Vegas to Reno Desert Race 2006 - The Story Part I

[Riding the Metro]

Les
2006 Best in the Desert Vegas to Reno RACE Report
I am not as poetic as Ned, nor as fast, but I will pass along to you my experience from this 600 mile race "584 race miles to be exact with 9 miles of transfers at nearly race speed = 593 total "
There is no distance on this earth as far away as yesterday. I have always had a wish to race V2R and I did not want to grow old without having this race in my yesterday!

Racing for me is to be in the absolute NOW, and to extend that NOW over 593 race miles takes more energy then it does to physically handle the terrain, complete focus, complete intent, complete insanity!!! and to finish is to taste victory in it's self. I will try to take you along my 593 miles in segments, by miles, by rocks, by silt beds, by get off's, and pit stops the best I can to the finish.

So, here is a blow by blow of what the V2R was like. Ok! so you have your bike as ready as it can be, you load up from your home, in my case, the San Diego area and make your way to Nevada, I swing by my Dads in Nevada a few days to test the bike for any last min changes.. all is good! I make my way to Vegas one day prior to Check in, Tech Inspection and Contingency! "Tech Inspection for the bikes is easy, tail light? Helmet? you know the rules? OK your good, place sticker on bike and confirm your start position" -My start position was last as requested-

We had a Riderdown.org set up at Tech inspection to make it easy for us to chat with all the riders checking in about Riderdown and pass along the good vibe about a great organzation.

It was about 100-plus in Vegas on check-in and tech inspection, so I did my best to stay out of the sun and hyper-hydrate for the next days activities!
#069 "Farioli" Antonio arrives, and gets his bike from me and checks in.

Antonio, getting his numbers applied correctly!!! there was some confusion about what his exact race number was, the photo shows #016, but it turned out to be #069. A fix was administered the next morning by Bomber with some black tape!

At around 4pm we are all checked in and I am just hanging out in my room waiting for Dinner. I had arranged reservations for our big group of 14 to sit down, eat, drink and chat about pit strategy and just soak up the calm moments before tomorrows pre-dawn start. Dinner was awesome, with good friends that felt like family. Ned, Antonio and I had to bow out early from dinner to go to the manditory rider/driver meeting to get any last min details about the course we needed to know. 8pm... meeting over and I said good bye to Ned and Antonio who where headed to the start to camp out, I then dissapered to my room to prepare for a 3:30 am wake up call. From the sponsor Hotel to the start -80-miles- Stagging 5am, transfer 5:30 am..
After a restless night and a long drive to the stagging area, dawn peaks over the Nevada desert!

The starts in the Best in The Desert Races are as normal as they come, you line up in your start order and take off every 30 seconds.. But this race had an unusual start, a 9 mile transfer at non-race speed!! So, I roll my bike up to the non-start and the guy leans over to me and says, we are running a little late, you will have to race to the start line to get your green light!! WHAT????? I was thinking that this 9 mile transfer was perfect for me to get my head on right while not in race mode.. just a easy 45mph roll down a graded dirt road.. but no! I take off and hit wide open as best I could through the dust from the other riders who are doing the same. I come up over a small rise to see the start and my red light turing to green 25 feet before I ever got there! The starter just waves me on! I look back to see that the next guy will have the same issue! OH WELL, lets race!! The first 10 miles is pretty easy and I was able to catch two people in my division in front of me, Good! I was not there to podium, just to finish, so for me to pass someone at this point was a good feeling. The first PIT 80 miles out!! will I have enough gas??

So, where did I leave off, .. oh yes, passed a few of my division before the rocks after the start, I am in race mode, and telling myself not to be, Think, conserve fuel!! I had 80 miles to make it to pit2 "pit 1 to remote to have someone there for me" can I make it? Throttle back, enjoy what i can see of the Nevada Desert! At the start of any race I tend to get caught up in it being a race and might push harder then I should, not really thinking I had a few hundred more miles to go. "
Now in the forefront of my mind is the 500 plus miles in front of me, and in the back of my mind is not knowing how hard to push so I have some left when needed.
593 miles, at my race speed, will I make it.. wait, lets get to the first fuel stop first! Live in the now! find your line, enjoy the ride, Smooth is fast, LIVE IN THE NOW

Pit two comes into site faster then I thought it would, I was not really watching the Race Miles, I was in the now, just chasing dust in front of me, and making more for those behind me. I roll into pit 2 and it is great to see all the faces!

Wow what an effort! I was gassed, handed clean goggles, water refilled, and bike checked, given the thumbs up to go! I was only a min or so behind a guy in my division, no problem, I had 420 miles to reel in who I could. At this point Ned was riding a great pace, being about 15 t0 20 min ahead of me. GO NED!

From there on out it was smooth sailing to every other pit to get fuel, water and bike check, For me it seemed the pits where very close together, and I was feeling fine physically! I was running a good pace, not a super fast pace, but I was not getting passed, so a pace I could handle all day! I had learned over the past year of long distance desert racing that, clean goggle every stop and a change of gloves makes a huge difference! Fresh eyes and fresh hands-!! Thanks Erin! This race had super fun diverse sections and as far as pit 6 not much silt! I had been over wide open salt flats, winding forest service roads through Pinion Pines, an odd abandoned asphalt section that was in the middle of nowhere that dissapered into fast farm access roads, sweeping sand washed, washboard pole line roads, but not much silt! Maybe I should of read the warning chart that was giving out at sign up that read -Mile 250 to 300 "Danger DEEP SILT"-. I remember pre-running this secton and thinking that it could get bad, but not Baja silt bad, well I was wrong! I left pit 7 heading into Tonopah, across a silt bed that was like a snow blizzard, but this was not snow!. White silt so bright that I had to squint to see and that made matter worse, because the wind was blowing down course at me thus making the dust from the rider in front of me compound on and in front of me.. a WHITE OUT!

You can only go so fast, and just find the line that is most packed... if there is one! I was about 20 miles shy of the Tonopah pit riding in deep silt, trying to ride the center hump on the cousre where the quads have to put a set of tires on, because they cant make the stretch across the whole road! There is no riding off the course because you can see and the rock and terrain would slow you down even more, You have to just figure it out and get through it. So, i was doing the center hump shuffle trying ti keep both tires on the apex when my rear tire slid down into the deep groove forcing me to poop my front tire into it to.. GAS it, keep your speed up, silt was now like water running up and over the tank and then BANG, I was ejected off the bike, I had just hit something that made the bike buck up a few feet throwing me like a rag doll out into the desert.. disconted from my bikde now flying through the air ""this is going to hurt"" poof.. a soft landing in a silt prepared pillow. roll, roll roll, soft and easy like in deep powder.. cough cough.. cant breathe.. cant see... wheres my bike.. Now standing looking around, I can not find my bike for the dust storm I had created by get off, ahh there she is, what? she is still standing, leaning over on the silt berm that probably bucked me, I ran over jump on, and she stared right up, I crashed, she pulled it!! Off to Tonopah.. I race into the pit, having told Bomber on the radioalready about my silt get off, that we needed a new air filter, and a once over on the bike, get me off the bike and give myself a look over too.. How did I get off that bike so fast and violent to be gentle saved by the very thing that cause the crash.. SILT.. love and hate her!




10 miles from the finish-.. all the while doing this on the side of the course as trucks and buggies go by giving yet another serving of my all day dust diet!

OK, fixed-.. no open throttle problem now..
Start bike..kick kick.. Kick.. Kick.... rest....kick kick.. Kick.. Kick.... rest.... rest....kick kick.. Kick.. Kick.... rest... DAMN... rest.. Kick... varoom... bang, back fire shutter, idle.... odd noise coming from clutch, engine, my intestines.. on man.. not here, not now.. ok, off I go, one light, a throttle cable as my throttle and now, the biggest rock garden I have ever seen is ahead in my single light beam.. How can I do this with one hand on the bar, pulling the cable and trying to stand.. you cant!! I sit feet off pegs and granny walk it over a few miles through some of the worst rock sections I have ever been on in the daylight!! let alone at night with now failing equipment. NED.. chime in about this section!!!


ok, just make it.. make it... LIGHTS OUT... NO PLEASE... I almost start crying, I am up on the top of this mountain, I can see the lights of Dayton, that means the finish is right down there some where.. DONT GIVE UP.. keep the bike running, I take off the seat and start moving wires around-.. nothing.. FUSE BLOWN.. I am in a bad spot on the course no place to pass if a truck comes by, no room, rock walls on either side.. seat on, flash light in mouth.. cable in hand, ride up about 1/2 mile to a place I can work on bike safely.... ROCKS everywhere-!!
off the side of the course now, I can hear the scream/roar of another truck coming by, I just close my eyes and take the abuse as they creep by me, having the same issues with the rocks as I! ok.. fuse blown.. no more fuses.. wait, I have a dime in my pack,, I force a dime in the fuse link and LGHTS... seat on, bike running... go man go.... down the hill, and a break neck speed of 8 to 10 mph, one hand on bars on right hand full of cable.. light flickering. engine backfiring-!! I roll up and into the finish and am greeted by my crew, What Took you so long.. ??? ha ha ha.. I tell them about my last hour out there battling the desert, the trucks, the throttle the lights-.. we all laugh and laugh, and just celebrate...

