Our next stop was Ouray Colorado, Ouray is way up in the mountains and is a very cool town, it has not been totally run over with tourists but the Jeep rental places are every where. You could walk in lay down some credit cards and walk out with a brand new four wheel drive jeep to take up in the mountains on dirt roads with steep cliffs and bottomless pits. Crazy, and they were everywhere, more than I’d seen any where else.

Our hotel had naturally fed hot springs and big round wooden tubs to soak in after the ride. By simply asking we were welcomed at the Elks lodge and capped off our stay by bowling on the oldest lanes west of the Mississippi River. Tim volunteered to set the pins and we bowled for sport for a while but then we got bored and were bowling just out of meanness. “Faster Tim!”

Ouray is the area where I enjoyed riding the most, no it wasn’t all single track but the Jeep roads are so much fun and the bikes can really cover ground. We rode 185 miles one day and evening and well into the night. Yes, Super Dave said he knew where he was going then took off and led us out of town 8 miles the wrong direction.

“Uhhhh, I think we went the wrong way!”

“Uhhhh, I thought you knew where you were going?”

“Uhhhh, I do, we just went the wrong way.”

It turned dark on us as we were chasing down dead end roads looking for the one that led us home. Then it turned real dark on us and we only had 1½ head lights for three bikes, it started raining too. My bike ran out of gas and we had to drain some out of the XR in the dark, total dark now, pitch black, 75% lost and 80% out of gas, are we having fun yet?

Finally we hit the black top road but fog and rain and darkness made this a harrowing ride too and we were very happy to make it home at all even if all the restraunts had already closed and we ate dinner out of machines we were alive to ride again.

We took a short trip over Black Bear pass into Telluride for lunch the next day and I want to tell you the Pass is a scary thing. The miners must have dynamited the road for foot travel, because it gets narrow, I guess they run Jeeps up and down it all day long but that would be way too scary, any one who has been there will agree, it’s scary. Sure it’s easy but man, a mistake and you’re off a 500 foot cliff, end of story.

Another day riding out of the Ouray area we came across a section of land we called the “top of the world”, I’m not going to tell you how to get there but I will describe it to you. The single track trail we were on wound up the mountain until we finally got to a boulder filled bowl at the head of the valley. This was tricky riding but it sure kept the quads and trucks out. Once we crested the rim of the bowl the world opened up into a vast treeless area. Way off in the distance you could see a cairn[1] with a very faint trail heading that way, from the first carin you could see the second and so on. We rode for miles, 50 mph, three abreast just rolling along, smooth as silk, eventually we lost the trail. It was then when we came across an area of ground like I’ve never seen. Every few feet was a square hole in the ground, full of water and looking 4 feet deep, we were lost in its maze works before we knew it, and had to trials ride out of this checker board area. Oh yes you could just rip right through them and make a muddy mess but we ride very conservatively to save ourselves, our bikes and most importantly the ground that God and the BLM have granted us. Oh bless you BLM.

It was while we were in this checker board area we noticed the afternoon storm rolling in from the SW, today’s storm was heavy and dark, lightning could be seen through it’s leading sheet’s of rain. Our dream plan had us continuing East into a town for gasoline. Tiny balls of hail started falling and we were easily persuaded into going back the way we had came, it was sunny in that direction. This is when the magic started to happen. Riding back across that vast expanse of land above 12,000 feet in elevation, not a trace of man except the cairns marking not a path but a direction. We were riding west, directly into the afternoon sun. The blackness of the storm occluded 80% of our vision leaving just the bright light at the end of the cairns. Riding in the hail goggles spotted with rain long rays of sunshine distorted vision and perhaps reality because at that time it felt like we were on the high plains of Mongolia chasing the same cairns built by Gengis Kahn and his armies plotting their course across the Dzungarian Basin, going to battle with, the BLM. We were in fact being chased by the Mongols of inclement weather and our warm little cocoons of Gore-Tex felt flimsy against the powers of Mother Nature. The visuals were unforgettable, seeing 10 miles in distance across a sea of summer ripe tundra being back lit by the sun making the seemingly dead vegetation glow with National Geographic splendor. If this could be drug induced it would surely take 10 years off your life. Yellows, reds, oranges, black clouds, white clouds, gray clouds, white lightning, ten shades of green from a kakhi green to an effervescing mint green. The cairns looked prehistoric and the sun rays were all bent and twisted by rain and hail and smeary goggles. Damn inspiring, yet humbling when I try to stack up the words to describe it.

