Stumpjumpers Desert 100
Two days before the biggest desert race in America, the Stumpjumpers Desert 100, which draws thousands of participants from multiple countries and skill levels to test themselves throughout 100 miles of rough terrain. Ideally at this point you have your bike fully prepped, the van cleaned out and ready for camping, coolers packed and a road trip playlist saved for the drive. This was not the case for me or the new Built To Ride motovan.
The Husqvarna FC350 was mostly ready to go, although it had no forks attached and the race fuel barrels in the shop were empty. 2018 WP air forks carefully tuned by the masters at Riders Edge Suspension were ready to be bolted on and a last minute stop while leaving town would solve the fuel issue and get some new goggle lens’ for race day, simple enough. The real delay was the Motovan. Ten days ago, what was a completely empty shell, had begun its transformation into the new race rig. The goal was simple for the van’s first outing of the season; A set up to carry the bikes and a bed. The existing wall between the cab and box were the first to go, both front seats came out and were replaced with “new” used units that would keep monkey butt to a minimum, a replacement doghouse was donated that had enough cup holders for multiple coffees, the stock cassette deck was left untouched and then attention was turned to the rear. The plan was a raised bed that the bikes could be rolled under with enough floor space left for cabinets and storage. A couple bed posts would be needed for support and the other side was to be attached to the wall. This would require the walls to be finished with wood paneling first, and of course insulation would need to be completed before that. The walls and bedposts would run into the floor, so the existing floor was sealed, insulated and a nice hardware store special tongue and groove was fitted. One thing after another and on the morning we planned to set out for the race, the last screws were still be drilled and finishing touches being made. A new system of tying down the bikes by the foot pegs using turnbuckles had yet to be tested. Actually it was just installed at midnight the night before. Although most work had been completed during the night hours during the previous few days, a usable platform had taken shape and was ready for bikes to be loaded and the maiden voyage to get underway.
The BTR FC350 is loaded and takes its place over the floor mounted tie down system, and to our delight was cinched down quickly and firmly. Bike number two, belonging to Jake Hodder, followed and went in just as easy. Gear bags, tools, and camping essentials flowed into the van and everything found a home. The time was here, we were off, and cold. It seems the blower motor in the van decided that now was a good time to quit and remove vehicle heat as an option. No worry, we picked one up at the local auto parts store and would find time to swap it out on site.
Just an hour into the drive we met up with Kris Morel, his van easy to spot with the two big Built To Ride decals on the white cargo van. From this point we carpooled towards the Canada/USA border an hour further down the highway. Crossing is easy this time, the border guard complimenting the bikes and suggesting large race decals for the side of the van. Kris followed and the three of us set course for the first grocery store in town, no fruits, veggies or meat are allowed to cross the border. The drive continues into the night as we pass Grand Coulee Dam, driving twisty mountain roads that lead us to long, flat pavement with the landscape changing quickly to fifth gear terrain. The small town of Odessa appears and is quickly driven through, we are just minutes from the race site and the clock has just hit midnight. The darkness of the highway leads to a glowing community that has been created by the literally thousands of motorcycle enthusiasts, all here for the same thing. It’s too dark to spot any familiar rigs at this point, but we knew the general location of some Canadians on site. The description we were given was easy enough, “We’re just passed the pink playboy bunny flag”. We funnel into our area and waste no time setting up blankets and heaters. It’s just starting to rain and Jake has a Poker Run to sign up for at six AM.
I wake up to rain pounding the metal roof of the van, a soothing sound until I realize where I am and that it was time to head outside to go pee. Jake’s bed is empty, sign up for the Poker run was open early and he wanted to be one of the first in line. What I didn’t know is that he had just spent the last 25 minutes pushing his Kawasaki up and down pit lane trying to get it to fire with a dead battery and no kick start back up. Luckily he got it going without having to wake the rest of us. I did say I was going to come and ride a lap of the poker run in the morning, but upon opening the back door of the van my priorities changed to being on time for that to making a hot breakfast and coffee. I’m not racing until tomorrow so my pre-ride can wait an hour, or eight.
