Arizona Endurocross Crash Pt. 1

AMA Endurocross racing is not for the faint of heart, and competing in an entire season requires a level of commitment that needs to be well thought out. Finances, physical conditioning, a motorcycle that can take the abuse and the logistics behind getting your bike and body around the Western United States to each round all add another level of difficulty to attending each race. I’ve had a passion for racing endurocross ever since my father built a track in the front yard of his home and then shortly after when we attended an endurocross race in Orofino Idaho where I qualified for the Pro final on a DRZ400. There are so many different things that draw me towards this racing, and for 2018 I planned to follow my passion and compete in the entire AMA Endurocross season, not just a select few rounds.

With the help of Barry Rokosh, a Canadian dirt nut and good friend, things started to come together and the goal of competing in multiple stadiums in the latter half of 2018 was becoming a reality. Barry purchased a new van and set to work immediately, modifying the interior to hold three race bike and a few bodies. Round one was being held in Prescott, Arizona, and the twenty six hour drive would be much easier with the new rig. Everything came together nicely, and the leaving date came up quick. The plan was for Barry, his son Max Rokosh and Travis Koprowsky to make the long trip down in the van and I would follow up two days later by flying into the Phoenix airport. I got to miss out on the tedious drive down, but knew I would have to make up for that by spending a good amount of time behind the wheel on the journey home. On August 24th we all met at the Prescott Events Centre and stepped into the Arena. Max and Travis both took part in the Destry Abbott training course this evening and recieved some pointers from one of the sports most iconic racers. I got to watch and get my first look at the course I would be doing battle on the following day.  The training off and on the bike left me feeling calm, confident and kept the pre race nerves to a minimum. Later that evening we were off to the Hotel where all four of us bunked up in one room.

“My bike hits the ground hard. I hit the ground harder. The pain is immediate. ”

Saturday August 25th. Race day. I get up before the alarm clock on my phone has a chance to blare Fugazi’s “Waiting Room” into the room and I get out the door to take in the Arizona sun rise. I got to see the sun creep over the distant hillside and took a walk in the surprisingly brisk morning air. I found a nice level patch of dead grass and took some time to stretch, waking up all the muscles in my body. I was about ten minutes from the hotel at this point and walked back to our room where there wasn’t much movement yet. It’s still a couple hours until the doors open to racers to sign in and I’m anxious to twist the throttle. I wish the main event could be at 6am, waiting can be a terrible part of racing, but soon enough we are all awake and getting breakfast on our way to the arena.

The EZ up tent goes up, race bikes are put on there stands then we all get signed in at rider registration. Track walk follows and I get my first real look at the obstacles that await us. I’m drooling over the rock section and big finish line jump. The track is made up of solid logs, a deep water pit, loose sand sections, a tight and gnarly downhill log matrix and about a dozen other obstacles. The most eye catching obstacle is the “No Joke Lane” which each pro is required to take at least once during the race. It is made up of two square body cars up on end with about fifteen feet of scaffolding between the two at roughly twenty feet high, not something you want to fall of the side of mid race. Nothing on the track worries me, and when it's time for the first practice of the day I am chomping at the bit to get the dirt under my tires. Keeping my grip loose, I rode well and suffered no arm pump. On the first lap of practice I rolled the finish line jump, feeling out the take off and length, and by lap two I am twisting the throttle off the lip and sending it. I rode smooth, kept my intensity down and focused on simply getting in clean laps and not crashing. In this type of racing riding at one hundred percent intensity is not always rewarded, and if your not riding completely focused you will go down and eventually get hurt. The old saying “To finish first, you must first finish” rings true in the stadiums of endurocross. Practice and Qualifiers are over and I’m feeling warmed up. I know I have a lot more speed to unleash on the course, but I will keep that in reserve for when it is really needed.

An evening break commences as the race fans start to line up outside the doors. Our group splits to drop off my rental car and find some good food for dinner close by. We made our way back shortly before the doors open for the ticket holders and the amount of people has grown substantially, there is no chance to see the end of the multiple lines from the pit area. A couple of younger kids that are here to watch their dad race are asking us all sorts of questions about Canada. Do we really live in igloos? Is there always snow where we are? Do we have electricity? We give them the typical lines about riding our pet moose to school in blizzards while drinking Timmies and maple syrup, making sure every sentence is littered with at least half a dozen “Eh’s”. Afterwards we spend some time going over the bikes one final time before the night show gets under way. We all road well enough in the morning practice and qualifiers to secure a spot in our respected classes tonight.

