The Crash Report: BJEC, Scipio, Round 2, 2012

The Crash Report: BJEC Round two, Scipio, 2012

Now I had already planned on going to this event but enduros are better with friends so I started weaving my elaborate plan to bring a buddy long before this race. It was really coming down to the wire the week before the event but as luck would have it, my friend JT was looking to do as many different types of motorcycle races as possible in 30 days or less. JT comes from a motocross background and had spent the last year or so racing vintage bikes, flat track and pitbikes. None of these disciplines required the level of masochism of enduro riding. Vintage bike racers masochism is dwindled by their inflated egos and ability to polish aluminum and turds. Flat trackers have embarked on a permanent quest for vertigo and pitbikers, well they just like being laughed at. I could get a field of lemurs trying to screw coconuts and call it a pitbike race, charge spectator admission and everything, no one would be the wiser. JT does not realize this, and more importantly he has never heard of Scipio.

I conned JT into going to this, telling him that he would be giggling with an ear to ear grin all day because he was having so much fun on these glorious trails. I spoke of wondrous things lining the trails like leprechauns, rainbows and pots of gold. A day or so before we are set to depart for the race he finally agrees to come, but kept reminding me that these things are definitively not races. JT finally concedes that it is a competitive event, requiring skill, speed and endurance. I can live with that and drop the subject as I am almost in tears at this point because I know I have severely buddy fucked him. At this point in the story we should be leaving for the race or already there, but I feel the next few things bear mention. As I stated earlier, JT has been Flat tracking lately and doesn’t even have a proper dirt bike, 22 hours before out departure he has a full on flat track bike that was once a proud Honda CRF450. We scramble around, pulling parts off of another buddies bike sitting in the shop, making his steed into something resembling a dirt bike again. The suspension is questionable; the springs were intended for pro level motocross or a silver back gorilla. JT throws out the honey badger card and I feel almost bad for the abuse I’m about to let him go through. Not really though.

Loading up the truck I ponder why JT has not put on hand guards, he says that pussy talk but I quickly point out that endure trails are routinely only 28 inches wide. He fumbles around the shop and emerges with a set of plastic bark busters. On the road, I start to let little hints slip about the terrain of Scipio, I even let him know why people call it Skip-io. About the time we reach Henryetta he realizes he has just been bent over. I start laughing as its too late to turn around now. When we arrive at the race site JT accompanies me around the pits. I feel like a kid with a new puppy, showing him off to everyone. He is in for a treat and everyone is letting him know it full on by now. At sign up, JT poses the inevitable question of every first timer. “Do you guys provide the nipple clamps or do I have to use my own tomorrow?” Silence, then the man at sign up reaches under the table and pulls out a set of jumper cables and a ball gag. Shits’ gettin real now and JT isn’t happy about it, he passes out and I have to revive him with what little remains of his Rt. 44 Dr. Pepper. We wipe the foam off his mouth and leave the pavilion.

After sign up, we hop into M.C.’s truck and go check out some sections of the race trail. JT, seeing the trail feels like dying already and is in full complain mode. He hasn’t seen a Sonic in 3 hours, M.C. is regaling us with stories of watching Mr. Dirt take a shower in the woods and I farted writing this sentence so who knows how many times during the trip. JT hasn’t yet realized that this is normal enduro culture. Before going to sleep, Jeremy listens to a Thunder game on the radio, somehow finds a Rt. 44 Dr. Pepper and keeps on asking me about the time schedule. I tell him not to worry about it and to just follow the quickest guy on his row, it will make sense later. We kill a rattle snake next to the tent and string it up as a warning to the other slithery beasts. I crawl into my tent only to realize that my air mattress has developed a leak. I spend the night scooting gravel around with my butt cheeks trying to keep comfortable. I give up on comfort at 4 am when my bladder decides that a full night of sleep is not needed. I spend the wee hours of the morning farting, and trying to rid myself of a massive pee boner. Things aren’t looking up… well most things aren’t anyways. Maybe JT sabotaged me; he had a nice comfy bed made of bird droppings and SARS in the bed of my truck all to himself that night.