“I have taken my race motorcycle to the high elevations of the mountains and then back down to the dusty desert floor, I have crossed dry lake-beds at 90 miles per hour and raced in some of the most awesome tight, twisty sand washes in the world. ‘The Biggest Little City In The World,’ at the finish line of ‘The Longest Off-Road Race In The United States,’ the world-famous Vegas to Reno," what an awesome feeling-!! to know I did this race and be-able to help out some of our downed brotherhood in the process!

[Riding the Metro]

Les
2006 Best in the Desert Vegas to Reno RACE Report
Half way, water..air filter..fuel..still in one piece..
300 miles to go.. whats that I hear in the distance?

I am in Pit "8 Tonopah" all fixed up, filter, fuel, water, new gloves goggles ect.. feeling good. The Riderdown.org Team is on-hand and throwing me tons of support-!! Thanks Guys-!! I hop back on the bike, and get ready to take off, I always look to Bomber for all my info, he is the man in the Know! Bomber, how far back is the lead car/truck? 'AHH ****.. way back there-.. no worries!-!"
HOW FAR BACK???

I am not worried about them catching me, Hell they left 3 hours behind us, and they make up that time on the Bike and Quads-.. They will pass you-!! The first Car/Truck over all was Collins/Ragland in 9:51.07 Thats how fast!!

I am now past pit 9 and moving out pretty fast, I roll through pit 9 as Bomber is driving in, NO STOPPING NOW.. a wave and a radio call.. all is OK!! KDX was there, but we had not meet yet! Mile 343 is when I hear the roar of an unlimited buggy coming up from behind me, no helo! no warning, no honk, just a wide open blast right by me, plenty of room!! no worries.. MAN HE WAS MOVING!! I was doing 65 in a deep sand wash, he past me like I was going backwards-!! "Bomber.. what buggy was that?? Bomber has a story about this guy!!" Ok, the first one is by me, no problems.. where are the others? I come up over a pretty big rise and I have a chance to look at the valley behind me.. NO DUST from car or truck.. how far out is the lead was that buggy? Did I really see one? I was by a Nevada air craft testing area! who knows.. Stop looking back and get on with it!!!

Time to pit.. pit 13!! Bomber had been on the radio telling me that would be the pit to put on the lights!Best to put on the lights, if I ride at this pace it will be dark the last 30 miles! LIGHTS PLEASE,,, I pull into pit 13, and Bomber and Cuba Joe get to work on the light set up.. I get a little snack and lay down and put my feet in the air to get some lactic acid out of the now 450 mile pounded chicken like appendages I call legs.
Lights on, fresh gloves, and clear goggles.. Off to pit 15 to say Hello to KDX...smooth sailing so far... that was soon to change! Silt, Trucks, Rocks, who needs lights? why is my throttle stuck wide open? AHH off road racing!!! I love it!

After leaving 13 with my lights on, and feeling pretty good overall, It was an easy course "all things considered" up until 10 miles shy of pit 14, then came the worst silt of the day.. this was tank deep at points and a light and fluffy as it comes.. I hate to use the word Fluffy, it sounds so nice, when in reality Silt is the farthest thing from nice when on a moto! No problem handling the silt when your the only one in it, but through in a few trophy trucks, quads and buggies, it makes for a very very dusty, find your line at your own risk challenge. I battle over a long valley of pole line road silt with no-other line but to take my beating.. I throttle back and just pick my way through, at this point, I have more to loose then to gain, so to throttle back is to gain a finish... I make it in the Pit 14th and see the FNBR pit board and the smiling face of KDX.. I get a what I need from him, a little water and a protein bar.. It was just good to stop for one min and soak it all in.. Final stretch.. less then 100 miles.. hell, thats easy!! KDX, whats the rest of the course like? "Oh it's fine, some rocks, not bad.. doable.. have fun!!" Thanks and I am off.. A BIG THANK YOU TO KDX!!! for lying to me! While I was in pit 14, #026 in my division passes me and is about 3 min ahead as I head up into the hills from pit 14, I can just see his dust in the distance of these long rolling pole line hills. it is now starting to get dark and I switch on my lights, still to light to notice them one, I reach over while riding and see that they are lighting up my gloves.. no worries.. I have lights, 30 pre dusk.. the shadows are long and I am riding due west right into the sun. Those long pole line road hills are like an old roller coaster, diving and climbing up and over 50 feet at each hump!! fun.. only problem is cresting over the tops, you blinded for a second until you dip back down over. I was feeling really good, second wind if you may! I was closing on #026 and pulled up next to him.. we waved and I said good by, as I pulled out and away from him.. now it is truly dusk and I notice that I can see my lights, I am thinking it is still that time of day when you cant really tell.. I lean over and have a look.. NO LIGHTS.. I flip the switches.. nothing.. ok.. DO NOT PANIC!! I stop and pull of the course, prop the bike up and pull my front lights off to check the connections.. Nothing.. no lights.. 3026 pulls up and asks if I am ok.. yep, no problem.. just no lights.. how far are we out from pit 15? 15 miles.. ok.. maybe I can make it in this light?? There is just enough to see.

302.6 is about 1 mile in front of me, so I gas it to catch up, he was in cruise mode, BONKED.. no problem to catch him.. I pull up next to him and ask if he can lead me in with his lights.. no problem.. we ride together, now it is DARK, and his single little light is just not doing it for us at his speed, I yell over and tell him to go for it, I will make it! I stop and recheck my wires that I can see. I look up course and see a quad with a huge light set up and I hop on the course and ride in front of him for a while in his beam until, he passes, I do the same in front of a buggy and a truck, stopping in-between times waiting for my next short escorted light ride.. I get in front of one more truck for about 1 mile until he honks me over, and now I can see pit 16's lights.. I just
feel my way on the course and pull into pit 16 and roll right past Trey and Brian.. they are looking for a bike with lights, not some silt covered ghost rider!! I get to the end of the pits and some people come running out to me and direct me back to where Trey and Brain are!! I cant see, I almost run right into a parked Pickup. heading back to them! well it's obvious-.. no lights-.. electrical problem. I assist Trey in pulling the bike apart and he finds that I am blowing an in-fuse in leading to my lights.

We are lacking some tools and in true Off-road brotherly fashion anothe team runs over and jumps right in. We follow the wires .. no noteable breakage.. ummmm, we change out the fuse to a 20 amp.. boom.. it blows.. we disconect all other power using items.. Starter, and including GPS/Sat trackng....
"I find out later this caused a few alarms to go off at IRC and the pit 16 captain was called.. and a few family members freaking out calling Bomber!!' Side bar:: awesome to know when running that sat thracking that you are being watched.. fun!! it was like I was never alone out there! end of side bar:

Back to the bike.. ok, bigger fuse and hope for the best and just run one light.. OK, Tank back on, seat back on.. I am off!

Now, I am running one light, and just working to get to the finish-.. 60 miles.. no-problem now.. I run through a few open sand washes and then up on a graded mining road until pit 16, easy run.. I pull into pit 16, Bomber and crew are there, They already know about my electrical problem.. I have lost well over an hour or more now with this problem,.. stopping, running with other people in there lights, waiting for the next light ride to come by, fixing at pit 16, ect..... JUST FINISH NOW.. I look down and see all those names and stickers of people who donated there hard earned money to riderdown.org, I have to finish for them, I have to finish for riderdown.org and for all the people they help, I have to finish for all the people who came to help, took time out of there life to stand in the desert and pour me water and gas. If i dont finish it will have all be done in vain! If you know me, you know I dont give up!

I leave pit 16, feeling a bit emotional knowing that this will soon be over. all the planning, all the training, and the hype, all the prep..
Wait!!!!!
my bike is running funny!!!
I am in a tight sand wash and when I go into a steep left hander, my bike pins wide open and just launches the front wheel in the air and throws me.. The bike is now on the ground and I speed crawl over and hit the kill button... ---WHAT THE HELL just happened? --- I get her up and kick her over, rev the throttle a few times-.. nothing odd-.. keep in mind, I am pretty mentally tired-.. physically, I am ok.. just mentally a little toasted-.. 15 hours on the bike at this point.

I am ok.. just mentally a little toasted-.. 15 hours on the bike at this point.
I take off again, and all is ok, until I have to make a sharper left.. the throttle sticks wide open again, I jam on the break and bring the RPM down and get the bars straight-.. AHH the throttle cable is pinched in-between the frame and tank-.. In our haste at pit 15 in the dark, we could not see and mounted the tank on the cable-.. MY FAULT!! ok, I am off the bike!! tools out.. seat off.. can get tool down in rubber bushing to get take off.. ok, seat back on.. think this through-!! LEFT equals wide open!!!! alright a little clutch, break shuffle, I am off.. the first hard left, I shift up, break and feather clutch while the engine screams at the clutch, through corner bars straight, ahh no problem.... HA, next corner, now with rocks, same thing, shift up, feather clutch, break the engine rpms down, hit rock, and launch wide open around in a complete circle, kill switch...bang, throttle cable breaks! engine dies.. ok, lights off, flashlight out again, tools out again.. seat off.. ****, cant get tank off.. inspect throttle assembly, no problem, just pull on the one cable left, the return cable is the broken one.. pull it out tie it off and use other cable to give it gas..

