Trail Rider Magazine

April 2024 19 Last year, the Caprock was dry as a bone and dust was a real issue. You could spot riders in the canyon by the clouds of dust rising into the air. Friday morn- ing was similar but not quite as bad. You s ll had to either be right on a guy's tail or lay back a ways to avoid riding blind. We had a ball chasing each other through the cactus and mesquite bushes, dodging an occasional deer, roadrunner, or covey of quail along the way. Around midday, it started to sprin- kle and then fell into a light, steady rain. Trac on became perfect for a bit, but as more rain soaked in, the red dust turned into slick mud. The going got a bit sketchy, but Billy said the ground would soak it up and, barring a lot more rain, race day condi ons would be great. A thunderstorm blew through Turkey right around daybreak, dropped some rain and moved off to the east. The local volunteer fire department serves race day breakfast as a fundraiser, and as I was scarfing down a couple of sausage biscuits and firehouse coffee one of the guys showed me the weather radar on his phone and said, "Y'all are gon- na get wet today" Billy's daughter had go en her car stuck in the greasy mud on Friday evening, so the seeds of worry were sowed in my head already. But I was on row 2, so with only 30 miles to ride on Saturday's short course how bad could it be, right? There was a 5-mile transfer out to Test 1 that ran right down Main Street in Turkey. The town sup- ports the race and the PER club posts members at the intersec ons for traffic control. We ran right out of town on a US highway and were cau oned at the rider's mee ng to ride next to the shoulder "because those bull hauler 18-wheelers ain't gonna slow down for ya." True to Billy's word, Tests 1 and 2 were a ton of fun. The early morning rain had soaked in, trac on was really good, and dust was non-existent. Both tests had a mix of up and down single track through gul- lies and ravines combined with some fun and flowy slaloms through groves of mesquite trees and sage- brush. Everybody was all smiles at the check-ins and check-outs, and then it started to rain in earnest just about the me I hit the Test 2 checkout. I had to ditch my goggles almost immediately and managed to keep most of the early rain off my glasses, but soon it was coming down hard enough that every bump in the trail was shaking drops off my visor and right onto my glasses. The couple of inches of silty dust normally on the trail turned into a couple of inches of grease on top of hardpack. I soldiered on conserva vely (cause I don't like falling down!) and the end of Test 3 was a beau - ful sight to see. All that followed was a 6-mile transfer back to the start down dirt county roads...and that's where the "fun" began. The hot cket, a er a quarter-mile slog across a slimy pasture, was to hit the crown of the road, pin it, hold on, and pray you didn't lose your front end. Not being the daredevil type, I chose a line more towards the shoulder and that sealed my fate for the next hour or more. The first mile was a gradual uphill, straight as an arrow, and I was making decent headway for a bit, but then my 300 GasGas started struggling, I lost speed, the bike became hard to steer, and I eventually ground to a complete stop. Not wan ng to get whacked by one of the hotshoes riding the crown of the road, I hopped off the bike to push it to the side and immediately felt like I was wearing Herman Munster boots. The mud in this first mile of road was like freshly poured cement. There was so much packed into my front wheel and be- tween the forks that it locked it up. My wheel looked like one of those Harley disc wheels. I could not see a single spoke! The rear was a li le be er but s ll had goo wedged in between the swingarm and re, which might as well have been a Street Glide rear re with all the mud packed into it. I dug mud out of my wheels with a s ck for the next 20 minutes in the pouring rain, started the bike back up, and a empted to get out of the side ditch and up to the crown of the road where there was at least a modicum of trac on, but I couldn't get enough grip to make even that ny upgrade to safety before grinding to a halt again. I put my foot down, my Munster boot slid in the mud, and down I went. I struggled to get the bike upright and out of traffic but couldn't gain enough purchase with my muddy boots to li the bike. A fellow rider stopped to help, and it took all the two of us to get the bike upright and off to the side. He said, "Man, is the transmission locked up on this thing? It's like pushing a seized 650 BSA!" I had to repeat the wheel-clearing exercise two more mes before finally ge ng out of that hell hole. The road was li ered with stuck bikes, and the worst part was that you could see the crest of the hill and the change of road surface just a quarter mile away,

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