Fifteen years ago, night racing was only possible for those with big budget, as lighting components were extremely expensive. However, technology began to drive the price down about ten years ago, resulting in an explosion of amateur night racing event available for the masses. The 2009 Almost 25 hour event at Starvation Ridge would be my first trek into the night racing world, and I was exhilarated to say the least.

About two months prior to the event, I had essentially been drafted onto the PANTRA club team by Randy, a draft I willingly accepted. This meant I needed lighting for my charging-challenged KX450F, and opted for a dual 10 watt LED system for the bike, and a Solstice HID spot, all from Cyclops Motosports.

All the planning was set, and our team made its way to the race site on Friday, October 30th. This day was spent getting generators setup, lighting, popup canopies, wind breaks, and cold weather gear in place and ready. Forecast was calling for rain, snow or sun, but the race site had already seen its share of wet weather earlier in the week. No one knew if conditions would be sloppy, frozen or epic, as the weather gods revealed their secrets to no one, be we were all hoping for epic conditions.

Race day arrived, and the team arose early for final preparations.



From the left are Tom (newbie to night riding who didn’t even have his own lights), Rick (your illustrious host of this written excursion), Ed (night rider from birth), Kert (the token kid on the team), Randy (our fearless leader…ok, not quite so fearless, but leader none-the-less), and Adam (or “Scab” as he will forever now be known)

Yes, we looked like the not so feared team, ranging in age from 19 to 50. We came to the event because we all love to ride, becoming a hodgepodge of desert racers, mountain trail riders and a kid. We had not really talked about our chances of doing well at the event, but I really didn’t think we had much of a chance at winning our class, or doing well overall. Just too many new night-riders on the team, me included.
Start time had arrived, preceded by a frightening riders meeting where racers were warned of all the dangers of off-trail excursions, as well as the dangers of on-trail riding. So, let me get this straight. Ride off the trail, and there’s lots of danger. Got it. Ride of the trail, and there’s lots of danger. Hmmm, the word for the day seems to be danger, with the first lap for every rider statistically the most dangerous of all laps to be ridden in the next 24 hours. Danger and risk that would become all too apparent as the race progressed.

Club teams, the class in which we would compete, started in one of the last waves of riders, with each team selecting one member they hoped would give them an edge, all the while knowing that in a 24 hour event, the start is not where the race is won. Just too many miles ahead, and too many possibilities.

We selected Kert, our token kid, to start the event. Since the start required the rider to sit…backwards…on his bike, jump off at the start signal, remount the bike in the correct position, start the bike, then race towards the first corner, we didn’t think anyone else on the team was capable of such a maneuver without tipping their bike into the next, and the next, and the next. A domino effect of sorts that would, no doubt, leave us the most popular team at the event. So, Kert was our man on the start, and boy did the kid make us proud.



Kert got a great 2nd place start (that’s him in the background), and was on the inside on the first corner. It didn’t take long for the hunt for slower riders to begin, as Kert passed rider after rider, improving our overall position with every pass.

I was next in the rotation, so made ready my iron horse for the first of many laps.



My lovely wife joined me on this adventure, as she has done many, many times over the last 20 years of racing. After this picture, she said I look grumpy. Nope, not grumpy, that’s just my race face, babe. Heck, after that riders meeting, I was not looking forward to my first lap. I know I can ride, even at the ripe old age of 50, but I have not entered a heads-up race in some time, and with all the talk of danger, danger, danger, my heart was racing under that “calm”, iron clad exterior.

As I sat atop big green waiting for Kert to arrive with the team transponder, I processed the first few miles through my mind, a kind of mental racing picture. Don’t go out too bold. Pace yourself. Get warmed up before trying to pass. Most of all don’t go too fast through the pits, as there were radar guns, five dollar fines for speeding, and worst of all, a five minute penalty. Geez, that’s a lot of pressure for the oldest member of the team, but my destiny was set.

