The Nevada 2000: What a Comeback!
Nick Warhol
The butterflies were back! You racers know what I’m talking about- that wonderful, horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach you get when you are sitting on the starting line of a desert race, motocross, enduro, or any other type of competition. It has been a long time, but I started feeling them right after the phone call in December. My best friend / desert racing buddy and partner, Brian Aden, called me up out of the blue and told me the good news- that he had just ordered a new YZ-426, and that we were going to race the Nevada 2000 in July. He had decided. "Oh, right," was my reply. I reminded him that neither he, or I, had done a desert race since 1983. The amazing coincidence was that unknown to him, I also had just placed a deposit on the new, blue, four-stroke wonder as well. "That’s okay, we’re doing it," was his reply. You have to know Brian- when he says something like this, it is going to happen. I told him that I had just ordered a 426- he could not believe the luck! Now we had a race bike and a backup bike for parts. I told him okay, let’s do it, if we ride his bike. (I wanted to have a motorcycle left at the end of a 2000 mile desert race.) Nevada desert guru Casey Folks was running the show; his Best in the Desert organization has a reputation for putting on the best rides around. We knew Casey from twenty-five years ago- would he remember us?
Brian and I grew up in Las Vegas and both got into dirt bikes about the same time. My first race was the DRA Baker to Vegas in 1972- remember that one? I rode my little DKW Hornet to a third place in the 125 beginner, under 16 class. When that trophy showed up in the mail, I was hooked. I met Brian in Junior high, when we were competing against each other for our respective school’s dirt bike teams. (Yes- they had school dirt bike teams back then! I thought it would be cool to letter in bikes, but the school wouldn’t go for that) I was racing my first motorcycle in the "little bike" class- a Honda CL-70. Not the world’s best, even at that time. Brian had a stripped down Yamaha 125 enduro, complete with auto-lube. We became close friends a year or so later, when he got his first "real" bike- a Yamaha 360 MX. I got a 73 Honda Elsinore, then traded that for a 74 Husky cr-250 Mag. I started racing regularly in 1974, marching through the ranks and moving up to Expert. One thing was clear- Brian was a little better than me in the desert. I was actually a better rider than him overall, in that I could whip him in motocross, in jumping, doing wheelies, and in all around riding. But put that guy in the desert and something deep, down, inside him kicked in- he was really fast going across the open desert. Not a lot faster than me, but enough that I never beat him in a race fair and square. We were both top ten finishers, with my best being a fourth overall behind Jack Johnson, Scott Harden, and Max Switzer. Pretty fast company, for certain. Heck- back then the race was for third, if Jack and Scott were present. I knew I’d never be an overall winner, but I could hold my own with most of the racers in our area and in Southern California.
I retired from racing in 1981 when I moved to Northern California for a job in the computer industry. I stopped racing cold turkey for a while, but as luck would have it, I met my wife on a dirt bike. (we’ve been married seventeen years now) I taught her how to ride in the dirt- we started doing some family enduros, with me riding along with her to make sure she was okay. I rode the 1983 Barstow to Vegas and finished 100th or so after surviving a neat crash that wiped out my bike. That was my last race in the desert. I bought a KTM 300 in 1993 and continued to ride in the mountains of Northern California a few times a year, but there was just no time for the bike anymore. Until December, 1999, when Brian called me and told me we were doing the 2000. Once those new Yamaha’s finally arrived, we started a riding program that included going to the Nevada 200 invitational trail ride in April. Parts of it turned out to be more like a national enduro, but it was great practice for us, as well as an absolute blast to ride in the desert again. Scott Harden is still way fast.
