Trail Rider Magazine

April 2018 13 Not one of them was stock. Each bike was tricked to the max. Simons forks, Fox Shox, plas c everything, tanium enduro jugs, Metzeler res with Armor-All sprayed on them. The works! Our friend chose a 350 Jawa that weighed only 154 pounds, full of gas, ready to ride. It had 14 inches of travel, 20 inches of ground clearance and a low saddle height of 32 inches. The bars were pre-cut to fit through the trees and a bank of mekeeping instruments were mounted on the magnesium handlebars. "When's the next enduro?" he asked. "There's one star ng right now," said St. Pete. "I'd ride with you, but I'm only a B rider and this one's for A riders only." Our friend rode over to the start area and went through the sound check. His exhaust regis- tered only 26 pounds on the A scale, slightly louder than the heartbeat of a gnat. His number was 12A. Good. Not too early, but not too late. Let the others knock the brush down, but keep the ruts shallow. There was only one other rider on his number and he didn't get a good look at him as they le the line. The other rider took the lead and headed into the woods. Our friend followed, being careful to maintain a 24 mph average. The course was beau ful. Dark, loamy soil made up the ground. No dust was visible. Trees grew exactly 34 inches apart. The temperature was 72 degrees, plus or minus one tenth of a degree. Our friend rode onward, keeping very close to schedule. The rider on his minute stayed about 60 yards ahead. That guy was good! When he rode up a gnarly hill, both feet stayed on the pegs. Our friend dabbed three mes. When a deep stream crossing loomed ahead, the rider in front wheelied across. Our friend rode in to the air intake level, then pushed the rest of the way with the engine shut off. When he emerged from the water, he was astounded that no water had entered his boots and that the leath- ers were also waterproof. The bike was a joy to ride. It was light, responsive and had a smooth, so suspension that never bo omed. It had so much low-end torque that he only had to shi four mes in 60 miles. He stopped once when he got a bit ahead of schedule and checked his gas tank. A rough mental calcula on indicated that the bike was ge ng about 200 miles per gallon. Not bad for a 350 two-stroke with 43 horsepower. As the day progressed, our friend gained confi- dence and he tried to catch up to that rider in front of him, even though he stood a chance of burning a check. But, try as he might, the skills of that mys- tery rider were just too great. He was able to thread his bike through trees like a skilled surgeon. He rode over sharp rocks as if they were pool table tops. Mud? No problem. Just gas it and hang on. The more our friend watched the rider in front of him, the more his respect grew. By the me the 190-mile enduro reached the last check, he realized that he'd had the privilege of watching the finest enduro rider he'd ever seen in ac on. Five minutes a er the enduro was over, the results were posted. Our friend and Saint Peter wandered over and checked the board. Our friend had taken a win in the Open A class, but the mystery rider—who was listed by a number only—had taken the overall win. Our friend turned to Saint Peter and asked, "You know that rider in front of me? Was that … was that … the Lord?" Saint Peter sighed and said, "Yes, But He thinks He's John Penton."

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