Kert arrived with a first loop time of about 1 hour and 2 minutes, a time that would be representative of most every day lap run by each member of the team. Great first lap, and I was committed to holding that lap time.

As I broke free from the 5 mph pit-leash, I had two riders in front. The last thing my lovely bride of 30 years had said before I departed was “Don’t follow”. Geez, talk about pressure! She is such a meek little thing until she gets her race face on, and then it’s “Wow, that was a slow lap, think you can ratchet it up a notch?” Well, gotta love a girl that loves to see “her man” compete, an asset few men have at their side.

The first section snaked through a small grove of trees along a pond, and it felt like riding back home in the technical trees. Well that lasted about 200 yards, when we broke into the first wide, well used section of the course. I had quickly caught the two riders in front of me, the back rider falling into line behind the first. On the third corner, remembering the gentle reminder from my spouse, I dove to the inside of the corner, leaving the two to take the outside line, the line that found them watching the rear of my britches slip in front and pull away. That’s the last I saw of them, as neither attempted a retaliatory pass. First pass completed, and I didn’t even bobble. Whew!

Rocks were plentiful in this first section, and I found myself bouncing from rock to rock, on the edge of crashing more often than not. “I have to be smoother”, I told myself. While one team member can’t win it for the team, one member can certainly lose it by riding too far over the ragged edge. I focused my mind, and began to flow from corner to corner to the end of this first section. Then came the house…

Yes, folks, the house. The course appeared to go into the front door of a little house (the barn was on the second loop), through the living room, kitchen, and right out the back door. My bars were too wide to enter through the narrow doorway (maybe I should have put on my narrow East Coast bars), so required a quick wiggle as I passed each of the three doors. Clear of the house, the course made its way to one of the many grass track sections. Seems the promoter had simply taken a bush mower and meandered through the grassy fields, and the course emerged. Barrels and flags marked each flat corner, no berm present on which to slam the rear tire to increase exit speed, just lots of flat, grassy, choppy corners. It was becoming clear that this event was going to be won or lost by corner speed, so I began to focus on faster corners.



At the eight mile mark, the course snaked back to the pits for the first check. As I rounded the corner, I noticed Sandy, standing in the cold wind, camera in hand, waiting for me to pass. Her enthusiasm not affected by her shivering as she shouted “GO GET EM’, HONEY”, my response a simple “HEY SWEETIE”.

In the next several corners, still in sight of Sandy, I passed a couple more riders, not paying attention to anything more than the fact that I needed to move around any bike in front of me. Remembering Sandy’s encouragement as I departed the pits, “Don’t follow”, she had witnessed her encouragement in action.

The second loop was by far the most fun, comprised heavily of the mowed grassy section. My nervousness for rocks hidden in these sections was beginning to wane, and my speed was increasing in the corners with this confidence. The only thing I wasn’t doing was standing up, so was still sitting more than not. While standing is my normal riding position, I just could not muster the mental strength to stay standing through each corner, as I did not yet have confidence that my front tire would hold a solid line through the chop. My forearms were beginning to pay the price, as they slowly got harder and harder, as blood flow became more restricted. It was becoming more difficult to hang onto the bike, a problem that could easily end my race.

Down one long section of well used trail, filled with jumps and whoops, I had stood for most of the distance, but sat for just an instant at the exact wrong time. The front end twisted left when I hit rock, just enough that my right hand, the one connected to the throttle, shot the bike forward at full throttle, sending me headlong towards a huge mound of dirt signaling a right hand turn. Mach one towards disaster.

My mind raced as I tried to release the throttle, forearm so hard, making it virtually impossible to release the vise like grip I had on the throttle, trying to stand, momentum working against me, stand just so briefly to release the throttle that would keep me from hitting the dirt mound at full speed, injuries no doubt to follow. This was a crisis moment of epic proportions, one every racer has experienced during their career.