As the sun disappears in the distance and the line of fans get into the stadium the time to gear up and get our bikes back to the rider entrance approaches. Knee braces, riding pants, and Sidi boots cover my bottom half as I slip on my new Built to Ride jersey. I’m ready to race and first up for me is Pro Heat one.

To my left and right there are world renowned endurocross racers Cody Webb, Trystan Hart, Max Gerston and a dozen more, all eager for the gate drop. My drive off the gate isn’t great but we are all in the mix, and three racers go down in the first turn, including the previous years champ, Cody Webb. I made some passes in the first lap, a couple more the next lap and was feeling good. I was keeping my speed around the 80% mark, knowing that I could turn it up if I needed to, but with the amount of chaos going on around me this was working out good as I kept it on two wheels. This is until my last trip through the uphill rock section, an obstacle that I had been enjoying throughout the day. Right as my front wheel exited the rocks, my rear end spun out and I got pitched slightly sideways. My front end slid out and my bike went down, but it was a minor crash. I could pick my bike up in two seconds, get back on the gas and not skip a beat. This is what I thought anyway, until I did pick up my bike and it lurched away from me as I struggled to pull in my clutch. That’s when I realized that this gentle meeting with the ground managed to snap my clutch lever off right at the perch! My bike stalled and that was it for me in this race, no way to continue doing laps on a course like this with no clutch. I pushed my stalled bike off the track and exited the arena while the racing was still taking place. I had a Main event coming up and had to make repairs immediately.

Back at the van I dumped out my bag of spare levers and got the parts together I needed for the swap. With everything bolted back up properly and a functioning clutch lever I was again ready to hit the track. The next race was very important to me. I knew I had the speed and mental capability to win, and I really wanted to prove it to myself that I could put it all together and be the first to cross the finish line.

“My talus was pulverized as pieces of the bone turned to dust. The navicular bone shattered into several pieces that became displaced as my cuboid came out of joint while it was crushed.”

Fifteen minutes later I was back in the stadium with my bike on the gate. The noise from the surrounding bikes and thousands of fans didn’t seem to penetrate my helmet, I was looking ahead, focused and ready to ride. I click from neutral to second as the thirty second board was raised and kept two fingers on the clutch. As the board goes sideways the revs climb, two seconds later the clutch levers from sixteen different bikes are all dropped simultaneously and the race to the first corner is on. I come into the corner in the top five and get over the first obstacle mistake free, then make my first pass just after the next corner. Everything feels good, I have control over my bike and body, keeping a clear mind and making sure I’m breathing consistently. I get into third place and have to spend a bit of time making the pass for second. These races are short and intense, and I’m still using the same game plan of riding at 80% of my speed and aggression. With first place just in front of us I think it will get the job done, and if not, on the last lap I will open it up and take some more risks to go for the win. I get around second place in the rock section and first place is only 50 feet in front of me. Coming around the last corner of the track I see the white flag waving as the leader jumps the finish line jump, starting the final lap of the race. I stay steady on the gas, the approach feels routine, but just as I’m hitting the steep take off of the jump something doesn’t feel so normal. I’m still not sure if I cross rutted up the take off or simply got a bit sideways, but at this point I am full commitment and a split second later I am airborne without control of my bike. My bike is so front end high that I can’t see me getting it back down where it needs to be, but I’m desperately searching for the rear brake with my right foot to try and level this out. This fails as the bike is too far gone and I make the decision to eject, making the rest of the flight solo. My bike hits the ground hard. I hit the ground harder. The pain is immediate.

The height alone I fell from was enough to do damage, but combined with over jumping the landing and my left foot being at a forty five degree angle when it contacted the hard Arizona dirt increased the damage significantly. My ankle dislocated one way while my mid foot dislocated in the other direction. The pressure from this filled my Sidi boots at the point of impact, and the shattering bones that came with it gave me a pain that emanated from my left foot and ran through my entire body. My talus was pulverized as pieces of the bone turned to dust. The navicular bone shattered into several pieces that became displaced as my cuboid came out of joint while it was crushed. The calcaneus, first and second cuneiform and first metatarsus all fractured into multiple pieces, leaving a mess of shattered bone shrapnel. The bones came together and shattered so intensely that the right side of my foot was crushed and shortened inside my boot. I took this immobilizing pain and decided to turn in into opportunity.