Rain is rain, and wet is wet, and with that Jake didn’t wait for the weather to change and went out for the 30 mile course right away. In the poker run event, being overly competitive on the bike doesn’t reward you, but having a solid bike to complete the course on helps with the fun factor. Unfortunately for Jake, solid was not the feeling he was getting while out in the slimy conditions. The whooped out and rocky course didn’t waste any time in puncturing both tires on Jake’s machine, changing his contact with the ground from a nice 15 psi rubber to a defenceless steel rim. At first, Jake thought that the rain had just made for some extra slippery conditions, but a quick glance down at a spinning rear wheel and a stationary tire confirmed the damage. The sheared off exhaust bolt was the icing on the cake. Kris and I were enjoying fresh, hot coffee and keeping dry as Jake rolled in with the two flats, exhaust held on by zip ties, body drenched, bike with 20 pounds of mud and a smile that only two wheels can provide. We made him change outside.
Sunday morning. Everyone is up early getting ready for the 100 miles of desert we are soon to be thrown in to. The previous day’s rain has soaked into the ground considerably, but dark clouds overhead showed signs that more may be on it’s way. Bikes are filled with fuel, hydration packs filled with different concoctions, stomachs topped up with eggs and coffee and it's off to the rider’s meeting. It’s a sea of bikes as thousands of wheels exit the riders meeting and make their way towards the start. Seeing from one end to another of the start line isn’t possible to anyone on the ground, and picking a good line to start the race is just as much luck as it is strategy. Unfortunately my bike and Kris’ KTM 300 were forced into a line that had tall grass directly in their paths, with no hints to being a smooth wide open line or being littered with rocks and other surprises. The classic Le-mans start has all of the racers standing sixty feet behind their bikes, waiting for the cannon to start the wild run to the awaiting motorcycles. Serious racers have their vision fixed ahead, ready to sprint at a moments notice, while the more casual racers are planning to just stay out of the way off the start. The starting signal goes off and it's a foot race to the bikes. I get there quick and jump on perfectly, my thumb making direct contact with the electric start button. The bike turns over, but doesn’t fire. More turning over, and in this moment, the seconds it takes to start while hundreds of racers take off to each side of me feels endless. The 350 barks to life and I take off, twisting the throttle as far as it goes. Then I immediately check up, being careful not to end my day in the first hundred feet of the race while riding blind in the taller grass and sagebrush. Getting into the more open terrain it’s clear to me that I’m nowhere near the front of the pack. When there is this many racers, the best time to make passes is right now, while we are all grouped together. Without hesitation I pick off and pass each racer I come to, bouncing off the rev limiter to let them know someone is about to graze their arm in fourth gear. This strategy works great and I make a lot of passes quickly, with many more still ahead. A few miles in there is a small hill with dozens of bikes already scattered on the main tracks. I set up for my line, but a mistake from a rider 100ft up makes me change my direction slightly towards the right. I shift down to third and stay on the gas up the hill, and a couple seconds later my rear end bounces off a camouflaged rock, throwing my bike and body into a 90 degree spin, slamming us both into the hill side. A quick remount and down shift keeps the positions lost to a minimum as I continue on.
“JAKE ROLLED IN WITH THE TWO FLATS, EXHAUST HELD ON BY ZIP TIES, BODY DRENCHED, BIKE WITH 20 POUNDS OF MUD AND A SMILE THAT ONLY TWO WHEELS CAN PROVIDE”
The next fifty miles all blur together. I rode hard and made as many passes as I could, but as I climbed further up the standings, the racers became more spread out and harder to pass. There are multiple checkpoints on the course where we have one of three tags marked to make sure we don’t miss any sections of the course. Towards the later parts of lap one I was told I was in 14th place by a checker. This was the first time I actually knew where I was running. The previous days rain had also left a lot of the course muddy and I was eating roost constantly every time I caught up to someone. At one point, while in fourth gear at high speed, I entered a whoop section. Only I didn’t know I was about to enter a whoop section. I stayed on the gas and got through, but had to pull over shortly after to clean my goggles and stay safe. I didn’t count, but just that short time pulled over about five racer’s went by. I came into the 50 mile gas check, where Jake waved me in to our pit area. The bike was fuelled to the top, I was able to get a small amount of food into my mouth and new goggles were strapped to my helmet, this time with roll offs. As soon as the gas cap is put back into position, I’m back on the throttle and shifting up through the gears.