Somehow, with seemingly no room to spare, I stood, the throttle was released, and I slammed both tires into the dirt mound, rocketing myself around the corner and into the next grassy section. Close calls like that scare the life out of every rider, and force a reevaluation of one’s race strategy. I was sitting too much, plain and simple. In addition, the front forks were adjusted way too stiff for so many miles of choppy terrain. The forks would have to wait, but I was not going to repeat that event, and forced myself to stand in a more appropriate race position.

I was approaching the end of the second section, the second check in sight. Again, I saw my wife, standing in the cold wind, waiting to cheer “her man” as I passed. Seeing her, I was reignited as I attacked the third section, the most difficult section of the event.



The most common obstacle on loop three was rocks, lots and lots of ROCKS. While I normally ride rocks well, it’s more difficult when the rocks blend so well with the natural terrain. Loop three was a standing loop, as standing allows you to take a big hit with the front wheel, like hitting that unnoticed rock that’s as big as an ice chest (which occurred on my first night lap at 11 PM), but allows you to recover without taking a dirt sample. I put this theory to the test many times on this first time through the third loop, but my now rock-hard forearms made it more and more difficult to keep a good grasp on the bars.

I raced down the last section of whoops, and into the home check where I was promptly warned that the last section into the tent was a 5 mph section. Uh, guess I stayed in race mode a little too long.

I survived my first lap, and handed the transponder to our team captain, Randy. His turn to test his readiness against this difficult course.

I shared my thoughts of the course with those waiting their turn, and immediately retired to the RV to attend to my right forearm with heat and ice. I had many more miles to ride, and these forearms had to return in race shape. Right now I was finding it difficult to even pickup a sandwich, a problem that had to be rectified.

About four hours into the event, we received word that a rider was down on the course. Word of a rider down passes through the pits like wildfire, as anxiety begins to build, awaiting word on which team will be impacted. With each rider that passed the home check, teams were at the same time relieved that their rider was not the subject rider, and concerned for the condition of the rider who was still unidentified.

After several more minutes, word spread that the rider, now identified as Kevin Parks, crashed hard, and life flight had been called. Every racers heart sinks when they hear that life flight has been called for a fellow rider, as this is our own worst fear realized by another member of our ranks. Yes, we are all competing for the same plastic and wood first place trophy, but injuries serious enough to require life flight is not a sufficient trade-off for such a lackluster prize.

Another 20 minutes pass, and word spread that Kevin Parks has died on the course of the injuries sustained in the crash. DIED ON THE COURSE! No one was prepared to hear those words, NO ONE!

We all realize that we participate in an inherently risky sport, one that comes with the risk of serious injury, but none of us acknowledge to ourselves that death can result. With the announcement, men, who finish laps with blood streaming down their face, dislocated wrists and shoulders, broken bones, tough men who have endured significant pain over the course of their race careers, broke down in tears at hearing that one of our own had perished doing what each of them so dearly loves.

Many, many racers in the pit knew Kevin, several resigning their involvement in the event, too distraught to continue.

Others, like myself, had never met Kevin, but when we heard of his death, where overwhelmed with emotion none-the-less. Kevin was a brother in our sport, and when a brother falls, we are all impacted, and we all weep.

My wife and I were given the news at the same time, and she was visibly shaken. With two boys and a husband racing all over the country for 20 years, she has seen her share of hospitals in far off places, tending to injuries sustained at various events. The realization that she could lose one of us to this sport sunk deep, and shocked her to the core.

No longer was she the race mom, “Don’t follow”, “Attack” or “Let’s pick those laps times up”. No, she was now the grieving mom, grieving for a family who has just lost a son, a brother, a husband.

My mind reflected on my past experience in promoting these types of events, when we lost a rider at a National Hare and Hound desert race many years ago. I remembered having to tell the family, sitting in their motor home so far from home, that we had found their son, but that he had not survived. The overwhelming grief I felt and shared with the family. I thought this memory was buried deep in the archives of my mind, but it burst to life once again as I heard of Kevin’s death. A memory I hoped to never relive, sprung to life as if it were yesterday. One tragic memory now joined by another I would like to bury in the deepest places in my mind, never again to emerge.