This is what riding dirt bikes is all about, it took a doctor to explain it to me the first time, he asked the question, “Why did they build motorcycles is the first place? To go somewhere.”

This would be a good time to put down the magazine and take a break, think about your favorite moment on a bike think about what is the best parts of riding for you, think till your all warm and fuzzy inside, because the next 8 pages of this article are not going to be so romantic.

Our trip to Colorado ended way too soon, but the riding didn’t. The weekend after we got home was the Grand National Cross Country round 12, right down the road from my home. I was torn, see Stoney Lonesome was having a series race the same day. I’m not certain why they would schedule the two races against each other but it happened. See all summer I had been racing the Lightweight A class at Stoney and was in a 3 way tie for first, but race day came and my bike sponsor Great Dave didn’t have any 125cc bikes I could borrow so I was out of luck there, not to mention the fact the two guy’s I was tied with are both a bunch faster than I am. I took the 250 TM to the GNCC to find my glory.

Wow what a scene, banners and flags and bikes and spectators, there were like 400 riders and just as many spectators. I guess their right when they say this is the biggest off road race series in the country because they sure attract the riders. We lined up in the bean field late because during the morning race some one had changed the course and riders were all lost and grumpy. I remember it being hot and dry, this would equal dust, as bad as I’ve seen it, the quads had turned the course into silt, some places would have been 2 feet deep with silt. Hit it with a bike and it just explodes a dust ball, expect it to hold you in a corner and the bike runs right through it, have to cross some to get to the hill? It would be so deep it would bog the bike ruining your chance at the hill, and there are several hills in this race course. On the first lap it took me 4 tries to make it up one hill, the whole time bikes are crashing and thrashing like crazy diving headlong into clouds of dust some times clogged with riders stuck in place, spectators said it was wild with the slower classes. I finished a lap and quit, then Skippy rolled up and said he was going another lap so I had to, it was insane, one place we were cutting across a corn field, dust was so thick I was hardly able to move, but my biggest fear was not running into something while blind, I was afraid of the entire B class running over me in the dark. These guys would blast through the fog and crash or blow a turn or run through some ribbons crash hard and get right back up and keep charging ahead, I would pass the same guy over and over, him lying on his throat while I ride by dragging both feet just to stay upright while riding in Braille.

This was certainly a contrast to the riding I had done the week before, majestic vistas with humbling solitude compared to 400 riders on a 9 mile course, that would figure out to like one rider every 118 feet.

The next weekend was the annual Muddobbers MC Upland Enduro. Upland was my first enduro back in 79, it has always been one of my favorites. This year was no exception, I counted 13 Team Mooch jerseys being worn around in the pits before the race, that is a record of some sort. Even sign up was funny, see my buddy Dave Rittenhouse, alias Dancing Dave or Wreckenball had forgotten his AMA card and District card and the guy made him buy new ones, he was grumbling around when I remembered I had forgotten my AMA card too and was sweating sign up. Well I get in line and soon a club member comes up and ushers me to the front of the line, I start explaining about how I forgot my card and the guy just waves me off, he let me slide on AMA and entry fee, then they politely asked what number I wanted today. Awesome, I walked back to our pits whistling and grinning like a fool and Wreckenball says, “Well?”

“Nope, nothing, all free, heheheeeheheeee.”

Wreckenball was just fuming and I couldn’t stop laughing about it. There is more to it of course, see this club is only nice to me because they are trying to chide me on into writing bad things about Stoneylonesome. I get letters in the mail offering free entry fee if I’ll write the Muddobbers is the best club in the state and stuff like that. “Another complementary hot dog Mr. Williams?”

My favorite part of this course is when we rode through the drainage culvert that went the width of the interstate highway, all four lanes. The pipe was small and dark, only a speck of light way off in the distance. I got scratches all over the top of my helmet and when I finally got to the end old Wreckenball was there lying on the ground puking his guts up and cussing any one near by. He had gotten a touch of claustrophobia, nausea, carbon monoxide poisoning, and carbon dioxide poisoning , he was all right and was able to recoup and finnish the race. I got to see Fredettes helmet after the race and he didn’t have any scratches on his helmet, skill or shortness?

