The Crash Report, White Rock, BJEC Round 1 2014
By 2pm Friday I had my money in my pocket and the steering wheel in my hand as I made my way to Arkansas for the first enduro of the season. And like any good little Midwestern woods bro, I was going to be there come hell or high water. And high water there was. The farther east I drove the wetter the ground became. As I rolled into the pits mixed in with the awe and flutter about my arrival I heard whispers of impending doom on the course. A steady rain in the days leading up to the event had conspired with an antsy forestry service and some “poorly placed” trail markers to make the soon to be arriving woods bros have a not so fun time at the races.
We set up camp on some premium real estate and got down to business. Drinking beer and cooking red meat over open flames. Our pits soon became a very happening place as the smell of ground beef wafted around the beautiful KTM 690 and glorious 250 XCF (complete with ’95 retro graphics) and simply demanded the attention of star struck race attendees. During our impromptu drum circle we got the low down on the new and un-improved course designations and gathered up a map made on zig zag paper and tears of vet class racers.
The meat and wine took its toll on my co-pilot and by 11pm he was passed out in his bunk. What a pussy. I continued to party rock until nearly 1am and just after I lied down on what I now believe to be a cursed air mattress on my bunk I was forcefully ejected by said bunk as it collapsed. I fell three feet to floor of the trailer, taking a folding chair to the shins that kind of broke the fall for my legs thankfully. After the co-pilot screamed at me for waking him up and refused to help me get unpinned from between the chairs and collapsed bunk I said to hell with it pee’d my pants and bled myself to sleep.
I awoke to my co-pilot kicking me out of his way as he went outside for his morning constitution and had a massive headache, my shoulder felt tweaked and my shins had dried blood on them. I’m not sure if I was hung over or had a mild concussion. None of that mattered though. We had computers to set up and a suddenly unapproved trail to go ride.
Setting out for the secret trails we found them rather easily as I had been there a few times before. I will just say this: It’s a shame we couldn’t use these trails because they are sweet.
By the time we got back to camp from our 30 mile adventure, the racers were flooding into the parking lot and co-pilots job was about to get rolling. So made myself scarce and found my fellow woods bros and made small talk around the pits. I had decided to not race as soon as I heard the re-routed coursed description so I decided to take a couple of beers with me. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, Co-Pilot’s job was done, a feast of red meat cooked over open flame was served and the glow sticks and glow jewelry came out.
No seriously, there were women running around with glow jewelry and music blaring from hopped up Rzrs. So of course Co-Pilot and I had to get into one of those Rzrs and go check out where the party was. The party was next door to the pits and complete with a large bonfire, loud stereo and debauchery. This is what enduros are all about I think. Not that lame stuff like beating yourself half to death on an 80 mile long course. We partied out and retired to the trailer sometime after midnight, mostly because the people we rode with were leaving and we didn’t want to walk because who knows what kind of meth zombie you might find in the woods of the Arkansas Ozarks.
Sunday morning came quickly and everything was chaos until the riders left out on the course. Sightings of note during the starts was someone riding a restored Hodaka 100, a brand new Husky TE300, and an entire row of ADV guys. One of those ADV guys was riding a BMW G650X. Good Luck and god speed my friend.
When the riders came all came back the stories from the course ran the gamut from super boring and short to super boring and “Seriously What the Hell was with that last test!” Well ladies, apparently the club put everyone through the last few miles of the long course trail. Oh No’s! For a course that was 95% fire road or quad trail, there were an obscene amount of hour outs. I can only come to the conclusion that most people below B class are sissys. That’s OK though, the world needs all types.
After the race was over, the scores posted and the racers sent home it was time for me and Co-Pilot to hit the road. But not before getting invited to a home cooked buffet in camp. Ah, the life of a J-list celebrity.