Have You Tried Your Race Face On?

Every Saturday for the last……well however long it has been, you’ve been getting up at the crack of dawn after hardly sleeping the night before, to go ride with your buddies. You have a great machine, you have all the kit, you have acquired a vast array of skills, and you’ve ridden everywhere. Really, everywhere!!! Today’s different though. This Saturday you’ve been up since 3:00 AM and you really haven’t had a decent kip since Wednesday anyway. Why? Today you’re riding in your first race.Your buddies and you have done all the homework about where and how to enter, what the requirements are, where to be, what time to be there…..nothing has been left to chance. Your bike has been loaded on the trailer since last night, your kit has been packed, checked, re-checked and loaded into the boot of the car. You have a huge note tagged to the front door to remind you not to forget the cooler bag that has your braai meat and cold ones for after the event. Your new jerry can is full and mixed with your favourite synthetic two stroke. You’ve packed a toolkit (your whole personal workshop inventory in fact) – and you do know what you have ‘cause you used almost every tool you own last Sunday when you stripped and prepped your bike for the big event. You’ve showered, got dressed, re-run a checklist of everything you think you’ll need. You’ve packed the cooler box in the car (this took you 15 minutes ‘cause you couldn’t help just standing and staring at your baby mounted on her trailer all shiny and race-ready – hell you’ve waited long to say that). You go inside, absolutely confident that you are now ready for the big race and you pick up the telephone to call your mates to confirm that they are awake and everybody knows the meeting place for your convoy travel arrangement. Then you notice that it is still 5:30 AM and you are, like, 2 hours early, dude! The phone gets placed in the cradle, you set your alarm for 7:30 exactly so no time will be wasted as soon as it becomes socially acceptable to make the call and switch on the kettle for some coffee and the tune in to the sports channel on the TV.After getting over the fright of the telephone ringing at 06:50 ‘cause your buddies are in exactly the same position as you but don’t feel too much for socially acceptable graces, your teeth show ear to ear as you bolt for the front door to head out. You meet all your mates at the designated meeting spot an hour and a bit earlier than originally planned and you find that within 5 minutes, the whole crew are there and you head out.On your arrival, you’re quite amazed at the amount of people there. The tents and camping gear from the guys that have been there since the night before, the factory team trucks and canopies, and a plethora of trailers and canopies and umbrellas all placed neatly on either side of the various pit lanes marked off with plastic tape. You quickly do a recce of the pit area and realise that, had you left at your original planned time, your crew would not have had a decent spot at all. You have a quick conference and decide where your pit is going to be. Cars are laagered, canopies are rigged, bikes offloaded, jerry cans lined up – this is starting to look so pro. You all take a couple of steps into the track and stand next to each other admiring your pits. Until 10 seconds ago you all looked like vets, now everybody knows that you’re the rookies. Who cares? You’re here to race.You all head off to registration. You pay for your day license, you pay for your registry, and after arguing because you’re not allowed to use the race numbers you already stuck on your bike ‘cause the range and colours you’ve chose designate that you’re an octogenarian racing a turbo charged Zimmer frame, you pay for a new set of race numbers. You head back to your pits and carefully remove your carefully chosen and applied race numbers and re-apply the new numbers. You all get changed into full riding gear and start up your bikes, you must warm them up before the race you know. Your engine warm-up is exactly 15 seconds long and you’re all riding toward the scrutinising station. You have a mild sweat building – is my bike ok? What haven’t I checked? What will they stop me racing for? You get into the queue and you and your mates look around you. Yep, you’re standing out like sore thumbs as the rookies once again! Everyone else is still in their shorts and t-shirts with their bikes. Of course this makes absolute sense – the race only starts in 2 hours still. Why would everyone else want to be sitting around in chest protectors and knee guards for that long? Bike scrutiny is painless, your bike is a-ok and you’re now feeling the excitement – the only outstanding formality is getting onto the start line.Not too long after sitting around telling war stories with each other and making sure that all your gear is ready for the race – re-fuel is in the correct place, spare, clean goggles are ready and accessible, water bottles are in reach, your wife has the camera ready – you hear the call for briefing. Great what’s briefing?!? You and your mates look at each other, look at the crowd all starting to walk in the same direction (this time they’re wearing kit), look at each other again, nod heads, quickly kit up again (record time), and join the crowd. Briefing is interesting. You’re told what the markers mean and that you may not race while under the influence – this is slightly perturbing as you slowly slip your mx shirt sleeve over the beer bottle you’ve been casually sipping from. You’re told the starting order and times and are pleased that your 300 puts you in the first class to start (you need all the help you can get). You and your buddies, well the ones in the same class as you