My turn for the next lap was fast approaching, and I had to ready myself for my next attack on the course. The thoughts of Kevin’s crash overwhelmed my mind; an experience shared by many others at that same instant. Thoughts that must be pushed to the edge of my mind to bring focus to what lay ahead.

I dressed in silence, no longer thinking about my forearms being sore, my suspension being too harsh, the speed at which the team was moving through each lap or how far ahead of the second place team we were. My mind was almost numb to the experiences that had unfolded before this information was made known.

My next lap would start in the daylight, but end in darkness, so my lights were installed and standing at the ready. Sandy’s encouragement as I departed was more subdued for this second lap, as she said only “Be careful, I don’t want to lose you.”

I had cleared my mind, and unlike the first lap, I attacked the course from the beginning, almost with a vengeance. As I popped out of the trees, there was a small downhill jump that landed in the middle of the whoops. On lap one, the whoops were normal and rounded, but as I jumped down the hill, I landed smack in the middle of whoops with sharp edges and deep valleys, destroyed by the sheer number of riders who had done the same downhill jump over the past several hours.

My front forks, adjusted much softer for this second loop, rebounded wildly as I hit the first deep square edge. I immediately grabbed a handful of throttle, forcing the front wheel into the air, lightly kissing the tops of each whoop as I passed. This allowed the rear to dance to the top of each trailing whoop, eliminating the wild action that would result with a less aggressive posture. The course had fallen apart, with the chop becoming more pronounced than ever. Standing was no longer desired, it was required out of pure survival.

As I swept onto the first wide section, I was standing in attack mode, sitting for only those corners too sharp to sweep aggressively while standing. I immediately caught several slower riders, no doubt putting them a lap down from our team.

Once again, I raced through the little house, and towards the first grassy section. I found myself longing for the grassy sections, as I knew there were few rocks to catch the edge of my tire, causing a sudden deflection to one side or another.

I had been gaining on the rider in front of me, wanting to catch and pass as soon as possible. In the distance, I watched him crash on the face of a jump, his front wheel succumbing to a deflection off a rock. He quickly stood, signaling he was unhurt, allowing me to jump the hill to the left his bike still laying on the face of the jump.



The grassy sections were choppier than ever, but the softer front fork adjustment allowed me to glide over the chop without notice, standing in almost every corner, powering out and to the next. I was having a blast, and my comfort level with the deteriorating course was off the scale. I was in the zone, and it showed.

My second loop ended without much fanfare, as the night had overtaken the pits.



Again, I retired to the RV where Sandy had prepared Fettuccini Alfrado, a welcomed race meal. I took the time to get a few hours sleep, as my night laps were approaching. With injury and bike problems always a possibility, you never know when the team will lose a rider, so take every chance possible to get a few hours of sleep.

I awoke to Adam banging on the door, letting me know that I was on deck for the next lap. I hurriedly dressed, and staged my bike on the pits for my departure. I checked our status, and found we were in still in first place in our class. We had widened the margin to almost 50 minutes over second place, so getting close to putting them down a lap.

Our team had enjoyed bench racing with the Stump Jumpers team before the event, trading shots at who would be victorious. We all wanted to win, and at this stage, our team was in the lead. However, we all knew that it only takes one hard fall, one flat tire, one bike that won’t start to change the race order. While our teams kidded back and forth, our greatest hope was not for the win, but that everyone would just ride safe.

Kert arrived, and handed off the transponder, and I was off on my first full night lap. Sandy had gotten dressed to await my return, as she knew that given the earlier events, she would not be able to sleep until she knew I was safe.

That first night lap was brutal. While I had already adjusted to the difficulty of the course, jumping off obstacles in the dark is a surreal experience, as it seems like you fall forever. The first few landings were abrupt, but as I began to anticipate the dark landings, they returned to the smooth transition they are meant to be. The moon was full, but that was of little value at race speed.

