Hey readers, the new magazine is out and it has the 07 Endurocross story in it.

I promised to run last years article here because I thought it was timely.

A Hero’s Welcome

by: Charlie Hemingway

It was well dark when the Masai runner
stepped silently into the fire light.
“Telegraph for Sahib.”
“Thank you Butros.”
My editor wanted me in Las Vegas to
cover a motorcycle race. The hunt had gone
well. I was flying back to Mombasa with
Beryl in two days anyhow. Going to
Ketchum to work on my book.
Soul cleansed and ready to work. Stalking
lion in tall grass will do that. Las Vegas
would be peaceful after the hunt.
I overlaid in London and visited with Jilly.
I knew nothing about motorcycle racing.
Jilly filled me in.
A Manxsman named David Knight had
taken every event for two years. The story
was the same as they always are. Who
would knock him off his throne. Take the
great and knock him down. Take the Lion
down, take the Knighter down, revel in failure,
always the fall.
Handlers in New York mistakenly sent my baggage
to my Key West home, I arrived in Las Vegas in my
dirty safari clothes. I checked in at the Orleans and
had the concierge order two suits, six shirts, a couple
of sweaters from Louie V. He keeps my sizes on file
and by show time I was clean, rested and ready to go.
I needed to do some research about everything. I
had heard there was a new guy at the club who had
written about the Hells Angels and the Mint 400, his
name was Thompson, so I rang him up, we met for
drinks.
His mouth worked at one pace, slow and slurred.
But his mind raced ahead of the words, he spoke in
half sentences and concepts. I got little in the way of
modern facts, but I found out that the racers at the
Endurocross would not be Hells Angels. Athletes,
matadors, Walendez every one. Bike racing was a real
high wire act, but firmly on the ground, especially if
the rider made a mistake. Gravity could be a cruel
mistress.
Thompson went for drinks. He
did not come back. The next time
I saw him he was on the catwalk
above the arena floor. He was trying to
ignite the sprinkler system with a burning
program. Good guy, said he joined the club
too early and he regretted it now, had a
new book in mind as soon as he pulled the
trigger.
Without Thompson I needed someone to
help me figure out this Endurocross thing.
I went upstairs to the club again. The bartender
suggested I talk to the two long
haired guys in the corner. Duane Allman
and Brent Midland, they were musicians. I
was confused, what could two musicians
know about Endurocross? Duane joined
the club after crashing his Triumph, Brent
went like Jimi, they both regretted joining
the club but were making the best of it.
I asked them where the Hells Angels
were. Duane took off on a rant.
“Man, you gotta back up a little, you dig?
You gotta know there are as many kinds of
bike racing as there are music—rock, jazz, classical,
country, hip-hop, electronic….”
Brent added, “Yeah man, you have MX, flat track,
speedway, desert, woods, hill climb, they all have
their own beat, rhythm and following.”
Duane added, “Man, the Grateful Dead was the best
scene going, but just like an enduro, you needed a
guide to teach you the ropes.”
“Yeah man, like you are not going to happen to
drive by a Dead show or an enduro and get on the
bus. You need a guide to teach you the rules, teach
you the lingo, introduce you to the nuances of both.
But once you are on the bus both are most interesting.”
“And fun!”
“So this is a niche sport taken under the
lights?” I queried
“Exactly!” Duane said, smiling.
“But first you need to get out of that suit
man, get a tie dye and some sandals—no,
wrong scene, you need an event T shirt and
some jeans, that will do it man.”
“Well thank you gentlemen, I have a lot better
idea what’s going on here. I’m going to go
talk to some of the riders.”
“Right on, Papa” They both replied with big
knowing smiles. “Come see us at a show,
Jerry’s leading the band again, he and Jimi
have huge battles on stage, and Janis is dong
better than ever, funny how joining the club
will sober you up.”
Back in the pits dressed in my khakis,
stained red from the African dirt, I did fit in. I
limp, I stoop, I creak around just like many of
the old racers.
I started at the top with David Knight, but he
was surrounded by fans. They all thought by
just standing next to him they could somehow ride better.
So I went to see Ryno. Ryno had won this race two years ago. Ryno had
converted over from MX, a fierce competitor, physically tough as nails.
All the top riders were too politically correct. Prepared speeches, ample
chatter but no information. I was doing better in the club with the hippies.
Friday was the day. Amateurs took the track—more crashes, more racing,
less skill, less talent. They were all eager to talk to me. They had come
from all corners of the country. I guess this is the beauty of enduro, all skill
levels get to play.
I’m getting a little cross rutted here (see, I’m learning). Enduro is a outdoor
game they play, 100 miles of trail. I can see the intrigue in riding trail all day. MX you go around and around, not a real
brain-building exercise like riding
an actual enduro.”