10 miles from the finish-.. all the while doing this on the side of the course as trucks and buggies go by giving yet another serving of my all day dust diet!

OK, fixed-.. no open throttle problem now..
Start bike..kick kick.. Kick.. Kick.... rest....kick kick.. Kick.. Kick.... rest.... rest....kick kick.. Kick.. Kick.... rest... DAMN... rest.. Kick... varoom... bang, back fire shutter, idle.... odd noise coming from clutch, engine, my intestines.. on man.. not here, not now.. ok, off I go, one light, a throttle cable as my throttle and now, the biggest rock garden I have ever seen is ahead in my single light beam.. How can I do this with one hand on the bar, pulling the cable and trying to stand.. you cant!! I sit feet off pegs and granny walk it over a few miles through some of the worst rock sections I have ever been on in the daylight!! let alone at night with now failing equipment. NED.. chime in about this section!!!


ok, just make it.. make it... LIGHTS OUT... NO PLEASE... I almost start crying, I am up on the top of this mountain, I can see the lights of Dayton, that means the finish is right down there some where.. DONT GIVE UP.. keep the bike running, I take off the seat and start moving wires around-.. nothing.. FUSE BLOWN.. I am in a bad spot on the course no place to pass if a truck comes by, no room, rock walls on either side.. seat on, flash light in mouth.. cable in hand, ride up about 1/2 mile to a place I can work on bike safely.... ROCKS everywhere-!!
off the side of the course now, I can hear the scream/roar of another truck coming by, I just close my eyes and take the abuse as they creep by me, having the same issues with the rocks as I! ok.. fuse blown.. no more fuses.. wait, I have a dime in my pack,, I force a dime in the fuse link and LGHTS... seat on, bike running... go man go.... down the hill, and a break neck speed of 8 to 10 mph, one hand on bars on right hand full of cable.. light flickering. engine backfiring-!! I roll up and into the finish and am greeted by my crew, What Took you so long.. ??? ha ha ha.. I tell them about my last hour out there battling the desert, the trucks, the throttle the lights-.. we all laugh and laugh, and just celebrate...

“I have taken my race motorcycle to the high elevations of the mountains and then back down to the dusty desert floor, I have crossed dry lake-beds at 90 miles per hour and raced in some of the most awesome tight, twisty sand washes in the world. ‘The Biggest Little City In The World,’ at the finish line of ‘The Longest Off-Road Race In The United States,’ the world-famous Vegas to Reno," what an awesome feeling-!! to know I did this race and be-able to help out some of our downed brotherhood in the process!

[Riding the Metro]

Ned-
2006 Best in the Desert Vegas to Reno RACE Report
One of the defining characteristics of deserts is that they are big. They swallow us as individuals, and force us to reckon with a vast emptiness that draws most of us into reflection and wonder. The bigness has another effect, though: it allows for speed. Lots of it, and sustained for a long period of time, and that's a drug all it's own. This year, the Best in the Desert Vegas to Reno race (which runs from outside Las Vegas, NV, to outside Reno, NV) was nearly 600 miles in length, and a number of advriders participated, many of us in the Expert Ironman class, meaning we rode it alone.

The race was all about bigness. It was about the bigness of Nevada, but equally, it was about the bigness of people's hearts, as our own Surfphoto was able to raise
money for the riderdown organization from advriders. Surfphoto will chime in shortly with his part of the story, so I want to start with the speed that is what brings this whole thing together.

Usually, on trailrides, we manage to hook it into 5th or 6th a time or two, and maybe even let the motor breath for a minute if we get to a long enough straight. That's not the kind of speed this race was about. This race was about flying through the mountains and valleys and sandwashes, stretching the cables and trying to milk every last em-pee-ahaigh out. And not for a mile or two, but as a way of life for a day, valley after valley, hour after hour, tank after tank, maching through the desert inhaling bigness in glutonus gulps.

The effect is pure magic. Standing on the pegs, leaning forward into the wind, there is nothing of the bike in my field of vision, so the ground comes beneath me as though I were standing still and the world were turning at my feet. A moment of this feeling makes it all, the expense, the hours of preparation, the lifetimes of van travel, all of it is worth it to know the freedom of this kind of speed.

The race may be about speed, but racing is just as much about people. In my experience, the sort that understand why getting up in the middle of the night to endure what is essentially an unpleasant experience (be it on the bike or in the pits) is not only desireable but a source of happiness, are the kind of people that understand what life is about.

Take Trey650 and his son, who did a ton of driving, had their gas cans stolen the night before the race, got sunburned and dusty, and poured fuel into my bike with a smile as big as Texas.

Take Surfphoto, who could have been taking pictures of scantily clad surfer girls on the beach, but instead, was beating the stuffing out of himself with rocks and dust and treating his previously beautiful motorcycle to a date with wire cutters and hammers. And he'd do it again tomorrow, I guarantee it.

Take the Riderdown boys, who are busy helping people in our sport who outflew their guardian angel (there but the grace of god goes all of us), and still found time to lie down in the dust and take 2 clicks of compression out of the forks on my bike, quicker than I could drink a bottle of Spiz.

Take the unknown guys at Pit 14 (? I think ) who gave me some fuel and freshened my goggles as if I deserved it, all the while giving me a pep talk so good that they could have bottled it for resale.

And why? Why sweat and bleed and suffer for what is, after all, a leisure activity? I think it's because while we may enjoy something pleasant, we are not fulfilled by it. We strive for understanding, and we learn something true by facing challenges and digging deep. A race like this gives us that opportunity.

Philosophy aside, why I should be so lucky as to be a part of this stuff is beyond me. All I know is I thank my lucky stars that I am, and get on with it.

The leadup to a desert race is a stressful undertaking, because on top of the logistics of fuel, tires, spares, travel, bike prep, body prep, food, water, and so on, there is the gnawing stress of wondering how it will go, and fear of the danger.

Now that I've done a few of these, I'm getting better at figuring out what I can afford to ignore, what I can skimp on, and what I need to have right. I'm not going to tell here, though, to preserve my advantage.

In any case, I had been staying with Jean-Luc in San Francisco after the race, having a fantastic time. The plan was to leave on Wednesday morning, and arrive in Vegas on Thursday morning rested and prepared. But instead, I decided to go watch "The World's Fastest Indian" at Baldy's house, and head to Rider's send off party... which meant I didn't load the 950 on the van and depart the Bay area until about 10PM. Perfect- 12 hours until registration, I'm exhausted, and I'm only 500-odd miles away.

I'm not sure I'd recommend this method of preparation.

In any event, the van did her work and we got there about 10:30, in plenty of time to stand in line for my wristband, and get the bike through Tech, before picking up my faithful crew at the airport. The rest of the day vanished in a flurry of activity... I don't remember it well, because I was so tired.

What I do remember is finally getting to sleep lying across the van next to Antonio with a few hours to spare before the start, wondering why I continuously get myself into these messes.

The morning of the race is a very emotional time for me. Excitement and fear come in waves, punctuated by the inescapable feeling that I'd forgotten something important. The only good news is that it's too late to do anything about it, so who gives a ****?

As the classes before us leave one by one, and the start line draws inexorably nearer, the emotions become even more intense, until there is an open war going on my stomach between a gaggle of butterflies (apparently, butterflies with flame-throwers and chemical grenades, if I'm any judge) and god only knows what else. Words don't capture the intensity of it all, the fear, the anticipation, the excitement, the wonder.

And then the clutch goes out, and the motorcycle moves forward, and it's all gone. And when I say "all", I really mean it. Everything. Relationships, family, work, money, the mile over the horizon in front, the mile just past, everything is gone except bike and the distance between here and the horizon. This is the only way I know to do this, to let everything go and be fully in the now, with no pride, no shame, no honor, no guilt, no wonder, nothing except what IS. Would that life were as simple as a desert race.

And as simple as that, it's begun. The course of the day has been set, events are in motion and beyond control, and all that I can do is ride.

The course is easy for a while, except for the choking dust that makes line selection a challenge. When the dust clears, I know that it is for one of two reasons- either the person before me fell, or I'm about to hit rocks.

This early in the race, rocks are a good bet, and that indeed turns out to be the case. Suddenly, the bike behaves as if it has a mind of it's own, beating itself over rocks that I could ordinarily avoid. I'm confused why my attempts at subtle control are being rebuffed, and then I realize that while I'm activating the back brake, I'm not actually slowing at all. No sooner does this relevation hit, then I try to tighten my line with a breath of rear brake to avoid a nasty jumble, which of course fails. I'm down in a pile, cursing like a sailor, wondering what just went on.