Fast forward to July, 2000. My parents, as well as Brian’s dad, signed up to crew for us the minute they heard about the ride. They were our pit crews while we were racing as kids and thought it sounded like fun. (Uh huh. Let’s see if they still think that after the ride.) After spending a few thousand dollars on the entry, spare wheels and consumable bike parts, I took almost two weeks off from work and drove down to Phoenix to pick up Brian and his bike. (He doesn’t have a truck) We drove back to Las Vegas- boy, that town has changed since 1981. I get a little irritated when I see some of the areas that we were not able to ride our dirt bikes in, due to the potential damage to the desert. I’d like someone to tear up that housing development, or golf course, and show me that fragile dirt. Oh well. At least the Nevada BLM still has it together and works well with the racing groups. We headed to the Oasis Hotel for signup, tech inspection, and impound. Who were all these people? It was strange to not know a single person at the ride. I got to see riders I have been following in the magazines: Ty Davis, Johnny Cambell, Destry Abbot, Brian Brown, Paul Krause: these are the fast guys! It was really intimidating to me to be around all these riders, especially all these kids! When we were racing, the over 30 and over 40 riders were the old farts who just got in the way all the time. Now here we are, signed up as over 40 expert, sportsman class. The bikes looked so good, and those race trucks are hard to believe these days. There’s Larry Rosseler, over in the Toyota pits. He wouldn’t remember me, even though I raced against him a couple of times. (of course he beat me) We checked the bike in and left it in the impound area, right next to the other bikes that were in our class. There go those darn butterflies again!
Sunday morning, five am- the first day of the ride. Brian and I decided that I would do the little time trial that was used to determine our start position for the first day. It seemed like a good idea, since I can turn better than he can, and I’d rather have him start, anyway. I don’t know if I could have handled the nerves. I got to ride the bike the twenty miles out to the start from the hotel, right down Interstate 15. It was neat, except for the cars that kept trying to merge with those weird bikes with no lights. We got to the start area and I lined up for the start of the trial. It was actually fun and easy, except that I stalled the motor of the big thumper in the first half of the 2 mile loop. Dammit! Here I am, goofing up already. I restarted and took off, riding the rest of the loop pretty well. I figured I would have been last in class, but strangely enough Brian got to start third in our class. I guess everyone else must have crashed.
It felt good to give him the bike- he looked relaxed, but I bet he was turning over inside as well. My crew and I took off for the Valley of Fire- the first and only pit stop on the 100 mile first day. We saw the leaders’ dust smoking across the valley as we drove along the freeway towards the check. Man, they were going fast! We got set up and started waiting, me standing there with all my gear on, pacing like a little kid. It was like being in a time warp- I was transported back to 1980 when we did the Las Vegas 400 team race. It felt exactly the same- waiting and wondering when he would get there. He showed up in the dust, we did a decent gas fill (no quick fill- we used 5 gallon cans), I hopped on the bike and took off. Boy- it felt good to get on the bike. The course was not anything like I expected. It was rough desert and sandwashes, the same stuff we used to race on all the time. There were no other riders around me as I ripped down the washes, though the rocks, and across the desert. I really expected to be passed immediately, by everyone. I rode for 20 minutes or so without even seeing another rider, and the first rider I saw was in front of me- I was catching someone! Wow! I was back in the late 70s, chasing down that guy in front of me, trying to ride safely in the dust. I actually passed the guy in the wash, in a corner. I don’t think there’s a bike alive that can come out of a sand corner like that 426. I got him and tried to ride smooth, expecting him to pass me back. A few minutes later, I turned around- no one. He was gone. Could it be? Yes! I was riding well, but my hands and arms were hurting already. I just tried to ignore it and keep going. My first ride was a 50-mile section that went by too quickly. I got caught on a fast road by a guy on one of those new Honda XR 650s. He passed me and I stayed with him for a while- we began catching other riders, and it got really dusty. I had to let him go when I refused to go fast when I couldn’t see. We got on some roads that were so fast, I had the bike tapped out, riding just below the rev limitter. I thought at this point that if we were going to do 1700 some odd miles at this kind of RPM, this bike is going to melt. I heard a bike catch up to me from behind, and much to my astonishment, it was a quad! And it was going fast! Cripes- am I going that slow? No, this guy was really hauling! I could not keep up with that thing in the tight sand washes, but it didn’t matter due to all the dust it was kicking up. The thing was like a mini dune buggy. I was pondering how it could go that fast, when out of no-where, the finish line appears! I zoom past the checkered flag, and the first day is over already! I was a little amazed that I had done the 50 miles that quickly, and that only about 3 bikes had passed me. We packed up and headed for the work area and impound site in Mesquite.
