Sidewinder Enduro

By

Marshall Valentino

The day broke just before the riders meeting at this years Sidewinder's Enduro. Mostly clear skies and according to the thermometer in Brooks Blair's posh motorpalace, the temp was around 43. Not too bad for February in Texas. The familiar faces are visible now - Big Ralph, Bruce Lair, Bad Bud. Lots of faces but not enough names to go with them. The devotional about the narrow path was inspiring, appropriate and ended with a resounding "Amen". After Stan's comments we returned to our bikes and preparations.

Key time is fast approaching and I find myself on row 5 with fellow Trailblazers Gary Webb, Frank Olson, Brooks Blair, probate Billy Woodridge..... and another fellow that I did not take the time to introduce myself to. I think his name was Scott. I didn't notice him until just before our minute came up and I was busy fiddling with my Pro III. It was my first time to use one and I wanted to make sure I started the silly thing before I left the line. I had previously set in a two-minute countdown but got confused counting the rows in front of us and didn't hit the button at the right time. (Next time I'll take my glove off so I can count my fingers) That meant I had to start both the bike and the computer at the same time. That was problem number 1.

Like most riders, we abide by a regimented hierarchy established over years of riding with each other. You know, a sort of 'pecking order'. Gary is the 'alpha male'- always in front, until one of us passes him when he falls down on that damned XR. Then it sort of swaps back and forth between the rest of us depending on how we're riding that day. Well, our minute comes up, I manage to get the bike and computer started, and off we go with Gary in the lead. I was on the left side of the starting gate so I was the last one into the woods. Hey - this stuff looks like last year. Loose, sandy and slippery. Man! Why can't I stay in the middle of the trail? No time to look at the Pro III. I'm too busy trying to keep up with the rest of the guys. We quickly arrive at mile 2.9 and stop to check our odometers and clocks. Shoot! Not much time left and this is 15 mph! We ride out just a little ahead of our minute to about 2.95 and there in the trees ahead is the first check. We must have looked like a bunch of dominoes piling into each other as we screeched to a halt on the trail - barely out of sight of the check workers. We could see them and they could see us - just barely. But I guess they couldn't see us too well since we all got a zero as we rolled into the check on time. Thanks guys and gals.

On the gas to the speed change at 6.0. 18 mph now and we pick up the pace. Still mostly sandy soil but occasionally some real dirt with a hint of moisture. Neat! Some traction! This must be where Stan drove the water truck. I'm still trying to figure out the best way to run the Pro III. Time or mileage mode? Well, if I use the timer, I have to look at the rollchart too much. But if I run in the mileage mode I just have to compare it to the odometer. Let's try that for awhile. All of a sudden we're into a check at 12.3 and the nice people there give us another zero. 'Thank you" we all chimed.

Back on the gas and I'm thinking, hmmmm, that was the check-out. I guess we'll just putt along to the reset. Yeah, putt along at 18 in the woods. Right. We're doing S-turns around trees in soft sand and Gary commits his first faux pas of the day. His XR slides out from under him and he's down. There's no blood in the sand so we figure he's OK and ride past him yelling "SQUID". His back wheel was still chugging along telling me the motor was still running. I rode carefully over it, but unlike Frank and Brooks, I didn't blip the throttle to keep his wheel turning. No, I had to go slow and it stalled his motor. I'll pay for that later, I think. We leave Gary to his dilemma and get on with the business at hand. Now we've stretched out the spacing a little so that we're all doing our own timekeeping - or should I say we're all riding as fast as we can to get on time. I think I'm in the lead here and my computer tells me "You're late"!. I twist the throttle and before long a tie-breaker materializes in the trees ahead at 19.8. There's no time to check the computer and I know I'm late so I roar into the check and the guy writes 8:01. Sheesh. One second earlier and I'd have dropped only 2 points. Boy, these guys are sticklers for the rules. I cheerfully chirped a "Thank you" and headed off down the trail to the reset. Most of our group rejoins there and as we rest, we discuss strategy and compare notes. We're missing two of our guys and figure they must have fallen victim to the denizens of the woods. Tsk, tsk, only the strong survive so now it's the four of us off again in search of further adventure.

