soft, wide 2 track desert road for miles and miles and miles. I give it hell for the “bomb start” that I’m used to with desert racing, and then…. just… keep… going….

No sharp turn at the end of the road to determine holeshot. No downhill, G-out, or hillclimb to filter out the unproven.

Just 5th gear pinned, smooth sailing for miles. I was actually pretty amazed at how quickly the miles just rolled by. I’ve got the clutch in one hand, rear brake covered, I’m actually hanging low in 5th gear, bouncing back and forth between 4th and 5th, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Waiting for the rocks or roots or the hairpin turn down into a sand wash.

I’m still in Mrann mode. I’m not ringing the bike out, I’m just cruising along, sprint-let off- sprint, body tense, eyes peeled, attack position. Waiting for the obstacles that are simply not there.

For about 47 miles.

I roll into the first pit, Josh is still there. Sweet! Caught him already!

Gas up the bike, everything looks good, wipe my gross eye, chug water, helmet on, adjust goggles, Wait, why is Josh still here? Dude GO!

Oh wait. Where’s his bike??

He passed it on to the next guy. Whoops. He comes over and wishes me luck and mentions something about how fast the quads are.

I’m wearing ear plugs. Wind noise will make you go deaf when you ride as much as I do, and high speed dirt riding makes some wind noise. Its the smart thing to do.

As per a rather private conversation with Josh last night, I just ask him casually as I get on the bike, unaware that I’m shouting,

“WHO’S GOT THE BIKE NOW? THE GUY YOU NEVER MET, OR THE SUPER SLOW GUY?”

Yeeesh.

Apparently, ‘the guy Josh had never met’ had just left on the bike several minutes ago.

The “super slow” guy was on the other side of the truck😂

…and heard me loud and clear.

I didn’t even know I did this until Sunday night after we all got home 😂😂

I take off. Whenever you do long…. stuff, you tend to math it to death.

I used to do it when I ran 3.1 mile races in high school.

I think anyone who works 8 hour shifts does it too.

The plan here was if I maintained a 60mph average speed, it would only take me about a solid 5-6 hours to ride 300 miles. Includes a bunch of 5 minute pit stops, and a 1 hour speed-limited transfer section.

On top of that, we learned Thursday that our concern for the Trophy Trucks was completely unwarranted; we left the start at 530, Trucks don’t leave for another 5 hours. So even at our worst estimates, we would hopefully be at the finish line, or close to it before the trucks became a factor.

*breathes deep sigh of relief*

I wasn’t really comfortable going into this averaging 60mph. Knowing high speed dirt racing wasn’t my jam, I was doing the math for 50mph, and hoping I kept it in between the two.

This is where the Voyager Pro comes in.

Remember that seven hundred dollar gps thing?

I still have mine. To be honest, it’s still in the box, I haven’t reinstalled it on the Beta after ripping it out and chucking it into the dirt.

But Allison has hers. Installed, ready, and works amazingly

and it was absolutely clutch for this application.

The map function helped you see when turns came up, where pits were, and tracked a ton of stats, from engine temp to tachometer to

Your average speed.

Well, when I came into the first pit, and my average speed was 45mph.

womp womp womp.

Okay, I need to step it up for this next section. Stop looking for the tree stump or log or rock or any of that shit.

You Gotta Go Fast.

On the way out of the pits, the other rider in our Open Amateur (of 3) rolled by me. The 1st guy left before me and he looked fast as shit. There goes my 2nd secret goal of not being last in our class…

I manage to haul ass all the way to Mile 67, the start of the transfer section, or as I called it:

The Worst Part of the Whole Damn Race.

35 miles of national park/ historic landmark/thingy

Not allowed to travel faster than 35 miles per hour.

Severe penalties for leaving the transfer section sooner than 1 hour, or getting caught going faster than 35.

Okay but yea. I get it. Nice, Slow, Easy section that’s supposedly very beautiful and a bit of a break from high speed stressful racing.

And also yea, being able to host a 600 mile race in the middle of the Nevada desert that spans basically the entire width of the state, over protected areas and through populated areas and having to stop and be respectful of BLM’s rules in order to host such a large race is a necessary evil.

Except I was blasting along at race pace, elbows out, eyes fixed on the horizon, watching out for rocks and animals and trying my best to keep that avg speed marker above 55 and then.

we stop.

we go slow.

we take a break………

I fucking stopped to pee twice.