This was an interesting part of the ride- it felt a lot like the ISDE must feel. You had to stay on time from the finish of the ride to the work area, and once there, you only had 70 minutes to do your daily work on your machine. We got right to work: we changed the rear wheel, cleaned the filter, changed the oil and filter, gassed it up, checked the coolant, and went over every nut and bolt on the bike. Not bad- we finished in about 45 minutes or so. Piece of cake. (Hmmmm.) We impounded the bike, cleaned up our area and headed for the hotel. Heck- it was only noon! We were feeling pretty good about ourselves, but would learn later on in the week, that it wasn’t a piece of cake, since the rest of the days would be a lot longer than a paltry 100 mile ride. We were quite jazzed to see the results of the first day when they were posted at the riders meeting- we were first in class, by 10 minutes! That put us in a strange frame of mind, sort of a stupefied, competitive, yet trying-to-be-smart mood. This was just the first day, we kept reminding ourselves. Just ride to finish, and cool it. Smart advice!
Two-thirty in the morning is too early to get up, no matter what. We had to get up, load the bike, and drive almost 100 miles to the start, in Alamo. Brian was starting out again this morning- we had a nice three hundred plus mile jaunt up to Ely, Nevada, in front of us. We ended up 31st overall after the first day and started the event in the 31st position. We watched Brian head out into the dust and then drove out to the first pit, 45 miles away. He arrived in 27th or so after passing a few riders. He’s still fast! I got on and took off like a shot, up a really fast wash. No riders at the moment- clear sailing with no dust. Until they caught me. Two riders came up and passed me, creating a wall of dust that just would not clear. We were heading across a dry lake that was already silty, throwing up clouds of choking dust. There was zero wind- I had to slow down to almost a stop to see where I was going. I just could not get out of their dust, so I rode back a bit, trying to see where I was going. It was here I did my only real crash of the event- a second gear high-side sort of thing, after blowing a corner in the dust. Eventually they pulled away, leaving me a clear shot into the next pit in Caliente, where we used to race every year. After another slow pit stop (Damn, EVERYONE else was using quick fills), I gave Brian the bike and sent him down the trail. We jumped in the truck, filled up with gas, and took off for the next pit. Brian got to go through all the neat water crossings in Clover Creek, getting soaked in the process. He passed a couple more riders on his way up to the next pit, where I took over again. Funny- there didn’t seem to be many riders around, and the ones I could see were quite spread out already. A guy on a KTM passed me in the rocks, but after that I was by myself for quite a while again. The route stayed in the desert for a while, before hitting the first really, really fast stuff I had been on. There were these roads like freeways. I rode along for minutes at a time, tapped out, as fast as that Yammie would go. A couple of bikes passed me on these roads- those new XR’s can really go. Here I am, crouched down, going 87 miles an hour, and a guy passes me slowly on one of those darn honda 650’s. I look over, he shrugs and puts me in his dust. We should have geared higher, I guess. Once we were off the freeways and onto some neat desert roads, some guy on a Yamaha passed me and just rode away from me- I wondered about that at the time. I stayed with his dust for a minute or so, but he was gone. It turned out to be none other than Ty Davis. I felt relieved when I heard that. He was really on the gas. I passed a guy on yet another XR 650 in a wash, he got me back on some roads. I got him back in the desert, he zaps me on the fast stuff. This is getting old! I just couldn’t keep up with those things on the roads. A little while after that, I watched a guy go sailing by me on a dusty turn, right off the road and over the bars when he blew the turn in the dust. After a quick check to make sure he was okay, I reminded myself- that’s what I wasn’t going to do. A few miles later, I gave Brian back the bike and noticed something- I didn’t seem to be tired or sore. That was encouraging. Brian was riding very fast, but was having blister problems. He came into the next pit with a front flat- we swapped the wheel as quick as we could and I kept going. I later took a look at the wheel- it was a goner! Spokes broken, hanging out, a big ding in the rim. I hope we don’t need a third front wheel later on! My last leg seemed to be either super fast or quite technical. I was making time in the tough stuff, but loosing a little on the roads. Good thing there was way more desert than roads! Brian took the bike and finished up in Ely, right around 12:30 or so, but well ahead of those trucks and buggies. Our work time was a little more rushed, since we replaced the chain and both wheels this time, as well as all the routine stuff. We made it in about 55 minutes and checked the bike in. Dinner, a shower, and sleep felt very good. I found I was very tired driving to the finish area.
