Trail Rider Magazine

14 Trail Rider www.TrailRider.com ba led with most closely all season. I wasn't worried though, and told my dad a erwards that I'd beat her by twenty seconds in the first enduro test alone. I'd felt so good on that new injected Rieju 300i that I didn't think anything could stop me. October 18th 2025 In fact, I went on to win the first enduro test by almost exactly twenty seconds. As the day went on it got gnarlier and gnarlier, with exposed roots on the hillsides resembling nothing so much as giant spa- ghe thrown across a floor. By the end of the week, I was pu ng nearly a minute on my next closest compe tor with each pass through. The extreme test was ght, full of short and steep ups and downs. Cross tests usually aren't my favorite, but the first one was tolerable and the second one, with its fast woods trails, corn fields, and single-track, felt like it could have been the Ironman GNCC back home in Indiana. The day started off slippery, but by midday, the sun was out, it had warmed up, and dried out just enough to give us perfect trac on and beau ful corner ruts that arced over like waves. This race was the stuff dreams were made of. The mystery of the American flag was solved at the first test. A friend of mine from the ISDE, a German rider named Samantha Buhmann, had volunteered to help me as an outrider. There was some misun- derstanding on my part – I thought we were ren ng a bike from her, and she and my dad would ride to each test to watch and provide intel. As it turns out, she was actually going to ride my dad around dou- ble on her Beta 200. My dad is not a small guy, and Samantha is at least six feet tall… someday, he has promised to try his hand at wri ng, so he can tell you all about his exploits as an outrider. Samantha, enthusias c about her role, brought an American flag to every single test and waved it for me wherev- er she was watching. It never failed to bring a smile to my face. The transfer was very difficult for a GP, in some spots it bordered on hard enduro. The Getzen Rodeo was being held in this very town the next weekend, and I can see why they race hard enduro here. But for me, it was the perfect mix of hard enough to be fun but not so hard that I struggled unduly. The scenery was beau ful too. At one point, riding along a farm lane looking down over a valley with a perfect white church steeple, surrounded by the fall colors and the rolling hills… it brought tears to my eyes. Then of all things… out on that transfer, I rode up a hill climb that (redacted) the Nazi later told me was Teufelsberg, from the 2012 ISDE, just a slightly different route up the mountain itself. Seeing my old nemesis, was like mee ng your third-grade bully again, except you're now an adult and he's s ll nine. Even when it was slippery and wet on the first day I flew up it, barely needing to dab a foot. I won the day by a minute and a half. My lead in the series points was so great that the next day I only needed to score five points – eleventh place – ba- sically just finish – in order to win the tle. But the tricky thing about EnduroGP, what ended up being the nail in my coffin last season… if you do not fin- ish the en re race, you do not score any points, no ma er the number of riders in the class I didn't need to perform any heroics, but I did need to finish, no ma er what…. October 19th 2025 …Which is why I was up on the pla orm, begging my e-start to work. It had already been a stressful morning. I had such an impending sense of doom that I couldn't eat, so I had a double espresso instead. Bad idea. I misplaced my toolpack (and dis- covered Rosie hadn't worn one all season because "we're on the same bike and you carry all those tools already") and sent my mom scrambling back to the Rieju semi to look for it. Even as I'm panicking, I'm planning. If I fully drain the ba ery, I'm screwed. The injectors won't fire. The start pla orm is on a ramp. So I decide to push it as hard and fast as I can, trying to bump start it while hi ng the bu on. And if that fails, about a third of a mile down the road, on the way out of town, is a big, steep downhill. I'll push it there and try to bump it again. But as I push the bike with all my might, jam it into gear, and hit the bu on. The bike fires up. I have never heard a sweeter sound in all my life, and don't think I ever will. I'm s ll pre y wired by the me we get to the first hill climb. The riders who le ahead of me are cour- teous and let me squeeze past them in the bo le- neck. Now I'm just wai ng on Fran, who is stuck at the top of the hill. I fidget impa ently, wondering what could possibly be taking so long. When I get a clear shot and pull up alongside her, my jaw drops. I can see her clutch. Like the whole thing. I don't

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