In less than half a mile the speed goes to 21 and the race is on. We check in at 22.8 and I remember the workers saying, "Go"! I figure they know what they're talking about and comply. I don't remember most of the trail here but I figure we must have been doing some open fields because the speed went to 30 mph at 25.9 and I know I can't ride that fast in the woods. Sure enough, here's another tie-breaker at 28.4 and I slide into the check for a score of 7:59. A gift if there ever was one. Not much help in the tie-breaking department but I'll take the earlier minute anytime. The gas is just ahead and so is my Gatorade. A quick fill up, a yack with the boys and choke down half a power bar. I dutifully place my gas can back on the trailer - this is not required but considered good rider etiquette - and Frank and I head into the reset at 31.1. We sit there for a minute and don't see Gary or Brooks. They were here a sec ago...what time do we need to leave? Hey, we've gotta be at 37.7 at......right now! Nice going stupid. How long have you been riding these things? Frank and I blast off in search of the other half of our row - we're about a minute late. Frank pulls to the side to let me pass and I turn up the wick. I stretch out a little in front of him and get a little careless. A tree about 6 inches wide jumps out in front of me and I hit it with the right bark buster. Wham. I'm down but not hurt. Pick up the bike, kick it and off I go again. You idiot. You fool. How could I be so careless. I look down to see how far I've fallen behind and I see that my brake line has looped up over my homemade ICO bracket and bent it down over the number plate. Problem number 2. The forks won't extend all the way because the bracket is caught under the brake line. I can't ride it that way so I pull over and try to free up the mess. Frank blows by me asking if I'm OK. I give him the universal reply by extending one finger on my upraised hand. Yeah, I'm just rosy! I had to undo the headlight assembly on one side, hold the front brake and compress the forks and try to free the pinched line. Now imagine you've got this brake line stuck on top of your computer and you're using your thumb to try to slip it off as the forks compress. You think to yourself, if the forks come up and pinch my finger in between the brake line and the computer, I'm gonna look like Bud Hutchison. Now I love Bud like a brother and I wish I could ride as fast as he, but I don't think they'd let me keep my job without all my digits so I had to re-think my actions. I guess a stick would have done the job safely but I didn't have time to find one in this forest so I persisted with my finger and thumb and finally got it off the computer. Hallelujah. Off I go, hyperventilating and waaaaay late. Into the check at 43.7 and out before I even checked my odometer. No time for calculations now, just get on the gas and try to catch up. The speed goes to 24 at 47.3 but who notices. I'm alone and armed with only my wits. The shadows deepen in the woods around me. Didn't Stan say something about Javelina at the rider's meeting? The check at 48.5 has me 9 minutes late and I blubber a meek "Thanks" to the check crew. I try to go faster but I glance down at the computer and the hideous truth presents itself; the brake line is caught again. Aaaaaahhhhhhhhh, echoes in the woods around me.

I pull of the trail again and go through the same delicate process of freeing the brake line. It seems to go quickly but I know precious seconds are ticking by. I'm even later to the check at 53.3 and the subsequent reset and 5 minute free time has little meaning for me. We turn onto a road and I pin the throttle to make up some time.

All of a sudden I see a police car ahead on the left side of the road and my heart jumps into my throat. I think, Is a speeding ticket an automatic DQ? But as I get closer I see he's directing traffic and we turn left into another wooded section. I'm still late but at least I'm not under arrest. I doing my best to keep my mind on the task at hand but something doesn't seem right. Hey! There was supposed to be a split at 58.1 and my odometer says 59-something. Mental confusion clouds my head when I pass a mileage marker that says 56.0. Did I make a wrong turn? No, you onion head. The brake line must have mashed the top button on the odometer and it ran the mileage up. The split is still ahead. Sure enough, I come out of the woods into a check and then cross the road where the nice policeman is stopping traffic for my benefit. I split left on the other side and try to focus on the task ahead; 24 mph to the finish.

Tight, tight trees make for a punishing section. Some of them are the diameter of pool cues - and just as stiff. Glad I've got these bark busters and hand guards. Finally I'm out of the tight stuff and the trail opens up a little. I can relax and glance down at my computer. Like a slap in the face from a cheap hooker, I see the brake line is once again caught on the timekeeping hardware. My frequently practiced routine has now become a precision maneuver; grab, grab, swear, push, pull, jerk, swear. I extricate the fouled mess once again and head down the trail. Some more tight sandy turns that seem to never end. Hard to keep the momentum going here - I'm tired and emotionally drained after fighting with that blankity-blank brake line. I hear some faster riders gaining on me and pull to the side of the trail to let them pass. It seems like a half a dozen guys go blasting past me - on one of their bikes I see a hare scrambles number. Hmmm, I must be reaaalllyyy late to be seeing these guys - and they are hauling butt. A few of them holler "thank you" as they pass. Right on! If they're considerate enough to say thanks, then I'm glad to get out of their way. My mileage says 66-something and I know the end is near. Sure enough, I get there about 14 minutes late and it's a short ride to the known control at 70.1. "Am I early"? I ask the checkpoint workers. They laugh when I tell them to stick a fork in me because "I'm done"! As I idle through the campground to turn in my scorecard I twist my rollchart to the end...just in case anybody happens to look at my handlebars to see if I was timekeeping all the way to the finish. Of course I was, weren't you? Another Sidewinder Enduro goes into the history books. Nice job, fellas. The trails were well marked, we saw some new terrain and there were no mudholes. Stan, Vernon, Jay and the rest of you guys - Sierra Hotel. I ride back to the motorhome only to see Brooks and Frank all cleaned up and their bikes on the trailer. "Where have you been"? They ask. "Get your bike on the trailer and get cleaned up. You're driving back to Dallas"! Ah, the end to a perfect day. I go from threading my bike through 60 miles of trees to maneuvering a 36 feet motorhome through traffic in downtown Dallas. It doesn't get any better than this. All you riders out there; if it weren't for your faces and friendship this sport would not be what it is. I am so fortunate to be a part of it all. God bless you all.