Day three- a critical day, and my turn to start. I rode the 12 parade miles down the highway to the starting line and was horrified to see what it was. It was a dirt road that looked like a drag strip- flat, wide, smooth, and as straight as an arrow, as far as I could see. Oh man- I’m going to get smoked on these roads. I waited nervously for my start minute, and after the green light flashed I was in fifth gear instantly, going all out. This 55 miles was by far the fastest thing I have ever ridden on, in my life. Lucky for me there were some turns, and it was really dusty through the whole section. Most riders were being smart, staying in their position, avoiding trying to pass on those turns, since looking into the morning sun and dust was blinding. That 426 never saw anything less than fourth gear in that section- I did the 55 miles in something like 50 minutes, and no one passed me. If that motor can take that speed, it can take anything. I hit the first pit quick- Brian hopped on and shot out like a rocket. We jumped in the truck and hurried to pit two, where we waited. And waited. And waited. There goes the 31st bike, the 34th, the 36th. Uh oh. Brian came in slowly and reported that he had bailed, shortly after getting the bike. He went right off the road and over the bars through some bushes he nailed. He hit hard, flattening the bars down on the tank, as well as landing on his fanny pack. He spent a long time getting going, and I’m glad to report that many riders stopped to check on him. All I knew when I took the bike was that he had crashed, but he was riding, so that can’t be too bad. You have to know Brian- if he’s on the bike, he’s going on. I rode off, glad to be back on the bike. I was really enjoying the riding! My 45 miles went through some wonderful desert, then a few roads that would have been at home at Daytona. I did something I have never done before- a seventy-five MPH power slide around a turn. That sure woke me up, since I wasn’t planning on sliding. I was sure glad the road went where it did. I hit the next pit and found Brian with his helmet off, being looked at by the medical team. I could tell by looking at him that he wanted to get back on, but they were insisting on giving him a full check. My mom asked me if I could go on. Of course! I got gas and rode off, now wondering what was going to happen. I had visions of riding the next three days by myself! I was really glad to see Brian at the next pit, ready to take the bike back. He hopped on and rode, although at a little more subdued pace. He made it to the last segment, where he turned the bike back over to me. I got back on for a really rough, rocky, and silty section to the finish. I passed a few riders that had passed Brian, and got to the finish before the trucks, but with a narrow 15-minute cushion. I didn’t want those beasts sneaking up behind me! Our drive to the work area took a while, and we pulled the tank today to replace the spark plug as a precaution. Pull the tank, to change a plug? Technology is neat, but can be a pain sometimes. Three days down, about 750 race miles or so. I was really pleased to see I was not getting tired or thrashed, as I expected to. I was really enjoying riding the bike, even in the snotty stuff. I was also pleased to see that even through all our problems, we were still just about tied for the lead in our class. That team on the KTM behind us was making up time, though. They were riding very consistently, and had not had as much as a flat so far. At least one of the three guys on that team were wearing one of those really cool ISDE American team helmets- the solid blue ones with the white stripes. What a great psyc job! I always had a fantasy about going to the six days and having one of those helmets.
Brian once again started day four, but he was really sore and was not clicking on all cylinders. He did ride the incredibly dusty 70 or so miles to the second pit where I was, but he lost a few positions in the process. I saw some other guys in our class come in before him- we had been ahead of these teams all week so far. He came in and gave me the bike- he told us that he was riding like hell and was not having a good time. That’s cool. He was still out there, riding while in pain. I knew he wouldn’t quit- again, you have to know him. There’s something inherently tenacious about desert racers. I hopped on the bike and tore off, looking for those guys in our class. There were a couple of Native Americans out at the mouth of this nasty, rocky canyon, giving a prayer chant to the bikes as they flashed by. Pretty neat. I caught the first right away and passed him, and passed the second a minute later, and then headed out across some fantastic cross country desert. This was just like the old days- I was really loving it, and once again, passed a couple of riders. I got caught up in some nasty dust for a while and could not go anywhere in a hurry, but at least no one was passing me, either. If you had asked me before the race if I would be concerned with anyone passing me, I’d have said I expected to finish last. Now here I am, racing with people! No one passed me, except a Quad (who stuffed me in a turn, but before I could get pissed, he looked back and waived "sorry." I appreciated that), all the way to the next pit, where Brian hopped on and took off again. We packed up the truck and were just about to leave, when here’s Brian, back in the pits, pointing to the front tire. It was flat! I don’t remember that, but the tire was indeed flat. In fact, it had a huge gash torn out of the side. How, and when, did I do that? Oh well, we changed it and sent him back on his way. Only one more spare front wheel. His dad reported he was feeling good- it showed, since he was passing people as well. I got the bike back for my last leg of the day, but had to ride two back to back when I beat the crew truck to the last gas. All of the crew people at the gas stops were so cool- if any rider made the run down pit lane and didn’t find his crew, all he had to do is turn around and the nearest crew would wave you in and give you gas. It was a great show of camaraderie, even between competing teams. I got a little thirsty during the last leg, but still rode well, all the way in to the finish. I beat those trucks again! Back to impound, this time we changed the chain and brake pads, along with the normal stuff. We were getting better at the maintenance, and had no problem getting finished in our 70 allotted minutes. At the riders meeting we saw that that darn KTM team had passed us up by a good 10 minutes. They were still having a trouble free ride, and I bet they used a quick fill! It was about at this point that we realized: hey! We are spending about a minute at each stop, putting gas in the bike. Everyone else has a quick fill- 5 to 6 seconds and they are gone. Let’s see: 35 or some odd pits, a minute each, do the math- we gave away almost a half hour in just gas alone!