I look over my shoulder at the landing that I’m laying at the bottom of to make sure I am not about to get landed on. I’m quick to get upright, standing on my right foot. I know well enough that I won’t be able to weight bear on my left side, so I hop towards my Husqvarna that is laying ten feet in front of me on it's side. I pick the motorcycle up then swing my broken foot and ankle over, not letting it contact the ground or foot peg. The clutch and brake levers are both bent and rotated. As I bang on them to get them into a usable position the first rider passes me. I get things lined up close enough and the electric start brings the 350 to life. Next I ride ahead fifteen feet and stop on the side of the track. My triple clamps are so twisted that there is no way I want to ride with my handlebars and front wheel pointing in such different directions. I bang the front wheel off of a log in front of the mechanics section and my front end straightens out enough to keep going. I hear some clapping and a “Go Malcolm” from the mechanics section, but it’s obvious to them that the damage has been done. The next obstacle is a raised log section with an entrance made of four stacked logs, followed by two more with a bike length gap between them. Just as I’m getting over the final log my left foot contacts the wood, making me shout out in pain. I cautiously make my way through the water pit, sand section and a few more obstacles before coming to the matrix. As I approach there are two racers stuck, leaving the only open line right between them. Previous laps would see me jumping into the matrix, keeping the front end light and getting through smoothly. This time I rolled in slowly, but still managed to clear the first four and a half logs, getting stuck beside a YZ250. As he gets going I take another shot at getting out and don’t make it over, losing my balance to my left side. As my left foot contacts the ground my leg immediately collapses and the rest of my body follows as I scream from the intense pain. The track worker closest to me comes up and I say “My ankle is broken as fuck.” He follows with “Want me to get the medics over here?” “No, pick my bike up I want to finish” I respond. He does just that while I stay on my hands and knees in the dirt. Three more track workers come over to help get my bike up and pointed in the right direction, I let them know I need the medics waiting for me at the finish. My bike is held while I hoist myself on top and I’m told “However you need to get to the finish, you go ahead.” Now I am back on the bike, rolling forward in first gear making my way around the last couple corners to get to the finish line. There’s no sense of relief as I approach the checkered flag. The cheering crowd feels good, but it’s hard to appreciate it in the moment as the pain has taken all of my attention. I’ve done it, I’ve finished the race with my left foot and ankle in a more then fragile state, and forty feet after the finish line the medics are waiting as I am directed to the side of the track.

I get off the bike and go to the ground, surrounded by friends and strangers alike. My helmet comes off but the Gopro keeps rolling as the medics go over a few things with me. I tell them that I’m broken and dislocated, but they want to see for themselves so we force my boot off over the next minute, the sock follows. It’s more than they can deal with and they suggest taking the ambulance to the nearby hospital. I refuse, then look up at Barry Rokosh. I don’t even think I said anything, the look alone was enough to let him know to get me and the bike out of here. With the help of Jody Bridge and Brian Hull I am vertical again. The two of them carry me out of the stadium while Barry pushes the bike. It is a lot quieter outside, it’s nice. We stop, the van is about a two minute walk across the parking lot and that won’t be easy on any of us. I suggest I ride to the van, I think it will be the easiest and quickest way to get me over there. Of course this is met with hesitation, but they go along with it and lift me onto my twisted motorcycle. Another hit on the electric start, followed by Brian shifting the bike into first with his hand and I slowly cruise across the asphalt. I’m careful to keep my balance and get to the van, but here I am presented with another problem, I can’t get off the bike. Luckily I’m not in this position for long as I get some assistance getting off and I again go to the ground. Others arrive and I am propped up on chairs and sitting back while the van gets loaded up. I am offered some ibuprofen and cannabis, but say no as I need a clear mind to know what's going on in my foot and to feel the pain level accurately. It’s at a ten right now.

By: Malcolm Hett