The next weekend was an enduro in Byron Illinois, this was one of my favorites of my fall fling. Located just exactly out in the middle of nowhere a small parking lot with a handful of pick up trucks scattered about. No banners, no announcer, no crowds, just a few Enduro riders. This was the day I decided we don’t want Enduro to go main stream and get popular, sure we need a few new riders but let’s not sacrifice quality for quantity. I like it just the way it is, nobody there trying to make a living off our sport, just a small family of riders interested only in riding and having fun. After seeing what popularity can do to a race course, I beg the powers that be, please keep you money hungry hands out of our sport. You guy’s follow Mike Webb, race team manager for Suzuki, you money hungry racer head geeks go with him, he wants to be a leader and you’re naturally followers so go with Mike and leave enduros alone. Enduros exercise the mind not just your back. You fun riding soul seekers come with me and go ride some enduros.

This day in Byron I pulled like row 3 or something low and led the pack all day. It is so much fun riding the early numbers like this. No you’re not going to win the overall from this position but I can’t win on any row. Today I dropped 11 points and thought I had done pretty well until the scores were posted and 11 riders zeroed the course with Rick Ingold edging every body out by a few seconds. Rick is the guy who beat me for the 1996 Vet A National enduro series, had he not dropped a bunch of points at the Delaware sluice box he would have turned double A, congratulations Rick!

The next weekend was in Cross Plains Wisconsin. Located at the south end of the ancient Baraboo mountain range, just west of Madison Wisconsin. The club had laid out one loop to be ridden twice but by starting time the weather had turned sour and I was only able to get one loop in, I was too cold and miserable to start the second loop. The first loop had been big big fun. Again this week I had pulled row 1 and led the pack, the snow was coming down so hard it easily covered the trail then it started clinging to and covering the arrows, so I was looking for white arrows on white trees with white out conditions. At one point the trail crossed under the highway and on the other side there were no arrows visible, I pulled my fogged and slushed goggles down but there was no hint on which way to go. I guessed one way but started out in the other direction, I was spinning the tire and making clear tracks for the next guy’s, then after about 100 yards, I rolled off the throttle, turned 90 degrees and headed off in the right direction, I’d bet that the next 100 riders missed this turn and got temporarily lost, hehehee. I was the first rider back to the pits, I climbed into my truck and started thawing out, it was a fun course but I was just too cold to continue. Under prepared riders rolled in for the next hour and I seriously wondered if there were not riders out on the course in life threatening conditions. I asked Craig Hayes later if any one had died at this race and he replied almost apologetically, “No”.

It’s all starting to run together now I think it was Greenville Ohio the next weekend, Jesus what a mess. More snow, about 5 inches over unfrozen dirt. Again this week I pulled row 3 and was soon leading the pack, two club riders had cleared the course race day morning so there were some tracks to follow. I paid extra special attention to these tracks because I figured they were following at least safe lines around any really bad mud holes. One section had us racing down a farmers drive way with a crowd of people watching from the far end. I accelerated to top speed and then the drive way turned into a gigantic sheet of ice and there was no slowing down, I was worried about hitting the pick up truck 200 yards ahead. It took that far to make enough adjustments to miss it then I slid past the truck at 40mph, through a crowd of running people, every one was waving their arms except me, I could only control the bike by dragging the toe on one boot, finally I slid out into the grass and back into control of the bike, I was real lucky the was no fence at the end. The crowd of people were waving their arms in anticipation of the next rider and the owner of the truck was moving it further out of the way. Greenville is a true enduro, its not that the terrain is so hard it’s just the weather usually comes into play here real hard. It was getting the best of me, and I was having a pretty good day, but I was nearing the end of my rope faster than I was reaching the finish line. I was in the last few grueling miles of trail when I had to turn my gas on reserve, on and on I slogged just waiting to run out of gas and then have to go through that whole ordeal, I was cold wet and miserable, I had lost all sense of humor and in fact was in a pretty ugly frame of mind. The trail popped out of the woods, across the field I could see the final check but the trail continued the long way back through the woods. I rode directly across the field, around the back of the trailer and came in the right direction. The checkers just shoot their heads, “No man you came from the wrong direction we can’t score you.”