Day five was another good day for us, but we had a little more lost time. Brian started out again, but it took him a while to get clicking, after doing another crash that sent him down a little ledge, but not nearly as nasty as his prior getoff. He also had to do two sections back to back due to pitting logistics. Special thanks to the Team Green guys at pit one. My mom and dad were there to gas Brian, and all they had was a little red gas can, some Gatorade, and a pair of goggles. "Here he comes," shouted my mom. The Kawasaki pit boss looked up at my parents, and after a second, he asked: "Where is his crew?" "We’re it!" they replied. The guy looked at them a second, looked at Brian heading in, looked back again at my parents, back at Brian (I bet you could just feel his brain working) and shouted "Come on, guys!" to his team. They ran out and took professional care of Brian, who was riding a Yamaha, no less. Desert racers are good people. My mom also told me I better buy a Kawasaki! The leaders of our class had pulled out a bigger lead, and those pesky two other teams had just slipped by Brian. I got the bike at gas two and tore off, intending to get back some of that time we had lost again. I passed one of the teams right away, and just as I passed the second, I blew the turn, where he promptly got me back. I slipped by him again, and he did the same to me in the next turn. Hmmmm, okay, we got a race, here, it seems. Just as I was about to pounce again, the course headed off the road, across a silt bed, towards a cattle guard. He kicked up so much dust I had to just slow down to about zero. It should have been zero, because as I plodded along at about 3 miles an hour, not able to see my fender, I suddenly ended up on the front fender. BOING! I had hit the barbwire fence, and my front wheel was stuck. It took me a couple of minutes to extract the wheel from the wire, cursing my stupidity as I got going again. I rode along in the dust of a few riders, biding my time, being safe. I wanted to go and catch him, but not when I couldn’t see. After an exhausting deep sand whoop section, we went up and down these roller-coaster roads that had hills a few hundred feet high. It was cool- you race full blast to the top of a huge hill, grab the brakes hard, crawl over the top to see where the road goes, you see it, then it’s zoom down the other side. What would those trucks do to these roads? I was glad I wouldn’t be behind them. The course jumped into a wash, where I caught up to the last guy in our class and was about to pass, when we went up onto a really cool, cross country desert trail that may have been a road a while ago. It was great- I caught him and just blew by him at high speed. I rode like JN Roberts for the next five miles or so to the next pit and snuck a look behind me- he was no where in site. I was pumped when I got off the bike- Brian picked up on my excitement and the fact I had passed a bunch of riders. He shot out of the pit, looking like the fast pre-crash Brian. I hopped in the truck and blasted down the highway in order to beat him to the next check. This proved to be a problem a few times during the ride. We pulled into the pit the moment he did- I leaped out and threw my gear on while my dad gassed the bike. Brian was back! He had not only kept time, he had passed a few riders in the process. I rode off in great spirits, especially after I caught and passed two guys in the first couple of miles. The course turned rough- sand whoops and rocks for a few miles. I was still feeling good, and actually passed two more riders in this section. A quad did get by me here, but I decided those things are not mortal, or something. It seemed that some guys went really fast on those things, while others seemed to cruise. Funny- just like bikes! I got the bike back to Brian without incident, but missed him at my next gas stop, forcing him to ride a double section into the finish line. We both rode well all day, making up and loosing some time on that KTM team- we ended up finishing slightly behind those guys again. They were riding really well, even though they had three riders! They were about 30 minutes ahead or so on adjusted time- it would be hard to catch them on the short 220-mile day six.