Big Dave walked in, he had his arrow belt and staple
gun around his waist. He was smiling, he had just
done a tour of the track with Tim and Eric, the
Endurocross promoters.
“Those guys are all right!” cheered Big Dave.
“They care about the riders, they cater to the spectators.
Free admission all day Friday? Free programs,
free pit passes, free parking, man it feels good to be
welcomed instead of being herded and processed.
Supercross could learn from these guys. I feel like a
number at the SX, but I feel like family here!”
That’s what the hippies were telling me. Each show
they performed was different. New set lists every
show. Energy would change, mood would change.
That’s why the Dead was so popular, every show was
different. Enduro is the same
way. Weather changes, terrain
changes, each trail has its own
character. Exploding at top
speed into something you have
never seen…well it sounds
crazy, but it would sure keep
your interest!
Endurocross is not a true
enduro, but it is a spectator’s
dream. All the hardest challenges
you could find in an
enduro, reduced and brought
inside for the spectator. Much
like a bullfight where the cowboy’s
life and work is boiled
down to man against animal.
In Endurocross you can see
the rider, see his moves, see
his mood through body language.
Like watching Juan
Fangio power his Maserati
around the Nuremberg circuit.
Arms wrestling with the wheel,
shoulders hunched and head
bent in a furiously fierce posture.
You can see which rider is
trying and which rider has
given up. You could see when Ryno melted down, you
could see when he threw in the towel. With this mindset
the only thing left to do is go sit in the truck.
Like the Matadors in the Plaza de Toro, you can
sense their confidence, you can sense their fear. You
could predict the winner long before the banderilleros
were drawn. All this through body language.
Back in the club, I ran into Jimbo and RB. Jimbo
was new and enthusiastic. He was telling me
Endurocross is like Supercross was in the beginning.
Today’s Supercross is so predictable, every track is
built to a blue print, jump distances the same in every
city. In the old days the courses were unpredictable,
thus the races were unpredictable. That’s what we
want to see at the races, unpredictability, that’s what
built Las Vegas, unpredictability.
RB talked about making the riding as hard as possible.
“Where just making a lap was a challenge,

like riding an actual enduro.”
Then he chuckled through a fog of cigarette smoke.
“Add nine other racers, hehehe, the brain just melts.
Add 7,000 cheering spectators, rider concentration is
impossible. Mental strength is just as important as
physical strength.”So back down on the floor, the stands are packed,
not an empty seat. Thompson had given up on the
sprinklers and had moved to the press area and bar.
Bernardo and Weigant had the microphones. They
did well, none of that Monster Truck banter. ARE YOU
READY TO RUMBLE? Flag men took their places, riders
at the gate, all eyes on the 30 second girl.
Thompson perked up at this. The gate dropped and
may I say, all hell broke loose.
Dowdy had the inside line and got a wheel on
Knight, and that was the race. Dowd cleaned the first
turn, no small feat. Knight got hung up, he used his
height and strength to ratchet his bike around the
turn. Dowd and Nathan Woods had a straightaway on
him. Within two laps, Knight made it into third place,
a full straight away behind Dowd and Woods.
This is what my editor was looking for. Could the
great one overcome such a head start? Or would we
see a new king? Dowd and Woods were actually leaving
Knight behind, now it was a straight and a turn
ahead. Knight’s body language became complacent.
He still went fast, but did not show any extra effort to
catch the leader.
Then disaster. Dowd went down in one of the easiest
sections of the track. Woods took the lead and
Dowd was back up in an instant. Maybe Knight was
just stalking the leaders, waiting for the race to come
to him. The RB mind melt came to mind.
Dowd quickly made a pass back to the lead but
Woods stayed hooked to his fender. As laps wound
down these two became physical and rough. Woods
hit Dowd in every corner, Knight crept forward. Would
the leaders take themselves down? Was Knighter still
in the game? Patiently waiting for …?
Time was running out. Last lap. Woods had pounded
on Dowd through every turn. Last turn, Dowd
stayed in tight to protect the inside line. Woods went
way around the outside, he carried a huge amount of
speed. Woods hit the log jam and leapt four feet in the
air. He landed on a huge rock and log pile. He and
Dowd were wheel to wheel. The crowd went wild.
Dowd could tell exactly what was going on behind
him. Woods’ motor revving, the crowd cheering.
Dowd veered right, pinching Woods against the telephone
pole barrier. It was a veteran move by Dowd,
Woods tripped and went down. The race was over,
Dowd cruised to the win.
Woods jumped back on his bike and took off, Knight
was closing fast, but the race was over. Woods second,
Knight third.
I stood next to the towering Knight as he waited to
stand on the podium. He was sweating and breathing.
I had noting to say, nothing but the obvious. He had
ridden well, I knew he had ridden well, he knew he had
ridden well. No sense in talking about riding. As I was
about to offer to buy him a beer, Knight winked at the
30 second girl. I walked back to the club by myself.