For me, a big part of a race like this is having the mental ability to pace yourself at certain points according to what my body, mind, bike and the terrain will allow. I impressed myself here with being able to select a certain percentage of speed and level of aggression, staying there for however many miles I chose. For the most part I want to operate at 100%, but there are times where 90-95% do come into play, and you need to recognize when this is. If not, I find you may end up riding at to slow of a pace, not even knowing it until a bike comes up for a pass. Or you may be riding dangerously over your head, when you really just need a moment to regroup and take control of your breathing to avoid ending up on the ground. I was able to stay at 100% for a large portion of this race, and had a few moments of brilliance while racing out of site of any spectators. This high speed racing is also dangerous, and on top of the dozen “Oh sh*t” moments when pitched sideways, I had about six occasions that were seriously close to putting me on the ground. The worst of which was while exiting a whoop section that was very deep and rough, with scattered rocks and multiple lines. I was in fourth gear, riding at 100% and going fast. While skipping the last few whoops, either my spacing went off or the bike just got kicked funny, but I rode the last two whoops on my front wheel, then the next 15-20 feet looking at nothing but my front fender and dirt, teetering on the very edge of going over the bars and being absolutely pounded into the earth. With the throttle wide open, my weight as far back as I could get, the bike leveled out just in time to regain control for the next set of whoops that followed. If there hadn’t been that break in the whoops, or if I had panicked and let go of the bars, things would of ended very badly. Being in these situations, then being able to get right back on the gas without missing a beat, is one of those traits that separates certain racers from others. Something that can have a similar effect is seeing your fellow racers down in the dirt on the same race course.
As I crested the top of a blind hill in the later parts of the race, I saw a ton of yellow marker ribbon and a group of riders, volunteers and medics surrounding a chrome blanket. I slowed while passing, looking over the scene. An emergency blanket covered him from the neck down. In the distance you could see the helicopter approaching in the sky, I sent a positive thought to my fellow racer. A few seconds after I was clicking into fourth gear, twisting the throttle and letting it all hang out.
One hundred miles of rough terrain is relentless. A strong core will make life easier, but you need to use the seat throughout to rest your back. I lost this option in the second half of the race when I felt the pleated seat come detached from my Husqvarna and fly off between my legs. Stopping was an option. I could of pulled to the side, recovered my seat and attached it back to the bike in two minutes. But the time necessary to do this and risk being passed by one of the two racers I had recently worked hard to get by wasn’t worth it to me. Instead I left the $250 dollar seat sitting on the course and never looked back. The last 20 miles had me rethinking this decision. My back felt as if it had been beaten an inch shorter and my butt didn’t feel much better from the kicks administered from the subframe. It was too late to turn back now.
The terrain became more familiar as the final miles passed underneath my tires. I stayed on the gas, making sure not to let up in the final stage of the race as the finish line became visible in the distance. As I get closer, a feeling of relief comes on, the hundred miles are nearly complete and I’m still in one piece. I’m also still in fifth gear with my 350 pinned. I slow down as I approach the finish lane that forces racers into single file format before coming across the stage where your helmet and bike tags are inspected for the right number of checks. After being denied permission to do a burnout on stage, I casually roll off the other end, and just like that, it's over. Moments ago, I was racing with other competitors, letting it all hang out and flirting with disaster. Now I’m at a dead stop with those same racers, talking about how cool that one area was, or how we almost crashed on hidden rocks on that new section of track. Some time is spent bench racing here, then I head back to the van to get out of my riding gear and trade more stories. Kris’ day ended early with tire issues. Jake got the blower motor swapped in the van after the earlier pit stop. Bikes in various condition pass by, some riders sitting tall, proud of their accomplishments, others had their head hanging low with a look of defeat. We helped each other load up the two vans, an extra bike and body were also coming back with us, then we made our way to the awards ceremony. It was here I found out that I had placed third in the 100 mile open class. It felt good to finish this race unscathed and on the podium, I’m already looking forward to next year.
– Malcolm Hett