I found myself wanting to focus on the light emitted by the dual Cyclops LED system attached to my bike, but this light was meant for peripheral vision only, and did not bend around corners. My primary vision needed to be well in front, illuminated by the Solstice HID Helmet light. I quickly adjusted my focus to the helmet light, as this allowed me to see what was coming rather than what was already upon me.

After several miles, the fun factor returned, and I was sweeping from corner to corner as if the sun were at 12 o’clock. Relying on artificial light is a euphoric feeling, as shadows hide many obstacles, including holes and rocks. Truly an exhilarating experience.

This lap seems to progress in slow motion, catching rider after rider, many attempting their night riding laps with nothing more than a stock headlight, a candle in comparison to the lights outfitted on my big green machine. Each allowed me to pass without resistance, as I likewise allowed faster riders to pass without a fight.

As I rode, my eyes often caught sight of the many lights scattered around the course, but the reality was that I had no idea where I was in relation to the pits. My task was simply to follow the course that lay immediately before me, and before I knew it, lap three was over. As I arrived at the pits, I found that the rider for the second place team had just arrive, indicating I had added more than 15 minutes to our lead. We were poised to put second place a lap down, but I had little interesting in staying up for that development.

I filled my bike with gas, setup the charging system so I would have ample battery life for the next lap, woke Ed so he could be ready for Randy’s return, and went to bed. It was time to sleep. Sandy was physically and emotionally exhausted, and would retire for the night.

The remainder of our laps clicked off one by one, each rider attacking the deteriorating course, ensuring they stayed upright, while not allowing anyone to reduce our lead. The last rider out was Ed, and he brought us home to first place, 27th overall, just after 9 AM, the end of the Almost 25 Hour Race.

We had arrived never considering we could actually take the win, but in the end, lap times for every member of the team were virtually the same, consistency that help bring victory to the team.

It’s not the plastic and wood that motivates us to continue these adventures, but rather the quest for the feeling that comes with pushing the envelope to the next level, and the next, and the next, continually pushing the envelope of each or own abilities, stretching further and further with each passing lap.

This is what motivates us to return, and I am sure, that was Kevin’s motivation as well. For those of us addicted to these adventures, asking us to quit because of the inherent risks, risks made all too apparent during this event, is like asking us not to breathe, eat or sleep. Life would simply be missing a key element that keeps us lusting for more. Keeps us feeling alive.

Great write up and thoughts. We had a good time racing with you in our little club class and hope to be back next year, maybe just a little faster next time to really give you a run for your money ;-) I wish I'd come down on Friday and introduced myself. I did get to meet Randy on Sunday though which was great. Cheers and see you guys around.

SJMC club team - #172c

At the risk of sounding like an idiot (wouldn't be the first time), what exactly is the "club" class ? I've asked a bunch of people, but nobody ever knows.

Club class is made up of members of a motorcycle club, and sponsored by that club. In our case, we are all members of PANTRA. Second place team were all members of Stump Jumpers.

kxvett said:

Oh now, you're just rubbing it in :smirk: (kidding)

The upside (and some would say a downside) is that there's no restriction on a club team for age or ability in terms of who can be on the team.

Naw, not rubbing, as our two teams we so close, it was a blast trying to best one another. Next year, I would expect we will see more pre-race bench racing between us all, which is half the fun.

We really didn't have a bunch of fast guys this year, just guys who love to ride, and a 31 year spread in ages. Ironically, all of our lap times were very close.

Very good race report Rick. Congratulations on the win!

TONY

Thats a great write up. Thanks :thumbsup:

As usual....you write up great reports!

Next year....always next year!!!

awesome report!

thanks for the write up! that was great. I rode it as an Ironman so it was nice to hear the perspective of a team/club rider. excelent story! good job PANTRA!