Vegas Loves a Player (a side bar)

The Endurocross is a excellent event. Why?
Because it is put together by riders for riders.
No expense is spared to ensure the riders
have a good time, especially riders looking for
adventure.
I would have never guessed that adventure
was inside a building, but Tim Clark and Eric
Peronnard, the promoters of the
Endurocross, have figured out how to do it.
They start with free parking, free pit passes,
free programs. Once you buy
your ticket, that’s the last time
you need to pull your wallet out,
unless you want to go see the
Beer Man, then all those proceeds
goes to charity.
I entered the races on Amateur
day, Friday before the big show. I
had hoped to move up one step
to the Semi Finals. I had no
dreams or aspirations of moving
to the Main event and the
Saturday night show.
I was so excited about the
event I laid awake for a week
leading up to it, going around
and around the track in my mind.
Then when I got there they had
completely changed the track!
I had a terrible practice session.
I fell in the wet rock and
mud turn. I landed on my back
between two rocks and could not
get up. Dirt Rider Magazine’s
Jimmy Lewis was there and jumped in and
grabbed my bike, but I was the one who could
not get up! Finally a course worker gave me a
hand. I was up but humiliated, all the dozens
of spectators had seen me laying there. A real
low point in my career. I can remember the
look of disgust in Jimmy’s eyes, I laid there
with my arms up like a baby wanting to be
picked up.
Then, later on the same lap on the giant tire
obstacle, I didn’t make it. See, the first lap I
had hit them too hard and it felt like I was
going over the bars, so I went slower and
slower until the last lap. I got clear to the top,
front wheel over, but the rear just spun. I had
both feet on the tires trying to push that last
inch. I fell off backwards. It felt like I was a
mile high. Luckily I did not shatter my leg nor
did my bike drive me into the ground.
I limped back to the truck, I was blue and
hacking up black and absolutely dreaded my
next race. But being too stubborn and stupid
to quit, I lined up at the gate. I had a plan. The
gate dropped and I counted to three then took
off. I figured the track would be clear and I
could ride by myself. But everyone crashed in
the first turn and I was in second place!
I cleared the tires, I cleared the rocks, I was
riding the Endurocross! Then they started
passing me. I finished back around sixth
place or so, on to the Last Chance Qualifier.
The course was hard. I could make a lap,
but not fast. The younger riders would just hit
stuff with no regard for injury. Make or break,
I was banking on break.
So I lined up in the Expert Last Chance
Qualifier. I got a good start. I was in second
place and the race was almost over. I could
hear the crowd cheering for me. Jerry
Bernardo was in the first turn giving me
encouragement. I could hear the announcer
over the loud speaker: “CHARLIE WILLIAMS
NUMBER 137 IS IN THE LAST TRANSFER
SPOT OF TODAY’S RACING BLA BLA BLA…!”
Then I could hear the announcer: “THIRD
PLACE IS MOVING UP FAST! THIS IS FOR
THE LAST TRANSFER SPOT!”
I could hear a bike coming. He was out of
control, motor revving, tire spinning. I protected
the inside. We got to the wet log section
and Berserk came up beside me. He spun
sideways and hit me, we both went down. I
fell off the track and ran through the big plastic
barriers lining the track, they made a big
“Boom” noise.
I could hear the announcer and the crowd
cheering. I jumped back up and grabbed my
bike. Berserk was picking his up also, we
were still tied, tied for THE LAST TRANSFER
POSITON! I know, the announcer was telling
us. This reminded me of the good old days,
where two riders could be in the heat of competition
while both lying on the ground.
My bike was somewhat upside down and
even with my Rekluse clutch, it had stalled.
Berserk got away first. But I did not give up, I
was still banking on him falling again.
I didn’t catch him, I did not transfer. But it
was an amazing moment for me. I had never
heard an announcer yelling my name before,
unless it was to leave the building. I had never
heard a crowd of people cheering for me
before, unless it was to put my clothes back
on. The Endurocross was well worth the
effort.
My day was done, I could load up the bike.
But I was fine with that, I had gotten plenty of
riding in, there was some great spectating to
come. I’ll tell you what, Dowd and Woods put
on a show like I haven’t seen since Bart
Markel and Gary Nixon going at it in the
Cincinnati Gardens. For that story you need to
see Cycle News; Kit Palmer did a good job for
them.
Later that night, Jimmy Lewis gave me a
high five. Everyone was telling me how good
I had done. I know better, but it’s still nice to
hear. So even when you suck and you don’t
move out of the heats, the Endurocross is still
a great time.
My hero of the event? Paul Krause. Desert
champion, genuine fast guy had signed up for
four classes! It was cool, even with his
incredible skill he did not make the show. But
you know what? He had a good time riding,
he stuck around to watch, and that’s what it’s
all about, having a good time. Now take Ryan
Hughes on the other hand. He parked off by
himself. He crashed out of his heats and his
LCQ then left the building in a huff, loaded his
stuff and left. That’s not how you have fun.
You had better order your tickets for next
year’s show, they will sell out fast. There is
not a bad seat in the place. I could go on and
on about how much fun it was, but I’m running
out of room here. You will just have to
meet me there next year and we’ll do it all
again. Next time, I’m going to the Main!

Vegas Loves a Player
By Charlie Williams