Issue link: http://trailridermagazine.uberflip.com/i/241252
caked up, but there was something about that Geomax 51 - again, think mud magnet. I thought I knew how to ride mud but the reality was that I was a complete My shiney new Husaberg test bike in its Spode. I wasn't pre-race glory. It was all down hill after alone either, as that. every little hill was a choke point of What the heck did I get myself into? I pushed the front wheel for the entire first section but managed to stay off the ground. It was a minor miracle. The second section is where it all unraveled. Let me preface what's to come by saying that I hate to damage a test bike, I really do. Crashes happen, but I always strive to return the bike in reasonably good condition. Anyway, the tire took a ciesta from feeling like a total sled and I got a little confidence going. I grabbed a gear and rolled back the throttle down a tight little straight-away when the tire inexplicably packed up with mud and drifted in the direction of an approximate 6 inch thick tree. "Ugh, I am going to smoke this thing" were last coherent thoughts of the day as I careened into it at speed. It was one of thos e crashes where on impact you experience one of those electrical flashes. The silver lining was that the side of my face (goggles, actually) absorbed the impact, leaving my visor intact, 'cause I hate riding with a broken visor. I make fun of people with broken visors. Thank god the visor was ok or I would have quit. I must have been concussed because I completely went into the tank after that. I also had the beginnings of what was going to be a HUGE shiner. And by the end of the day, my eye began to turn a deep purple and close up. I wasn't the only damaged goods either, as I managed to taco the new pipe, bend the renthal bars, crush brush gaurds, and rip the radiator shroud off. Oh, and I bent the radiator too. Fantas- tic. I pulled into the pit where Paddy Holloway's dad was kind enough to haul my gas can for me. He made some comment about a nasty shiner but I was drooling imbecile by then. And from there on I proceeded to crash incessantly for the remaining 4 sections. I hit the ground no less than three or four times in every section. It was the same scenario: front wheel packs up and I push the front end through the entire section. At one point the trail paralleled a river and I manage to clip a tree that sent me tumbling down a steep river bank with the bike pinned wide open above me. I scrambled back up the bank thinking I was going the seize the engine. Fortunately the Husaberg team went roaring by me when I was on the bike and not clawing my way up the river bank. Imagine the humiliation? It gets worse; a short distance later the trail tightened up and I clipped another tree and began ricocheting off pine trees. I'm not sure how it happened, but I ripped the gas cap off as I spun through the air, dumping fuel all over the ground. Even more curious is that the bike and I were facing the wrong direction. I should have pulled off but I had way too much pain and humiliation invested in this debacle. Pulling in to the pits afterwards I wanted to cut the tire from the rim and defecate into its worthless remains. Fortunately, the bike was promptly loaded up and my shoe laces taken away. I blame the tire but the reality was I had no idea how ride that crap. In total, the damage was one pancaked-pipe, bent renthal twin wall bars, bark-busters, both radiator shrouds, a radiator, a black eye, and MCL damage. The bike also "looked like it was dragged behind a truck." Someone even asked for help lifting it into the dumpster, "cause it was so roached out". Humiliating right? Well, it wasn't over. By the time I made it to the airport my eye was about completely closed with a dark purple ring around it. I must have looked like I lost a bar fight and woke up in a ditch. It was a long flight home. How's that for inglorious? December 2013/January 2014 5