In my calmest voice I could muster I screamed “I don’t give a Mooch if you score me I Mooching quit!”

“Oh sir, you can’t quit, riding a pretty pink motorcycle like that? No you can’t quit, there is only a couple of miles left, You gotta keep going.”

“Mooch you, I hate you, I can Mooching quit if I Mooching want to besides I out of Mooching Mooching gas, I gotta Mooching quit cause I cant Mooching go Mooching on!!!”

About half the check personnel is laughing at me while the other half if terrified and usher the little bundles of children away from me. Now this is all taking place right out in the middle of a snow covered field and the only hope of rescue comes from the very people I am cursing like a mad man.

I started pushing my bike out across this huge field, 200 acres maybe, plowed and snow covered, up and out of one furrow and drop down into the next furrow, get my footing and push another 3 feet, I could hear people behind me asking “Where’s he going? Is he going to be all right?”

I’m still madder than hell although pushing across this field is a lot more work than I had planned and I was coming to my senses, but I still had a few words to scream “Mooch you and this Mooching place, this is Mooching stupid and so Mooching are you! Mooch you Mooch each and every Mooching one of you! By now I’m turned around pointing my finger, pushing was too much work I’ll just stand here and cuss until some one helps me. By now snot and spit have spider webbed between my nose and my visor but as the pushing wears off I gain new vigor in my cursing and I’m picking up dirt clods and mashing them up on my seat screaming “This is what your guy’s are! Mooching dirt and this is what I’m going to Mooching do to you!” I would grind up a dirt clod between my fingers and scream about voodoo and ancient cryptic curses taught to me by witch doctors, communist, cross breeding, cross eyed, crossed up, Mooched up, up yours, you’re a Mooch hole! I mean I was as smooth and fluid and Jerry Bernardo could ever dream Eventually they get bored with me and I run out of curse words and I’m standing there looking at them and they are looking at me, all is quiet. Mercifully a kind man walks up with a gas can and saves the day, I was so moved by this gesture I went back in the woods and finished the race officially.

The next and final race of this mad dash I was on was the infamous Illinois Cross Country Championship.

Now this race deserves a whole page it’s self but I hate writing clever introductions, so here we are, Gusse Land. This is one of the few events I’ve reported on that actually generated hate mail. It is disappointing how little feed back we get from our readers, leaving us wondering if you guy’s are actually reading at all. Some times it feels like we are yelling into a well, go ahead yell any thing you want senseless gibberish if you want, nobody’s listening.

The unhappy reader wrote in defending Bill Gusse and all his good work, I agreed with every word the reader wrote, Bill Gusse is a fine man and his race is the neatest one going at this time. Would you really expect me to have a problem with a man who has 10 foot tall lighted dice on the roof of his barn? No way, I think that’s cool, Bill has many great stories behind him I would love to do an interview of him some time so the stories would be first hand, really truly great stuff, all kinds of stuff but I would really like his versions before we go to print with it. About his race courses, I agreed with the reader they are well marked, challenging but rideable, there are some stopping mud holes but for the most part the courses are tight woods with lots of logs to cross, very enduro, and after 100 miles? Very very enduro, I have been there three times, I have zero finishes but I’m getting closer. The one point the reader did not comment on is why I was ripping on the new spring version of the same race. Well after rereading what I wrote and scrutinizing it closely and comparing it to what actually was meant to be written, the only reason I was ripping on Gusse and Moose is because they scheduled this event against a National Enduro 2 states away. At a time when National Enduros need support the most, remember this was right after Suzuki canned Randy Hawkins and wrote into Steve Hatch’s and Rodney Smith’s contracts they were not allowed to ride National Enduros. Then it turns out the same guy who made those decisions scheduled this race date only as a publicity stunt to get pictures of their riders. What did enduros ever do to Suzuki? It all worked out in the end though, Jeff Fredette beat every body and threw a monkey wrench in plan that they could just go out and buy a race. Hehehe, So what happens, is there is no big advertising campaign, there is no big write ups in the magazine, sort of disrespectful to Mr. Fredette I think, had I been there I would have written a story for this magazine but I chose to go to the National Enduro in Ohio which is tougher than Gusses race any how.