In a hurry, I pick the bike up, and start off again, trying to ascertain what is preventing things from being as they should. We exit the rocks and come out into some slippery, twisty forest road, and after pumping the brake a bit, I realize that it's pulsing really badly. Not only that, but I seem to have no traction whatsoever at the back wheel, almost like a flat, but different. I decide that the wheel bearings must have failed catastrophically, which is making the wheel wobble and the brakes suck.

[Riding the Metro]

A quick stop on the side of the trail in dust to confirm my theory shows me that my diagnosis skills are not yet up to Click and Clack. The bearings are fine. The tire is full. Instead, a rock has thrown up and bent the rotor to hell, and the lack of traction is a function of the rock-hard compound of my tire (Maxxis Desert IT) and nothing more. Properly chagrined, I decide to avoid the rear brake, ignore all evidence to the contrary, and just go fast.

We leave the mountains behind for a time and have a long downhill straight to a drylake bed where the first pit is. I've promised myself a new strategy for this race than ever before: that I'm going to go as fast as possible where it's easy, and try to save energy where it's not, under the theory that 80 vs. 95 mph takes almost no additonal energy on a straight, whereas 20 vs. 25 takes a great deal of marginal increased energy in the rocks. It's time to put the theory to the test, so I twist the grip to the stop and feed the bike gears until we're tapped out. Now this is living!

And then the CRF-450R that I passed in the rocks comes by, with an easy 5-8 mph over my 525 MXC (14/45 gearing). If I'm going 90ish, he's going more. . Oh well, I reason, I'll get him back when his valves go tits up.

Finally, at around RM 50, I start to settle in. I let myself relax, I start to trust my sense of things, I start saving myself with the throttle instead of the brakes. It seems like only a few moments, and it's time for the first stop at RM 80, for fuel, a brake repair, and food. All goes smoothly and it's back in the saddle almost immediately, with much more comfort now that the rear brake works.

Where did I leave off? Leaving my first stop at Pit 2, I think.

It is at that moment, when you're faced with the immensity of the race, with the numbers of miles and hours and other racers, when it becomes unbelievably valuable to not have to think about other things. Great crew, like my friend Greg, and like Bomber and KDX and Trey and all the others who came to help, give racers a huge gift when they know they can just worry about their own day, and not about anything else. Once again, but not for the last time, thanks guys!

As we leave the pit and get into some fast terrain, and I wind the motor out for the umpteenth time in top gear, I can't help but think about my motorcycle, something like "Good morning, baby, I love you too, I'm going to whip the hell out of you today, please don't leave me to die in the desert as I so richly deserve"...

And that's about all the thinking I can afford when riding. Occasionally, my mind wanders, and when it happens, inevitably the miles start to creep by and my riding slows (and becomes less safe). I try to recognize it, and try to keep it at bay by reminding myself over and over that all I'm doing is building a foundation, that I can't win anything in the first 400 miles, but I can sure as hell lose it, that I need to focus on the bike and the trail and get back into the zone. And usually, that little pep talk works for somewhere between 10 and 100 miles again, and it's back to business.

I work my way up to Pit 4, my next scheduled stop, getting passed a couple times, passing a few more. I try not to let it worry me, but as much as I like the sensation of passing, I dislike that of being passed. 022 and I trade positions about 5 times in this section, as he crashes and then goes fast and then crashes again. I'm confident I'll get him in the end (confidence which was misplaced- he beat me by a few minutes, and well done!).

At the pit, I go for food and bio while Greg and the Riderdown boys fuel the bike, check tires and oil, and take 2 clicks of compression out of the forks. They are all dressed nicely, and don't hesitate for 2 seconds to lie down in the dirt and try to work the rubber caps out- these are quality guys!

No sooner do I finish eating than it's back on the bike and onwards. IIRC, the tunnel crossing of Hwy 95 was somewhere around here, which I have pics of:

The miles roll on, and I keep reminding myself that all I can do in the first 400 miles is build a foundation. I can't win anything, all I can do is lose. Somehow, in these races, my brain always gets stuck in some kind of weird recursive track, thinking the same thing over and over again, until it becomes a mantra. Foundation was my mantra, for goodness only knows what reason.

If I recall correctly, the silt starts in earnest not long after the tunnel crossing. Some of the photos earlier in the thread give an idea of how bad visibility becomes, but nothing can capture the frustration of riding in silt, when the bars seem to be wrenched away from time to time as you hit something hidden by the flour-like powder. For that reason, it's necessary to ride in a full attack position, even when the going seems easy and straight, so that when the rut goes away, or a rock whacks the wheel, you are ready to stay in control. Riding in rocks is more physically demanding, but silt is definitely harder because of the mental edge not knowing when the next "event" will come along.

One lesson that I've learned from other races is that casting about for the best line is typically an exercise in futility, much like switching lanes in traffic. It's better just to keep the eyeballs up, pick a line that doesn't look like it has any dead ends in sight, and go as fast as possible while keeping something in reserve so that if something nasty appears (most don't show themselves, you only learn about them through the braille system, but sometimes there are ruts or rocks or something apparent), you have throttle to carry the front wheel over.

I wish Antonio would pipe up, because the mile after mile of endless silt beds must have been terrifying and difficult on the 640. Huge respect for him getting through so many miles of that.

The middle of the race blends together for me. There were some miles of phenomenally enjoyable road, including one section just after Tonopah, where the road was arrow straight across steep little rises and drops. After checking my speed a few times, I decided that if there were a dangerous washout on the other side, BITD would have marked it for us, so I started committing to ride a bit faster. A few drops later, the transition at the bottom of the hill was sharp enough that I dragged the skidplate, in 4th gear, for probably 20-30 feet as the bike sacked out from compression. It was a huge rush, and definitely got my adrenaline pumping for a while thereafter.

Mile after mile, just building a foundation.

The first 350 miles of the course were new this year, and all of us were exploring them together (except, of course, those who preran). The last 250 miles were a repeat from the 2004 race.

I have an ability, which I don't quite understand, to recall some places, some of the time, in vivid detail. As soon as we were on the old course, I knew it, and was able to predict, sometimes accurately, what was coming up.

Other times, I would have excellent hindsight (ie, Oh, I remember how much that sucked now!). But often, I remembered hazards, geography, and so on before they came into sight- it was definitely uncanny.

In any case, my memory of the course gave me a kind of expected energy budget, as I remembered some hard spots, and some easy ones. In the 2004 race, I finished feeling reasonably fresh, and I'd always regretted that I didn't push a little harder and see if I couldn't nibble my way up a few spots. I didn't want to take a lot of risks, but I also wanted to get the best result I could.

Rewind a few days to when I was in the Bay Area. I got the chance to go see Baldy for lunch at Alice's, and while there, he started quizzing me about my nutritional plans for the race. "Uh", I explained, "I eat, like, bananas and tapioca pudding and gatorade and stuff." He seemed a bit skeptical (rightfully so, I might add), and offered that I should try something called Spiz, and generously offered to give me a bottle from his own stash, since there wasn't time to get it otherwise. I'd tried some on the drive down, and it definitely had a major hit- a 24 ounce bottle has something like 500 calories, but doesn't taste heavy at all. So, on race morning, I'd mixed a few bottles up, and decided to have them before I started feeling down, to make sure I didn't crash on energy.

I downed the first bottle at around the halfway point, and sure enough, I could feel my body processing all that energy. The warmth of his thoughtfulness didn't hurt, either.

So, as we got on the old course, I had a new burst of energy and started pushing a little harder.

The race was about to be joined. With several hundred miles under my belt having gone smoothly, now was the time that would seperate the pack. The morning is the easy part. Holding it together in the afternoon would be my challenge.

At dinner the night before, Surfphoto had predicted that the trucks would catch us somewhere around Tonopah. Despite how fast the course was (and, relative to bikes, trophy trucks are faster on open stuff), I thought I could hold them off for longer than that. My goal was 450 miles.

Tonopah came and went, and the pits didn't have truck crews in them yet. I figured I was doing well, but it wouldn't be too long before I would need two sets of eyes- one to ride with and one to look out for 800 hp bike-eating monsters with.

Along about mile 400, bike setup becomes a huge issue. Any little nagging problem that you could ignore for the first half of the race has by now become a huge issue- not only because of the problem itself, but because the mental fatigue makes it that much easier to be distracted, which is dangerous. In my case, there were things that were a problem and things that were working really, really well.

In the first camp was my suspension. What feels "lively" on my trails at home feels "chihuahua on cocaine" bouncy out here, and took a lot more muscle to cope with than it should have. Somewhere around this mileage on the course, I got a big rebound off a rock, planted the front wheel sideways in the next whoop, and had a little highside party in the desert. Luckily it wasn't very high speed, but it definitely rung my bell and took me some time to get back into it.

In the second camp, the outstandingly awesome one, was the Renazco seat. On a stock KTM seat, I would have been squirming by mile 300 whenever I sat down, which was often since there were a lot of somewhat smooth bits. With the Renazco, I had no monkey butt, none whatsoever, even at the end of the race, and what's more, the seat was the perfect shape and grippiness to help me ride the bike the best I know how. Our Boejangles knows how to build a seat that works with the bike, it's not cushy so that it feels good in the first 100 miles, it's firm yet compliant so that it feels good at mile 600. This is a treasured piece of equipment for me.