Day six started out fine- Brian rode two short sections filled with rocks and gave me the bike at gas two. Yeah! The KTM had started about 8 bikes ahead of Brian, and that orange two-stroke had just left about a minute before, when Brian came in! He was pumped up! I was scheduled to ride the next two sections, give the bike to him for the fifth, then I would ride the last 45 miles to the finish. The finish! We were talking about the finish of this race. Brian did a great job ripping through his two sections- he had made up almost 4 minutes on them already! I was jazzed as I took off for my two sections. I was having a great time, riding well, smooth, and as fast as I had gone all week. I was singing as I flew up this wash, both feet on the pegs, just sailing up the hill, using the power of that bike to launch out of turns. Man, what fun! I passed two bikes, but was passed by two guys who were going really fast down an incredibly dangerous, dusty, rocky road. I just slowed down and let them go. I’m not crashing, thank you. I stopped for a second to see if I could help a broken bike, then took off and rode into the pit where my parents were with the gas. I had a great stop and picked up the three "G’s"- gas, Gatorade, and goggles. My mom was shouting: "Number 728 is just ahead of you! GO! GO!" I was smiling as I shot out of the pit, and headed for a really neat section that went through a dry lake bed, but with bumps you had to watch for at top speed. I was smoking along in fifth gear when I heard it- BUHWAHH! Our White Brothers E-series pipe/spark arrestor combo split in half, right where the pipe and silencer were joined. Oh, no, not now. Please don’t break, bike. I kept riding, but the bike had no power on top end and would barely pull fourth gear in the silt. And it was silty- the foofy, liquid dirt type of stuff that makes so much dust you don’t want to imagine it. The bike was so loud my ears were ringing as I rode, trying in vain to go fast. Four or five people passed me, since the bike would just blubber and pop. I was trying to baby it- this is my first four stroke, and I didn’t want it to blow up. Not now! I finally made it to the next pit, where Brian was ready and waiting. Until he heard the bike. I think they could have heard the bike back at the start line. I pulled over to the truck and told Brian and his dad the pipe was toast, and we would have to replace it. It was great- Brian was thinking he could just maybe go on like this, but I told him no way, no power. We quickly went about the job of swapping the pipe with the pipe on my backup bike- lucky it broke on the way to a pit where we had the trailer. A couple of burned hands and about 20 minutes later, Brian took off on the repaired bike. We threw all the tools and trashed pipe into the trailer and took off for pit five, where he would turn the bike back over to me for the last leg. He made it to the pit in great time- yeah, he had the power back! He was tired, though, since the last five miles of his section was an old buggy route that was whooped out and rocky. That pipe had done us in- now we were hoping that KTM would break. (nope- I used to have one. No way.) Casey had told us at the riders meeting that the last 50 miles today were the roughest in the ride. He defined the trail as "gnarly". Casey has a gift for understatement. That course was rough! It was by far the slowest of the week, without a doubt. It was really torn up and rocky. I spent a lot of time in second and third gear in this section, and no one passed me. There were a few sections I was riding like a trials rider over the rocks. I was really getting a work out over the old trashed buggy course. I still felt good, though, and as tired as I was, I kept pushing. I caught a guy who looked trashed and was just wallowing through the rocks. Then a quad got me- those things can go, especially in the rocky washes. All I could think about was not falling, and getting to the finish line. I finally found something worse to ride in than silt with buried rocks: silt with buried rocks and sand! You had to ride by feel through this crap. I came over a rise and saw the town of Parumph- I was going to make it! It was still 10 miles or more of this stuff, but I picked it up and even caught another bike. Oops- never mind- he was riding on a flat. A few turns later, and I saw it- the finish! I rode in, feeling as good as I have in many, many years. Casey was there with a huge handshake, and a water bottle to douse me off with. Brian was grinning ear to ear, my parents were jumping up and down. It was a really neat scene! I got to ride up this big ramp and get interviewed for the crowd. It was done! We had actually finished, and it looked like we were second in class. It turned out we finished 31st overall, second over 40 expert. And that was after 2 flats, a blown up wheel, two crashes, replacing the pipe, not using a quick fill, and me having a small disagreement with that fence. All in all we couldn’t have been happier. I don’t ever remember feeling a sense of accomplishment like this, even in my prior racing days. That darn KTM team who rode so well beat us by a little over an hour. At the finish, they said "yeah, we had a great ride- no problems, not even a flat." Grumble. Hats off, guys. You rode a great ride, and next time, we will have a quick fill!