In the process of slowing down and observing environmental conservation efforts, I got out of race pace.

Out of race mentality.

and remembered all the things you forget when the banner drops. My legs hurt. My hands hurt. I have to pee. I was up at 4am. I never ate breakfast….

Took me 1 hour, 26 minutes to get through the 1 hour long transfer section 😡

I slid out on an off-camber turn and bent the shifter. We were both afraid to bend it back, for fear of it breaking off. To my knowledge, it’s still bent in the same position.

Following the dreaded transfer section, I found my stride:

Fast as fuck in the fast sections, and sorta fast in the easy sections.

Coming down out of the mountains lead me onto a long straight dirt road through a valley. I swear I could damn near see Tonopah from the beginning of the section. Kinda reminded me of the long straight roads into Goldpoint.

It was at this point I got the fastest I’d get all day long. Rever said 88mph, Allison said I hit 92, doesn’t *really* matter, but I felt good, I felt like I was way behind, pissed off I crashed in the damn transfer section, trying to make up for all the pee stops, so I was FLYING. Had the bike pegged, and kept bouncing off the top speed, then rolled off, then back on, then rolled off.

Not my bike, not trying to blow it up, and not to mention nervously waiting for that unexpected turn, rock, or wash out.

Came into the pits, Allison was the only one left.

Everyone had already left for the next pit.

So mad at myself. I’m okay with giving things a decent swing, maybe I’m the best, maybe I’m not, but I’m not okay with just laying down and being last.

I tore off into the dust, knowing I can maintain high 80’s if the trail allowed.

I haul ass through some rocky, gnarly terrain you really shouldn’t be hauling ass through, past some random photographer, and made a mental note to find them after the race.

Roll into pit 3 with broken spirits. Dragging my ass, pissed about being last, and reassuring myself I just needed to finish safely. First time for everything, and you don’t always get 1st place on the first try.

Ate a cliff bar. Bike looks good. Allison is talking to me in a normal voice, and forgets I’m wearing earplugs and I try so hard to not get annoyed.

I don’t mean to be, I’m just stressed and amped up and I want EVERYTHING NOW. It’s dumb, and not how I actually feel. I always try to make a conscious effort to not be an asshole to my pit crew.

I jump back on and go. 150 miles in.

I see a dust cloud in the distance.

I’m riding on a nice smooth dirt road with long, sweeping curves that don’t make you slow down too too much.

I’m going to catch that bike. Hopefully they’re in my class. That’d be rad.

I get closer. I’m going probably 75mph. The dust cloud makes me worried, as I was warned about long range desert racing: plan your passes. Don’t rush a pass and then eat a face full of dust and hit a rock. You’ve got hundreds of miles to make a pass. Take your time.

I get close enough to the bike to see out of his dust cloud.

Its the same kind of flat easy road I was using to catch him? Why did I catch him so quickly?

Still screaming at 75-80mph, I pull wide to the left, not interested in his roost, his line, or any defensive move he has planned, if he’s got one in mind.

I look over.

23s. Josh’s bike.

Its the really fucking slow guy.

I didn’t even get a decent look at whoever it was on the bike. I swear I had him by like 20mph.

According to Grizzly Fuckin Adams, the gps tracker thingy mounted to our front fenders had me posted on the race website at 78mph, and him at 42mph 🤣

I try and disappear with my prize of no longer being last as fast as I could. It was the least I could do, considering the poor guy was chugging along down an easy, smooth gravel road at an agonizingly slow pace. Didn’t want him to be stuck in my dust cloud for longer than necessary.

My joy and confidence restored, I continue to haul ass, knowing Josh and his other partner would be HUNGRY AS FUCK to catch me. I’m so happy I caught Josh’s bike, but I am pretty upset that one boat anchor on Josh’s team blew an almost 10 minute lead in a matter of 5 miles after handing over the bike to this particular teammate.

Even still, it’s 3 of them against ME. Josh has ridden maybe one or two 50 mile sprints, while I’ve been hauling the mail for 160 miles, longer than I’ve ever raced a dirtbike.

Competition or not, the goal here was to finish the day with a working bike, and upright on 2 feet.

After the 4th pit, I see the look on Josh’s face as he sees me pull in before his team mate. “You better catch me” I tell him as I speed off into the desert.

I hope not, but it would be stupid for me, essentially an Ironman, to beat a team of 3 riders.

As the miles stretch on, I can’t help but identify this race as I’d suspected it was gunna be from the start

Basically, it was like racing a BDR.