Somewhere in here, I had a bit of pit excitment. I'd been pitting every other one, and since Trey was able to get me at Pit 7, I planned to meet my crew at Pit 9. NDOT apparently had some road construction going on (I'm still not sure if "road construction" is some kind of code for a "bunny ranch"), though, which prevented Greg from getting to the pit before me. I cruised the row, didn't see my van, and decided I'd try to make Pit 10. On the run to pit 2 from the start, which was the longest gap of the race, I had decided to carry a quart of gas in case I didn't have enough fuel. At each subsequent pit stop, I'd forgotten to get rid of the quart, and had been kicking myself all along. As I left pit 9, I was suddenly very grateful for the insurance policy on my back.

Sure enough, as soon as he realized I'd been through pit 9 ahead of him, Greg regrouped and headed for Pit 10, which we hadn't planned to stop at. He beat me there by a tick, and I didn't wind up needing the quart after all.

Onward. At this point in the day, the rythm is well established and it feels like home. I'm familiar with the course, and just sucking the miles down as the earth rolls beneath my feet.

[Riding the Metro]

hidesertbomber
2006 Best in the Desert Vegas to Reno RACE Report - A pit perspective
Weeks of planning, more so for the rider than the crew, but weeks just the same. Logistics, "can we beat him to the next pit? Can he make it 85 miles on a tank if he needs to? What if needs to ride in the darK, will the lights work, if they don't, what then?" and so many other "little things". That last question is one I took for granted, if you spend $1K+ on lighting it better work right? But this is the desert. A harsh, dirty vixen that scratches and gnaws on man and machine equally.

Transponder mounted and ok'd by the guys at IRC it was time to relax.
Sh!t...Les had been showing off hit dual light setup so the number plate wasn't on the bike when I mounted the Transponder, fitment issues. A couple holes and zip ties and problem solved.

Check-in, a fabulous dinner and logistics talk around the table, I think we're ready...Sh!t, we still need to fuel up the chase truck and cooler for the journey tomorrow...off we went...Dado took the bikes (Gretel and Margarita, Antonio I just named your bike...does she have another??) and spent the night at the start line. 3:30am wake up, on the road 4:00am....

Get Some. Bright eyed and bushy tailed we arrive at Dado's camper...he's up and ready...unload the bikes...plug in the transponder...install the number plate...Les is ready to go...Hey, anybody seen Antonio??? Awe he'll show up...Riders off, nothing to do but drive...Pit #2 here we come..."I hope he makes it, we made it for the pre-run, he'll make it, no problem, I think"

So the plan was to have someone at every pit for Gretel, every other pit for Les, with the exception of #1 (not #2). Trey and Brian met us Thursday for dispersment of the fuel and spares. Pat would meet us around 9 or 10 for the same. Lot's of things can go wrong in Hell, FNBR would be there, together.

We elected E to drive since she had driven the pits during the pre-run, and the fact she hadn't had a speeding ticket in ages helped too. The sprint between pits didn't have to, but often became an 80-95 mph blast down the highway, zipping around buggy crews, tractor trailers and locals alike.

Our pit stops ran like clockwork. Cuba Joe had fuel for Gretel, Chris was on fuel for Les, Dado was monitoring the transponder and lubed the chain at every stop while E was on rider care, goggles, face wipe, etc. Me, well, I was on general bike overview and communicating with Les...turns out, that's the best part.

With 5 races as boss under my belt, one thing remains a constant, this sh!t is fun!

We arrived at #2 15-20 minutes before the lead bike. The dust was visible from 4 miles out or so, what a sight. Joe misplaced his camera so there is no stills but Chris had is video out the entire day, should be some great footage…I digress… The road coming into the pits was long and straight, 100mph+ for the top guys I’m guessing. Greg had come by to visit briefly before Ned came through so we knew he’d take care of him. “O32! That’s one of ours” someone yells, Ned sees our sign and starts to slow, “he’s grinning, that fukcer is grinning” I think to myself. As I wave him farther up the pit, he nods, a sincere and appreciative nod.

Crackle, crackle…”Bomber! You there? I’m stuck behind a 3 quads and can’t get passed them…dust is insane!”. “we’re here about 10 trucks from the start of pit road, full stop, fuel, fluids, tire check, Dado’s on the Iritrack transponder”. Like I said earlier, clockwork, what a great team! Joey jumped on fuel, Chris on fluids for the Camelback, Erin with a fresh towel and goggles, bing, bang, boom, off he goes

Which reminds me, I knew the transponder wasn’t important to finish the race, but it was important to the ADV folks watching at home, so I made sure we kept an eye on it. The fact that there was a $750 deposit on the damn thing also encouraged me. The “SAT” light was blinking when he left us at the start line, I just figured it was trying to pick up satellite locations, no worries. At Pit #2 I noticed it still blinking…or blinking again…interesting, but no time to check it, fuel and fluids this pit.

As we pull into the next pit, zoom, there goes Ned, I guess he’s doing fine. It’s the last time we saw him all day.

My plan was to keep Les on even numbered pits between fuel stops until #11 or #13 where he’d need to switch to an odd numbered rotation. Pit #3 changed that for us. “I’m coming in, my hands are numb, I need a quick break”…ok, no problem, I whip out the pit book, check mileage, we can do this. “this will be another full stop, we’ll switch you over to odds here”…”just tell me when I need to stop brother, you’re the boss”. Fuel, fluids and a break for Les, I took this opportunity to look at the connections for the transponder to see if something shook loose. Sure enough, the antenna connection was not connected. A simple twist and a solid “SAT” light. Blip, everybody’s watching now.

While in the pit, O10 pulls in, an amateur by plate not ability. His girlfriend bounces enthusiastically from the bed of the truck and pulls the gas cap off. She runs back to the truck for a gas can, with the cap in her hand…yup…after the stop he takes off without a gas cap… “what’s this” a buddy says. She looks at it, “awe sh!t!” and bolts down pit road like a jack rabbit! Just about the point he notices fuel spilling on his …ah hem…personal parts, she’s there with the cap, all is well. She’s limping from a sprained ankle. What dedication! I think he finish top 5 overall Ironman, including the “experts”.


#5 was our next fuel stop and went smooth as silk. No stories of “get offs”. No herds of Wild Mustangs or Buffalo. Les was smiling and having a great day. Talk of a break and air filter change in Tonopah #8. Trey and Brian at #7. “we’ll wave at ya when you come through #6.”

I’d sent Dado on up to #7 with food and fluid just in case. I hadn’t talked to Trey about fuelling Les there but I’d given him a can so he should be ready… then I got cell service. “Fuel stolen from the back of my truck…I got more…no race gas…”, sounds like he’s got it under control.

So here we are at #8, the www.riderdown.org boys are there. Dang, he’s gonna stop for an air filter here, we’ll be back on even pits again. Oh well, the best pit crew is an adaptive one. I kept saying all day “we’re winging here”. No one bought it because we looked so organized. I guess it’d be best to say “I was winging it”. My crew did as I asked with little resistance. Bruce (RDF) jumps in and swaps the air cleaner, clogged but no breeches. I fiddle with the transponder while my crew follows their assignments. Les gets a breather but he’s anxious about the buggies and trucks. They ARE coming, it’s only a matter of time…

Heading to #9 we see signs that say things like “one lane” and “30 minute delays”…crap, this could get interesting. I realize the course is pretty close to the road so I start chatting, I don’t know if he hears me but just in case. “we may not be at 9 when you get there…just keep going, we’ll see you at 10”. Minutes pass, no delays, we might make it. “Bomber Bomber, I’m at RM315 where are you?”, hell I don’t know. Chris and E jump on the map, #9 is at RM318 and we’re about a mile out. "Right next to you I'm guessing". Ripping into the pits in a big cloud of dust, we park, almost, just in time to see Gretel blast by, “Bomber, was that you?”, “Sure was, we’ll see at the next one”. Just then I noticed a guy eyeballing me and walking towards my truck, who the heck is this? “Bomber, I’m Cowboy!” he says, we shake hands and sprint to #10.

At some point prior to arriving at #9, Trey chimes in on the radio. “I see Les, he’s just about to the pit. There’s a big dust cloud behind him, it’s a buggy and it’s flyin!”. On the way out of 9, Les asks “how far back do you think the first buggy/truck is”, I say in my best Casey Folks imitation, “they are BEHIND you. They WILL catch you. I can GUARUATEE it. Let them pass.” And that was that.

At #10 the buggy blazes through kicking rocks and dust everywhere…then another…he’s in it now, no way out but forward. Another relatively routine stop. Les is still smiling, his body and mind set on cruise. Chatting it up about how fast those buggies are going…Off he goes, off we go. #11 is a blast through pit, I don’t think he even saw us. Cowboy heads off to #14. Dado to #16, this was a last minute adjustment, the pit book said we could make but Cowboy made some good points, so I sent Dado ahead just in case we didn’t make it.