That was way back then though, we are here and now, and I was walking through the club house to sign up when I overheard some one say “That’s Mooch?” I glanced over and it was Gusse and some of his coverall clad buddies. Gusse just smiled but some of his henchmen had revenge in their eyes, I laughed to myself, hey look guy’s you don’t have to do anything to get me, I’ll get my self soon enough. Oh how true these thoughts were. First off at the starting line I fouled a plug, the first time on this 250 TM and I was greatly relived when I could look in and actually see the plug, and get a wrench on it. So I’m kneeling on the ground holding the bike up with my head and shoulder changing said spark plug when Bill Gusse comes along shaking every body’s hand, he obviously saw I was having bike problems and all he said was “Well Charlie, good luck!” he walked off and waved the green flag go. After a while I got the bike running and headed off down the trail, at least 20 minutes behind schedule. After a few miles the trail came to a mud hole I knew well, I had spent hours stuck there last year. It was so bad that day I had to hide in the bushes until some one else got stuck so we could help each other out. But this year I knew the hot line (from standing there watching last year) I rode up to the ditch, gassed it to lift the front end, then it all went to hell and I did a big ugly endo into the soupiest part of the sewage pit. I slithered around in the greasy mud trying to gain purchase with my slick soled boots and looked down at my self and started laughing. See during the last few weeks Gary Gibbs from Moose off road and I had been negotiating a truce, Gary’s good will gesture towards me was a brand new Moose out fit, top of the line Gore-Tex, I looked sharp in my new duds. Then to everyone’s amusement I show up on one of the most expensive motorcycles available, the neon pink TM all dressed up in my fancy new out fit and I am absolutely floundering. A course marshal rode up and not only did he not help but he started laughing and rode off to tell his buddies about my fate. I wasn’t done yet though, I got myself out of the mud and cruised down the trail, and it is fun trail, I start catching dual sport bikes and other riders with stories like I had. Eventually we cross a big deep creek and on the other side is the truck that was hauling my gas can so I filled up and figured this was the gas stop and we had already ridden 30 miles, in reality we had only ridden about 5 miles but I had been going so slow it felt like 30. Well that means the rest of this loop was 40 miles not 15 like I figured. It kept going and going and getting tougher and tougher. We had entered the log section, I was beat, back and forth over and back, arms pumped up like Popeye about to cave in when I catch up with a rider going just a little slower than I am, I can see him ahead but it takes a while for me to catch him, but I am gaining ground and my enthusiasm is building with the chance of passing a rider. Egads, guess who the rider is that I’m trying so hard to pass? It’s the one legged guy! Really, his name is Quinton Davis and he is missing a leg way up by the hip but he races a 200KDX and is ahead of me, I followed for a while giving him plenty of room but finally I had to center punch him on the wrong side to knock him down so I could pass. Now you may think that’s pretty low, knocking a one legged man down but hey, this is racing. ( dear readers, this part has all been exaggerated and I did not knock the one legged man down, it is true about it taking me a while to catch him because even with his handicap he rides very well and should be an inspiration to all of us.) Mercifully the check people told me the race was over and that I should take the road back to the pit’s I couldn’t have been happier if my Herpes test had come back negative. Then two really cool things happened, first and no surprise was Jeff Fredette won the race again. He did have some good competition with local bullet Tim Tabor and Mr. Blackwater him self, Mark Hyde.

The other cool thing that happened is my new friend Gary Gibbs from Moose won the A class! Unless you have been to this race you can’t really appreciate how much work and skill goes into winning any class at this race. Gary said he had been trying for years, his mom and dad were there, and it was a totally cool scene for Gary. I gained a lot of respect for him and Moose off road, see it’s one thing if you pay people to endorse your product but when the guy’s who are actually doing the work get out and ride and in this case ride very well, well I think that is a good thing.

Okay, I’ll stop, trust me I could go on because we had two trips south to the Daniel Boone National forest to go riding in the Chief Red Bird area, but this should be enough evidence for you to decide which type of racing I prefer, which type of racing breeds the most entertaining stories. No this article does not have any answers, it does not come back around and mean something in the end, no it is just a bunch of unrelated snippets of what I think is entertaining. On top of all of it I did not win one trophy, but that is okay, because if you strive only to win, that is shallow, see it is the sides of the mountain that sustain life not the top.