I’m not supposed to say that. You’re not supposed to race any BDR, or ride them unsafely. That’s not the point. The idea here is to enjoy the state, go ride with your friends, and the terrain is not supposed to be too hard that you can’t do it with a fully loaded adventure bike with marginal skills.

But that’s kinda how I saw it. Nice, chill 2 track with minimal obstacles to allow for maximum comfort while taking in the beautiful landscapes.

Or cranking out triple digits on knobby tires.

I continue, marking off the miles as they pass me by, which actually is worth noting.

Every

Single

Mile

was marked off. Very clearly. Nearly every significant danger area from cattle grates to sharp turns to particularly rocky sections were well marked and identified on the map.

(With very few *very disturbing* exceptions. You get used to being told about every rogue rock, you tend to get really pissed when there’s no notice that the road in front of you is washed out. Just sayin)

Exhausted, I get crossed up in the one sandy difficult section, my own fault, and stumble off the bike to the left again. Tuck and rolled. Terrified of bending something else, I look over the bike, but it seems no new damage had been done.

Josh later mentions that he saw my faceprint in the sand when he came up to the spot 😅

I manage to make it to pit 5, still hadn’t seen Josh, or any evidence of him, and Allison tops off my tank, and we take a mental moment to collect: 101 miles left. The Trophy Trucks had just left the slow transfer section, and I was on the home stretch. No chance to catch the others in our class, and even if Josh catches me, eating shit after I’ve gone 250 miles is just plain stupid.

I take off, steady pace, fast as I can with a very clear understanding that I was 270 miles into the longest race I’d ever done.

I come up on along a power line service road, rutted and disgusting. I can’t find a good line to save my ass. Fighting the bike, fatigue, and this gross ass rough road, I see in the distance.

Not in my wildest dreams did I think this would happen on this race.

My soul is now full of energy. I stand up, elbows out, as it’s coming towards me.

A helicopter.

I’m gunna do a fucking wheelie.

Every baja race, Dakar, mint 400, vegas to reno race has a helicopter. They fly next to you, taking a video of your run. Its the coolest thing you’ve ever seen in your fucking life!

Its my chance. I’m ready. I’m beyond stoked.

Aaaaaaaand it lands in front of me.

No dummy. Its not a media helicopter.

Its a care flight. Medical emergency. Flying ambulance, for my unaware east coast friends. Ambulances don’t make it far into the desert. Its much faster and easier to get a helicopter to your location than any 4 wheel vehicle. Unfortunately, they’re pretty common out west.

Someone on a bike. The story we got was his engine blew up at 100mph. Locked up the rear wheel.

I made my way around the crash, said a short prayer for the rider, and continued on.

Much more cautiously.

The last 30 miles were composed of gnarly rocks, rutted lakebeds, and thoughts of the finish line.

And Amy.

And Kahlua.

And Allison. I’d damn near made it. In time to hand it off, get some sleep, recover, and then maybe grab a beer!

BEEEEEEER!

I reach the finish line. I was under the impression the race ended at mile 340. I passed 340, and 341, and 342, so at this point I was pretty sure I was gunna pass right by Tonopah and just finish the whole 600 mile race.

I roll up to the finish line, check in, talk to the time keeper lady, not…. entirely…. sure…. I had finished the race? It seemed to just…. keep going.

Kinda like this story 🙄

Anyway, after I checked in with the time keeper people, I rolled down to where they had this podium setup, and they were interviewing riders as they finished the day of racing.

I need to find the video of my interview somewhere. I was beyond exhausted from battling those rocks for the last 30 miles of the race, I just flipped into crazy “I got go for dayyyyyyyz” 🤪 mode. Supposedly my interview was pretty jazzed.

Okay I just watched it. You can watch it here. I’m at 9:02:45. Wasn’t that jazzed.

Lets try and do me an interview after lap 2 of the next mrann race. See how energetic I am then!

Josh’s bike came in a little while after we did. Some of those unmarked obstacles coupled with me teasing Josh to come catch me had me kinda concerned he would hurt himself trying to catch me. He did not. He handed off the bike to his teammate and he (rick) actually hammered out the same 101 miles as I did.

I am so fucking excited that I raced the whole 340 miles unhurt, no breakdowns, and according to Allison, all of my pit stops were less than 2 minutes long.

Congrats, reader. You made it to the end of Part 2. I’ll post part 3 later!