My brain is a bit fuzzy about #12 it was a splash and go on fuel that’s about all I can remember at the moment. #13, the big one. Lights need to go on, fuel topped off, food, fluids, the works. We find a spot at the end (really the beginning) of the pit area and unload. Prep the lights, layout the tools and wait. When the first truck goes by us I wonder if I didn’t park in the wrong spot. A little hitch at the top of a rise made it look like they were coming right at us! A flip of the wrist and a blink of the eye and the truck was down pit road…whew.

There he is, coming out of the hills with a rooster tail of dust flying behind him…”I need food” he said earlier, I knew we’d be here a bit so we made this a full rest stop. Off the bike, lying down for a sec to gather his thoughts. Fresh goggles, fresh fluids and an energy bar.

Joe and I worked on the lights, what a sweet setup. Three plugs and a little chain lube on the grommets and the rack was on. A flip of the switch reveals no shorts and she’s ready to go. “I probably won’t see you ‘til the finish buddy! Keep on Keepin’ on! I got Cowboy for ya at #14 and Trey at #15. Cowboy is a drive-by unless you need something. He’s ready for ya. Trey is a fuel stop and Dado is at #16 if you need him.” “Thanks man! GET SOME! I’m having a great time!”. Figuring my day is done, I go for a cold one…or two before we set off again.

Reminder: these pits are at least 20 minutes apart with most being in the 35-45 minute range. It’s about 4:30pm at this point and we’ve been at it since our 3:00am wake up call. Les is on schedule to finish around 9:00pm at this pace. What a great day...until...

After leaving the Luning pit #13 we stopped for to fill up the cooler and pound a few more in the parking lot. Again, E was driving and not drinking, we thought our day was done.
At a steady cruising speed we made our way to the finish line. Then it happened, in the blissful buzz I had there was an epiphany, “what if, let’s say, Walker has an issue and doesn’t make it to the finish. We’d be better off waiting, or missing, him at #16 than at the finish.” Even though Dado was there, something told me I should be too. No cell service where we were so there were no updates coming through. If all went well, we should get to #16 just before he does…16 it is…

We pull into the pit just as the sun is dropping behind the hills…or were they mountains? We pull out the chairs, check in with Dado, pull a couple cold ones from the chest and chilled for a moment…I wonder if I have cell service…

Using E’s phone I give ole Trey650 a call “to see how things went”, only to find out I was really calling “to see how things are going”…sh!t. Trey, “sorry for not talking, we’re still working on the bike, almost done”, “Hang up and call me back when you’re done.” It’s dark, I’ve just gotten the news that Gretel has a short and no lights working. Minutes go by and no return call. I realize my phone is working now so I call back… “We got him going, he’s off, only one light but he’s gone”. Shouldn’t take too long…it was a short stretch of 29 miles, even going slow, he’ll be here in just over an hour.

Consumption slowed to a halt… My brain went back into race mode, it’s around 8:00pm or so, did I mention I’ve been up since 3:00am?? If he comes in, what do we need?? Dado has an array of electrical parts. What a comfort it was to have him there. Duct tape and wire strippers at the ready, we waited…and waited…quad…….quad…..buggy…truck…bike…the rider our pit neighbor was waiting for pulled in, Jerry Jones. WHAT?? Jerry, here??? Holy Cow! Where’s Les?? We have a chance to pass someone important in the season points run. Jerry had gone down hard in the rocks somewhere and messed up his (right??) thumb pretty bad, it was braced with duct tape and shaking with pain…this happened a couple of pits back. More tape and a splash of fuel and he was off…anxiety set in…this is getting interesting…

[Riding the Metro]

As Jerry’s pit truck pulled out, I noticed handful of worker bees buzzing around this buggy. After a few minutes of eavesdropping and a bold move by Chris, we found out this was John Herders rig. 1st overall since the start, he’d lost the tranny and limped in to the pit. They were going to call it a day until they realized they were still in the points race…this was 4:30pm or so as I recall…it’s 9:00pm, hammers bangin’, sparks flyin’… PIT CREWS ROCK!!!! A light on the horizon, actually just over a little hill and through some bushes. It’s a bike, single light, a bright one…oh but it looks like it’s in the center of the bars…down pit road toward us, then passed us…Doggonit! THAT’S HIM!! A couple hoops and hollers and some help from crews down the road and Les was turned around heading right at us…

9:20pm. Walker is rambling like Mouse in D2G about “getting a flat” and “I was in 3rd place” so I smacked him upside the helmet…that did it, he was back. He went on to fill me in on the lighting issue and how they just started cutting wires in order to eliminate the short…even “the button”. It took him 5 minutes just to start the bike with the kicker…dang. I told him how Jerry was having a rough time of it and with any luck, he might catch him. Spirits high and still smiling, “I am having such a great time! Thanks man for being here! I love you man!” you’d think he’s was the one drinking…lol… Off he goes to the finish.

Geez I talk a lot… the ride to the finish coming up


The only thing we ended up doing at pit #16 was add some fuel, which, in retrospect, was not only unnecessary and maybe even a hindrance given the final 20 miles through hell. Les said the light was working great and nothing else to worry about…40 miles to Carson and the finish line! From #15 to #16 was relatively smooth undulating turns on fast fire roads

Gretel was doing great considering the beating she was taking…looking good, sounding good and best of all, performing good! We’re gonna finish this one without a major get-off or injury!

So we’re driving into Carson, about 30-40 minutes as I recall. It’s about 9:30pm or so and my phone rings, Trey checking in, all is well, THANK YOU!!! Then it rings again, Ned? “hey Ned what’s up?”, “just getting cleaned up and heading to Denny’s”, “sweet! How’d ya do?”, “Finished sixth I think, how’s Les, any word from Antonio?”, “Les has had some lighting issues but we just left 16 and he’s on his way in, no word on Antonio, someone said something about 14 but that’s unconfirmed”, “Great for Les! I’m stoked he’s on his way in. I need to warn you, the last 20 miles is NASTY, and I mean NASTY!”, “thanks, I’ll keep that to myself, way to finish, I’ll catch ya later”.

Pulled into the finish line area, grabbed a handful of beers and a bottle of water, for Les of course. We wait. 10:30pm. WTF, where is he? 10:45pm, bikes, quads, a buggy, a truck… The anticipation of situation was maddening. 5 miles or so away, appearing to come right out of the mountainside, a light shines bright then disappears. Is it Gretel? Was it even a bike? 20 minutes later, there it is again, only much closer. No, that was the spot light at the Actual Finish (there is a ceremonial finish for spectators) that hasn’t moved in hours. Look! There’s one, looks like a bike…dang, buggy….no quad….stinkin’ lights all look the same. Except that one…

Cyclops askew! That’s the one we’re looking for! 11:00pm Les comes rolling in, both hands on the same side of the bars. WTF? He’s spent but enthusiastic, “I made it! We made it! I can’t believe it! That last 20 miles was insane Bomber, I’m glad we didn’t prerun that, it would have killed me all day to know that was still to come.” My response, “bla bla bla whatever, what the hell happened to Gretel, she looks like sh!t and sounds worse”.

With throttle cables hanging from their sheaths, she is groaning in agony. Before he had even rolled to a stop I was grabbing the kill button. Les explains about the throttle being stuck between the tank and the frame, something I am well aware of as I’ve done it myself. Making left turns using the clutch and brake for control, while she screams into the red zone, he’s trying to avoid bowing ball like rocks. Well one got him, spit him out into the darkness and began chewing on her controls. From then on, pulling on the throttle cable with one hand, steering with the other our hero managed to make it out of the mountains.

We grabbed our empties, fed the boy some water and tried to comprehend what just happened. As it turns out, my day didn’t end there. A few more beers, a few more desert stories, a search for parking and sustenance, it was 4:00am before my head hit the pillow…25 hours, I can’t imagine a better way to spend a day!

The goal for us was to finish, if it's a good day, maybe even finish ahead of some others who were not so fortunate.

With Ashley (my trusty steed and parts bike for Les) loaded up and tools strapped down, we set off on what was to be a true off road adventure. My main crew consists of my wife Erin, Joe, an old buddy I've known for some 26 years and his cousin-in-law (you'll get it) Chris. FNBR. GET SOME...

We'd arrived at the SunCoast and gone inside for a quick look around. Back at the truck I notice a familiar white van, with Colorado plates, yet no one was inside. "that's Ned's, it's gotta be." I hadn't noticed the 950 on the back which would have been a dead giveaway. "NED!" I yelled indiscriminately, "Bomber!" I hear in reply. I spun around and there he is, Neduro in the flesh. sidebar:the first time I'd met him was under similar circumstances, I was a part of his pit crew for the 5oo. Greetings out of the way it was time to find "the man", Surfphoto.

I'd had about 3 hours sleep the night before and didn't even care. String Cheese and a Red Bull for breakfast. 10:30am, It's time for a beer! Found Les, more greetings...Time to settle into race mode...

I met the RiderDown crew and quicker then you could twist your way out of a silty berm, it was time to work. I needed to tear into Gretel (Raceret Gretel Von Gasset) and mount/install the IRC Tracking System.