I can’t speak highly enough of Casey and his organization. I think they really are the best in the desert. I can’t imagine the effort it took to pull this event off, yet they did it, and I think they did an unbelievable job. The ride was professionally run, well organized, and I still can’t believe how they marked a course almost 2000 miles long that well. Casey survived everything from a wild fire to trucks getting stuck in the mud. (In the desert?) Now if Casey can just figure out how to do it, without having to get up at 2:30 in the morning! That was the worst part of the entire week. This event was part race, part enduro, and part sleep depravation contest. Casey said there will be a Nevada 1000 in the future- you can bet I’ll be there, this time with higher gearing, a quick fill, another crew vehicle, one of those steering dampers, and my partner Brian. We’ll use my bike next time!
I’m going to close with my favorite Casey Folks story- I think every Southern Nevada racer has at least one. The year was 1973, I was at my third desert race as a Novice. The race was a hare scrambles put on by one of the premier racing clubs in southern Nevada at the time- the Groundshakers. Casey was very involved with the club for many years before he started up Best in the Desert. I was about 20 miles into the ride and came up on a check that was situated on top of a high mesa. There was Casey, marking the riders tank cards as they zipped through the check. I got my check and rode forward, wondering where all the riders had gone. They just seemed to disappear. I got my answer when I rode about a hundred feet to the top of a hill, where I quickly stopped. The course went down this hill, that wasn’t really a hill. It was a nightmare! Straight down, covered in rocks, silty dirt, bushes, and two turns around trees halfway down. It was so steep I could not believe it. As I sat there, wondering if I should turn around, Casey noticed me as I paused at the top of the summit. He ran over and shouted into my helmet: "Hey bud, everything okay?" I glanced over at him- his expression changed instantly when he looked in my eyes through my dusty goggles. He saw the fear in there and changed his demeanor, completely. He pushed the kill button on my bike, it quit with a little pop. He reached over and put one arm around my shoulder; the other he placed on my arm. I never said a word through this entire episode. "Okay," he said, in a calm and clear voice. It was a good voice- no anger, no urgency, no giving orders. Just calm and clear. "Here’s what you’re going to do. I need you to get down that hill. Know what? You’re going to get down, one way or another. There’s this thing called gravity that’s going to take you down that hill, weather you like it or not." He paused, and looked at me. "You can’t let gravity beat you. You have to show that bastard that you can kick his ass." I just sat there, in the silence, on top of that precipice, looking at Casey, my hands on the bars. "I need you to get up on the pegs, stand up, use that front brake, and pick your way through those rocks on top. When you get to that first turn, sit on down, shoot around that tree, then back up on the pegs. Slow and easy, all the way down. Stay up on those pegs and use that front brake. Got it?" I nodded, not saying a word. I think my hands were shaking a little. "Fire her up, and head on down there. That hill is just a tilted straight. No problem." I started the bike, nodded to him again, and rode off, towards the top of the cliff. He slapped me on the back as I moved forward. I came to the edge of the hill and started down, swallowing hard as I stood up on the pegs. I used both brakes and sort of bounced my way down the first part of the hill, through the huge rocks. I remember thinking I better do this right, since Casey Folks told me to. I bounced a bit as I rounded the turn, heading down again, the front wheel deflecting off the rocks, but the bike went down the hill. I rounded the last turn, and still standing, I rode down the last little rough part, though the ditch at the bottom, and up a little rise. I stopped and turned around to look at the hill I just came down. Funny- from down here, it didn’t look all that bad. I looked up and there was Casey, up on top, watching me all the way. As I looked up, he flashed me the now signature Casey Folks icon- a quick, salute-like, thumbs up. I nodded to him, turned, and took off down the trail. I remember feeling a sense of accomplishment I hadn’t felt before. I could do it!
Casey- as you are so found of saying, and I say this from the heart: I salute you!