anyway, head to the start line. The excitement is awesome now. You are in a line of bikes all side by side, about 120 of them, across the top of a big, open field. Hmmm, this is going to be interesting. The starter walks on to the field and puts a 1 minute board up. Engines are started all around you – it is deafening and as you start up your own bike you realise that all the conversation that you were having with the guys on either side of you is over, in fact all conversation is over for the next couple of hours. The 30 second board goes up and the revving starts – sounds like Beethoven’s 5^th to you. The excitement is tangible and as the starter’s hands go up in the air with all fingers extended and the fingers start going down one at a time to count off the last 10 seconds, you feel what a real race-face feels like! Last finger goes down, green flag goes up and 120 lunatics are screaming down the field side by side heading for a single, narrow point in the distance and you are in the pack. It takes two seconds to realise that you are, in fact, devoid of all real sensibility and another two seconds to realise that you can’t see a thing for the dust! Your brain works quicker than your two stroker is revving and lets you know, very subtly, that it would not be unwise to slow down a tad because:a)       You’re not going to win this race – it is your first and there are experienced, sponsored factory riders in the same competition; andb)       You can’t see; andc)       Hell, all you’re here to do is be involved, have fun, and get your medal for completing the full eventCommon sense prevails, and to your immense satisfaction you realise that in slowing down, you’ve managed to comfortably negotiate yourself through the first corner, get involved in the spread, find a great comfort pace, and most important, realise that there’s a whole bunch of guys behind you. You’re racing, your heart is pumping, you’re mid-pack, you’re riding some new terrain, and you have the biggest smile on your face since the day you walked out of the shop with your first bike. You can almost taste the adrenalin running through your system. Even though you heard it at briefing, the marking system really only makes real sense when you’re using it. The single markers always on your left, the small cluster showing you where and which direction the turns are, and the big clusters showing you the hazards – these are a bit daunting sometimes when you see an ambulance near them! The course is great, the organizers have thrown all the challenges you’d want into the mix. There’s flat track, mud, river beds, river crossings, mud, hill climbs, steep descents, all of it. You get to the first area where spectators are and for a brief second you’re Alfie Cox. Your pit strategy is two laps, re-fuel, and two laps. You come through the pit checkpoint at the end of your first lap and as you’re riding out you give the hero wave to your wife who is in attendance at the right spot with the camera. This racing stuff!!! It’s tit man!!!Your second lap is even better than the first, you’ve done 30kms-40kms and you’re really comfortable on your bike. This isn’t one of your usual Saturday rides where there are regular drink and/or cigarette stops. This is ride, ride, ride. To your pleasure you find that one of your mates has a similar race pace and is right in front of you. You turn on the gas a tad, come up next to him and give a thumbs-up. He acknowledges and the two of you know that you’ll probably do the rest of the race together. Second time through the pit checkpoint and you head for your pits. It’s exciting. The wives, girlfriends, and other supporting buddies that have come through are lending a hand, getting your jerry can to you, a bottle of cold drinking water, clean pair of goggles – it’s all happening. You look around and see that one of your ride buddies has taken most of his kit off and is sipping back a cold one. Apparently he took a hard get-off and punctured his front wheel – his race is over but he’s still enjoying the day. You head out and complete laps three and four. Every lap you do is more fun. You’ve got used to the course and you’re really comfortable in the seat now. You come through the pit checkpoint for the last time and you are happy. Man, you have one of the biggest ride smiles you’ve ever had – and everybody can see it – not difficult with all the grime on your face and the only visible white is your teeth. You take a slow amble to your pits, park the bike, take off the helmet, haul out a coldy and check who from your team is in before you (all in that order). You’re pleased, you’re in the middle of your crew’s pack and, after you’ve gone to the checkpoint, you find out you’re in the middle of the class pack. Excellent. You pick up your completion medal and head back to your pits where you help get the fire started for the braai. You sit down and start the war stories. This takes time, everybody has a great one and they are interrupted every now and then by a buddy coming in after completing his race.After everyone has finished, had a bite and a couple of coldies, packed up and loaded up, you say your goodbyes and head home. You sit in the car next to your wife on the road home and, after a half hour of silence, she looks over at you and tells you that the total brilliance of the whole experience is written all over your face. You smile – you can feel it!!! You’ll be back for more!!! You know that this race isn’t over yet. The stories that you and your ride buddies will share with each other and relate to other buddies over a social drink or two will go on for months…….or at least the next race – and, yes, there will be a next one.Keep the shiny side up and ride it like you stole itSteve “Tombstone” Lauter