[Riding the Metro]

Trey650
2006 Best in the Desert Vegas to Reno RACE Report - A pit perspective

Anatomy of a Pit crew.

Why do we subject ourselves to endless hours of driving? Running to a pit just to dump a few gallons of fuel so someone else can live their dream? I really don't know the answer, other than we feel we are a part of something. A dream, a vision a way of life. It is something we wish we could do, but are either afraid or uncertain we could do. I do it to expose my son to something that is foreign to most people. To get him to experience life that is beyond computer games and school. It is real; it is a car crash every second, a rush of life that can't be experienced without doing.

During this race we met people, saw places, and experienced hardship. Dreamed of coming back to explore places more closely. It opened a new vision to the world to him and me. Since taking him to the Baja 1000 he now dreams of getting a car and racing for real, I have succeeded in sparking the fire of a dream. He looks forward to every one of these races. I think taking him out of school to teach him to pursue his passions has succeeded. It has also rekindled my passions to race. Every time I see those cars go by I think it is time to go out and enjoy something that I love... The desert and the challenges that it presents.

Why do we volunteer to help some guy live his passion? The simple thanks we get from the racers when we are there to fill their tanks. You can see it in their eyes as you wipe there goggles and fill their water blatters. They are amazed you are there for them and are eternally thankful that you are helping live their dream.

For all of you that wish to race but don't think you could do it. I suggest that you jump into a Pit crew and join those that are willing to risk their life’s, you become part of a brotherhood, for they can't do it without us and we can't do it without them.

Congrats to all the racers and thanks for letting us be a part of this.

We left San Diego around 10:30 am heading for Las Vegas, it was the typical long boring drive. If it wasn't for Sirius satellite and Raw Dog/Blue Collar it would have been unbearable.

Got into Las Vegas and headed for the hotel. Found a spot to park and started walking around looking for Les and company. Found a KTM tent and asked if they knew where they were, the lady says she knows Les but hasn't seen him or his crew. So we wander around some more and Find the FNBR team 2 cars down from the KTM tent. :roll

We meet up with the group for a fantastic dinner and find out our pit duties, Thanks Les. It was great meeting all the riderdown.org people.

Afterward we headed north hoping to make Tonopah for the night. Instead we make it as far as Beatty and decide we have had enough driving for one day. After looking at the limited hotel accommodations available we decided on the Stagecoach Casino for a nights sleep. I asked the desk person about security and she says they never have a problem and the lots are watched 24 hrs. Cool no problems, right? I had this nagging feeling the whole night that something was going to happen. I took all the valuable stuff out of the truck and headed for sleep.

Next morning I get up and head for coffee, as I'm walking down the stairs I noticed my tailgate is open and my fuel cans are gone. FNBR's can and 2 of my diesel containers (all full), were taken but they left Antonio’s gas cans (full) and one empty can of mine. I'm pissed. All I can hope is they pour that diesel fuel into their car and get stuck in the middle of the desert in 100+ temps and rot. Bastages!
I asked the hotel if they saw anything and they checked their security cameras. But my truck was hidden from view by a tree.

It's time to banzi to Tonopah and set up at pit 7. We get there and follow another truck in. The silt was unbelievable on the pit road.

We get the pit all set up and sit and wait. As bikes roll by I keep looking at my pit sign to see if any of these riders are ours. Finally I just sit back and relax. Next thing I know some guy is barreling down on our pit. Oh crap its Ned! We jump up and gas him up and clean the goggles. And off he goes into the dust.

Now more sitting around until I hear Bomber on the radio, Les should be there soon. Just then Dada pulls in with his camper and we wait for Les.

He shows up with a smile on his face as we gas him up fill his camelback and send him off.

We pack up and head to Tonopah to meet up with Bomber and crew. Les should beat us there according to the Pit Book.

This is when the troubles started or I should say didn't start. The truck battery was dead, PISS! A guy gives me a jump and we head out thinking it was just running the radio and stereo that caused the problem. The new suspension needed testing in desert conditions so after we cleared pit row I floored it and blasted out on the silt road. Hitting 60 through most of the road I couldn't see a thing behind me because of the silt cloud. The truck handled like a dream. Pit crews coming in saw me and pulled off the road to let me by. Ok slow down Trey this isn't a race.

We hit the road and actually beat Les to Pit 8 much to Bombers surprise. Hung out for awhile and headed for a great lunch at a dive restaurant in Tonopah.

I figured we had plenty of time to reach Pit 15 before Les got there and thought Ned would be past there long before we arrived, so we took our time heading north. As we drove on an Overpass we saw Les about to get passed by a car that was on his ***. I radioed Bomber to let him know Les' position and that he wasn't far from Pit 9. Seeing his location and the distance we had to go I decided we better not do any sightseeing and get a move on.

After a LOOONNNGGG *** drive but great scenery we arrive at Pit 15 and found a place to set up. Thinking we have a long wait, I put up the pit sign and pull up a chair to relax and watch the race. The cars should be here any minute. Instead I barely sit down and in races Ned! We jump up unhook the gas cans and start pitting him. Damn that was close! Water, fuel, goggle clean, a thanks and off he goes.

Now the cars start coming through. What a site, some of these guys were flat out flying. And some are flat out throwing rocks at us!

It's starting to get dark and I'm wondering when Les is going to get here. I start to head to the radio and see if I can raise Bomber when I notice some guy cruising into the pit area with no lights on and looking for someone. As he passes I see it is Les! I start yelling for him to stop and chase him down pit row. Everyone in the pits wave him down and point him back to us.

He pulls up and says the lights are dead. Damn! I start getting the tools out to see what we can do. We were only a gas and go pit so I didn't bring all my tools. Fortunately the guys next to us have plenty of tools and jump in to help. We tear the bike down and try to find the problem. It is now dark and we are using flashlights to look for a short. Bomber is calling every few minutes on the cell phone to get an update and I keep hanging up on him as we are trying to get him out of here as fast as possible. About this time the mosquitoes decide it is time for dinner and we are getting eaten alive by these flying blood suckers. After bumming fuses and disconnecting things we shouldn't have we get him going. Watch him head off into the desert thinking I hope he makes it to the next pit. We load up the stuff as fast as we can and jump into the safety of the truck. Click! Damn! The battery is dead again. I get the guys next to me to jump us and we head over to find out Antonio’s situation from the Pit Boss. He hasn't heard a thing. We asked some racers and pit crews that came in if they heard anything, nothing. Decision time, do we wait or do we head for Reno and a place to crash for the night. Its 9:30 and we decide to go for Reno. There are alot of people still at the pit that can help him out if he shows and the truck has me worried.

We head for Reno and every time we get below 30 MPH the car smells like rotten eggs. I stop for fuel and check the batteries, they are boiling. Not good. After making Reno I call around to Bomber to see if he has heard from Antonio and what Les' condition is. He tells us Les finally made it and they are heading for Reno, we'll hook up later. No one has heard from Antonio. I call Ned's cell and end up waking him, he heard that Antonio made it through Pit 14, crap! We should have waited. We try and find a room for the night the event hotel had a few rooms left for $180, I go across the street to small hotel and they want $80. Brian and I decide that all we want is a bed and a TV. $80 wins. I cruised over to Circus Circus to see if I can find a BITD official or anyone I knew. No luck, it's 1:00am and I decide to call it a night.

Get up and head out for coffee and to see if I can find anyone. Run into Dada who slept in the parking lot with the bikes. I get all the info on what happened the night before. Antonio made it to Pit 12 and bailed out on the race. I really want to hear his story. Les and Antonio show up and we get more details. As Les told his story above it turned into a real adventure after he left our pit.

We decide to head home as we have 8 to 10 hour drive ahead of us. I figure that the I40 to the I5 is the fastest way home. (Wrong). So we pack up and get ready to hit the road...Click! A guy pulls up next to us and I get a jump. We drop off all the stuff to Les and hit the road. The ride through Tahoe is nice and after that it is the most boring scenery I have ever had to witness. We stop for lunch and I leave the truck running as I am afraid to shut it off. LA takes us 2 hours to get thru. We passed a cargo van that was in still in the parking lot in Reno when we left on the I15 just before our tunoff for home. Looks like the long way was the fast way.

1476 miles, 23 hours 45 mins total drive time. Finally HOME!

Not as exciting a ride report as the racers, but I thought you might like to hear what the support people went through to help these guys out.

[Riding the Metro]

kdxkawboy
2006 Best in the Desert Vegas to Reno RACE Report - A pit perspective
My task for the day was to be at pit 14, Rawhide. It was a stationary pit meaning once you got there you could not plan on catching back up with your rider. The plan was to drive down from Gardnerville and meet Bomber at pit 9, get the special things Les would need and head for 14 to be there for Ned, Les and Antonio. Things changed.