6:45am, This is the moment JT has been waiting for all weekend and we are first in line for the biscuits and gravy. We finish placing our score cards on the front fenders with premium duct tape. JT is baffled by the concept and nearly refuses to deface his beloved CRF450 with such nonsense. We visit the riders meeting, making fun of people with mismatched gear or those who are already completely geared up and hour before the start. Enduros are funny, mismatched gear is usually a sign of spodes, but in the case of the enduro rider, you really need to see the bike before you make a clear call. If the gear is mismatched and the bike is brand new, spode. If the gear is mismatched and the bike is new, but looks like it has 100 hours on it, fast guy. Now if the gear is awesome, and the bike is pristine, it’s a really fast guy, unless its Fox gear, then it’s a spode. Only spodes wear Fox.

When we arrive at the start line I point out who JT is to follow. JT looks at me all confused; this person has grey hair and is a good 50 lbs over weight. I assure JT that if he just attaches a tow rope to this guy that all will be wonderful in enduro land and the peasants will rejoice when the day is done. I spot Capt. Awesome and go talk to him. We compare KLR stories for a bit and I leave the start line with a deflated ego. I have signed JT up on the row in front of me and hope to only see him at resets the first loop. 1 mile in we close in on him fast, he gives me the bird as I go by, slashing him in a creek. Welcome to Enduro buddy.

I spot JT as he rolls into the first reset; he only has about 3 minutes to rest, while I have been there a good ten minutes already and peasants are fanning me with palm leaves. He questions a few people about what is going on, and then reality sets in. He’s not even half way through the first loop, he got passed by a kid on a 65 and his beloved CRF450 becoming more and more roached by each passing, abusive rock. He grabs a drink of water and putters down the trail. This trend continues the rest of the first two loops without a Sonic sight. I did get laughs at one point on the trail. I decided to leave a reset about 3 minutes early, sans computer. I puttered down the trail for a few miles until I saw a guy from the row ahead of me going real fast, I let him by and was quickly greeted around the next turn by a check crew. I pinned it off into the woods, narrowly missing the check entrance, doing my best Taddy Blazusiak impression over a couple of well-placed logs never letting off of the gas. I circled back and waited for the lead rider on my row to come through. He was hauling the mail as well, and we made it into the check on time. I later found out that I had I ridden into the check; I would have been only 2 seconds into my minute. Instead I performed motorcycle magic and rolled into the check 58 seconds into my minute. Great.

When I embark on the third loop I ponder where JT is and kind of hope he doesn’t go out for this one. I had already been told about this test section. Only two or three people from the TTR had even put motorcycle tires onto this trail and they were bragging about how nasty it was. If the TTR says its bad, put money on it, they don’t screw around. As I popped through the trees into the fresh section, it was like I looking out into Narnia; if Narnia was filled with midgets beating me with rocks and stick as Darth Vader probed my rectum with a light saber. I gave up on “attacking” this test about 300 yards in and went into full on spode survival mode. Sitting down, feet off the pegs paddling along, 1st gear and lots of clutch, I am not sure how long this new other worldly trail went on, I was told 6 or 7 miles but it might as well have been called the Monkey Butt 1000 at this point. I was whipped and at one point I looked over and saw mermaids sunning themselves on the rocks and singing to me.

As I finished up the loop, my mind wandered and I started to ponder the great mysteries of our generation, would there ever be world peace, why does anyone ride anything other than a yz125, and what is the best topical ointment for whatever is going on in my ass crack? JT is still geared up, and slowly slipping into a Dr. Pepper induced coma when I return from the long course, I am glad to see he chose not to attempt it, as I didn’t want to send out a search party for a first timer again or wait for him another 3-4 hours. JT and I loaded up, looked over the scores and talked to Lars. Lars won the event handily and looked like he needed another dose of trail for his day to be complete. His parents are Chuck Norris and a Honey Badger and his stare is known to crush men’s souls. JT cowered in Lars’s shadow, I tried rubbing against him hoping to absorb a little bit of awesome through osmosis. Lars quickly broke things up and JT and I spent a few moments bird watching in the parking lot. It seems that a Killdeer had chosen the Scipio parking lot to nest in. I once nested in that parking lot; it was a bit gravely for my mate’s taste so we kept it to a onetime thing. During the ride home, I drive with the AC off and the window down for a good hour before JT can’t handle it anymore. I didn’t even notice; Enduro riding for years has numbed my senses to this low grade “torture”.


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