As Bomber pulled into 9 Les came smoking by with a wave and I'm chasing Bomber to pit 10. By the time we get out of 10 its to late to reach Rawhide before Ned. See Ned, you need to learn to slow down so we can keep up with you. I arrived at pit 14 about the same time as BJ Baldwin, one of the top Trophy Truck drivers, only he didn't make it. I'm watching him streaking across the valley when his truck pitches wildly and noses into the face of a big bump, doing an endo into an exploding cloud of dust. At the time they say he was leading the overall on adjusted time. Les made it to the pits about the time they towed the truck in. He had 90 miles and change left in the race and was looking good. The last set of silt beds had tossed him some troubles and for the first time Les asked what was ahead.

My other job is the northern half of the race was in my backyard and since they hadn't made the pre-run this far I was responsible for describing the course from hear to Dayton. For the last time I lied to Les. Told he had nothing to worry, it was a high speed cake walk with a somewhat rocky road at the end. Figured he had to ride it and no reason to make him dread it. Besides, after 500 miles of silt beds I figured a few rocks wouldn't bother him. After watching Les head out over the next 3 miles of the course it was 7 pm and I settled in to wait for Antonio.

The last contact we had with Antonio was pit 2. So I head for the BITD officials to see if they can find the last pit Antonio cleared. Their radios aren't working to good and they are having troubles reaching the other pits. Around 7:30 folks pitting for a quad pulled in. In short order they learn over their radio that their rider is lost somewhere after 13 and here. They can hear but not transmit. A little further up pit Row Big Valley Honda, the Reno Dealership, was running the rented pits for Honda riders and they could transmit. We get a relay going from the other rented Honda pit crews and can at least find who shows as having left 13. No news of Antonio.

As the night draws on I become part of a growing group trying to learn anythng about their riders. Rider 261 had axle bolts backing out at 11, carb problems at 12 and a bad crash in a silt bed and didn't know where he was. ANother quad is stuck in 13 desperately trying to rebuild a carb. Someone else limps into 11 and their bike is toast. Slowly everyone is accounted for and the only bike/quad folks still in the pit are myself anbd the folks with the lost quad. With the night cooling their radio is finally transmitting and as their friends are looking for their rider they are asking about rider 069. Its 9:30 and no news. Darn. They said he was struggling with the big 640 in the silt beds. Was he still out there battling on? Did he have a bad wreck? 10, then 10:30 still no news and damn, at a 30 mph average he should be just short of pulling into pit 15 and Trey by now. Come 11:30 there is still no news of Antonio at Pit 13 but we do find a buggy driver that knows the mile marker of our lost quad rider and he hasn't seen another bike or quad. Oh well, I'm sure Antonio give it his best until whatever. Never got to meet you. Maybe next time.

I pull into Dayton around 1:30 but everyone I'm looking for has gone to bed. Pick up some Jack in the Crack in Carson and by 2:30 I'm finally washing the day's dust off.

I reached Pit 9 about 10 minutes behind the lead Hondas. I figured Ned to be about 40-60 minutes behind, but as I had to wait for Bomber to get my pit board (next time I'll trust my instinct and bring my own backup) so Ned had no way of knowing I was their. Just as well Ned planned to roll through 9. Pit 9 had the foul up for the day. NDOT was doing shoulder work a couple of miles to either side of the turnoff to the pits and escorting traffic, up to a 30 minute delay. Many a quad and motorcycle reached 9 before their pit crew, though none went away for the lack of service. Watched one crew change two flats and gas the quad leading their guy.

It was a good bit of time before Les showed up. I got to thinking there must be some ugly silt beds back there. As trucks drove in I was watching the number up on their windshields and spotted Bomber pulling in about 6 pits down from me. I start hoofing it over and just short of Bomber's truck there goes Les and I barely have time to Say Hi Bomber, I'm the kawboy and we're racing for Pit 10 where I get to met Joe, Erin, Trey and the Rider Down folks - every one of them great people and I wish I had more than the 15 minutes to get to know you.

At 10 Ned was a couple hours in front of Ned so while Trey hoofed it to 16 in hopes of beating Ned I hung with Bomber, Joe and Les's Dad through 12 and 12 before taking off for 14.

Here's the rest of that story -
(disclaimer: I'm about to be politicallly incorrect in my use of a few terms, but pardoned me as I've yet to found an alternative description) This road is plagued by a overwhelming bumper crop of nigger heads. What is a nigger head? This is term I learned from local loggers to describe the type of embedded rock that sticks it's crown above about the ground and that crown is usually jagged, sharp, with flat faces and just big enough that you to have battle your way over. This road sprouts such a crop that is no way, even in clear daylight, to pick and chose and path that avoids the worse as there is no worse, its all hell. Mixed in is plenty mixed gravel and rock chunks, very little soil and what there is is hard baked clay. And this goes on for miles and comes out on a long downhill with a steep dropoff on the outer edge and every turn is somewhat off camber to allow for run off of the t-storms.

The only truth I told folks about this section was early on when I said they would need to grind this section out holding on to the best attack position they had left. Aftet that I just kept focusing on the fact that I could 'attack' this section on my KLR without feeling over my head. Just didn't say the only way you could ride this section was in the attack position to take the least pounding possible. In nearly 40 years of dirt biking, XC racing this section of road falls in the top 5 ugliest. Once you are in it, its just this endless nasty until you are out the other end.

You're mostly up to date on the pit stories. Working the pits for a race like this is like being in another world. While your rider is out doing his thing you dash from pit to pit following the route chart in your guide book - running oversized tires on my truck had my odometer off about a mile for every 15.3 actual miles making it a bit interesting. We are a race within the race, island hopping from pit to pit.

Here we were, 5 vehicles: Bomber, Trey, RiderDown, Les's Dad and me. Bomber had to work both the logistics of servicing Les and getting us into place where we needed to be. Sometimes the pit crew needs a pit crew as Trey learned at 15. Trey also learned sometimes the pit crew has to drive over terrain every bit as bad as the race course. When you hit the road for the next pit you look at your mileage, the racer's mileage to figure
how aggressive your driving needs to be to beat your rider to the next pit and so you blast down dirt roads at 55-65 just to be there on time. Time & distance. Your whole day breaks down to a world of assigned time's and distances you must make. Riders can DNF, pit crews can not. And there are the long, anxious waits for an overdue rider. While parts of it sound like work, its really one grand adventure and I want to thank Les for letting me join. In some ways the story of the pit crew adventure started two weeks earlier, during the pre-run.

I came down from Gardnerville that day to hopefully hook up with Les around Luning or TopGun. With Les's projected schedule I didn't get out early enough to make Luning so I turned for TopGun, pit 15. Got there with enough time to run up to a fuel & food about 10 miles further north. I got back to the pits just as Casey and the lead group of buggies were about 2 miles out. I hit my blinker, slowed and as I was just starting to turn into the pits KA-BAM!. My truck has been tossed up into the air and forward into a 180 degree u-turn of a 10' radius, no mean trick for a long bed, crew cab Dodge 2500. As I'm coming to a stop heading northbound I see a white blur sliding by to the south.

I've been rear ended by a KIA Sophia full of women yakking away when they should have been watching the road. Their skid marks were all of about 60 yards. Front end of the KIA was pretty much gone, but thanks to crumple zones, airbags and seat belts al four women got out without a scratch. My truck, it has the HD towing package so its rated for a about 1.5 tons of tongue weight and is pretty stout in the rear.

And mind now, this has happened right on top of where the race course is crossing US95, the lead pack is just short of the crossing and there is a Churchhill County Deputy Sheriff sitting there waiting to talk with Casey about a rumor of racers being shot at back in Mina - a Ford Explorer pulled in with a rear window that was broken out by a rock, someone walking by said that looks like it could have a bullet hole and . . . . Three minutes later we had two NHP troopers that had just been released from a fire a few miles south - as I was driving over the last divide before TopGun a semi coming the other way, hauling a load of fast food french fries, blew a recap on the rear inside dual that severed a brake line causing the brakes to lock up, ripping the trailer off it's kingpin as it flipped, landing back on its wheels and the cooler caught on fire. This made for a most interesting pit and next to the gun shot rumors, the talk of the pre-run.

Yep, life is anything but boaring for the pit crew.

[Tatonka]

:pics:

Well not really, I've just been waiting to use that smilie! Plus I KNOW there are some great photos floating around out there from this event. It was definitely a blast & totally different from the racing I'm used to. Pretty cool stuff to see the total team effort!

[50ccMoM]

:kneel:
I got to go get my Laptop and sit on the thrown to read this much



:pics:





LOL !!!!!!

[50ccMoM]

Honestly...... When I first read about this event on Adv rider it gave me goosebumps ! These guys are tough !!! I cannot imagine what it takes to finish a race like this. These guys can write too !! Im so hooked !


Angie

[Riding the Metro]

Honestly...... When I first read about this event on Adv rider it gave me goosebumps ! These guys are tough !!! I cannot imagine what it takes to finish a race like this. These guys can write too !! Im so hooked !


Angie


Some ride motocross others ride enduro but this is the norm for the desert rat. This is repeated time and time again. Just another day in the life of the West coast desert rider and their crews.

[Tatonka]

This was such a great story - I just had to pull it back up and review it as we work on Project TT500 - Team Long Way Back!!

Vegas to Reno 2010 here we come!!!