My trusty pit crew turned up early and after watching the end of the F1 race we were off, an uneventful drive to Hope-U-Dinmore and we found ourselves in the Little Chef surrounded by other competitors. Great I thought, at least we're in the right place! An Olympic breakfast, some toast and a mug of tea later and we were at the track.
I sign in, we get the bike unloaded and I get kitted up. It's becoming
quite obvious from the way we're having trouble walking around that
traction is going to be a problem. The soil looks clay based and the
overnight rain has made the top surface both slippy and sticky. The bike
gets through scruitineering with the usual 'bloody hell, you don't see
many of them these days'. It's then a wait till the start. Once the
riders meeting has finished we're off. The first part of the track is
slippy but ok, then we enter some woods, it's carnage in there, bikes
and riders all over the place. Somehow I manage to stay on. The clay
soil is covered in fallen leaves and any hint of a track that was there
is obscured. Eventually I see the end of the woods, there's a sharp left
hander, as I go round it the front end goes, I slide wide, the right
hand handguard hits a tree and I'm off, first spill of the day.
The next part of the course follows a brook and involves a few excurions
through it, no problems there, things are looking good. Then it's into
the woods on the other side of the valley. These are worse than the
first, from the moss everywhere it's obvious these are north facing and
so get very little sun. The ground is very wet, and the course has been
set so you're constantly riding across the slope. I'm doing ok till
someone falls directly in front of me. I ride over his front wheel, but
when my front wheel hits his fork it kicks the front end out and I fall
heavily. I roll down the hill a bit and eventually stop when I hit a
tree. It takes a good 5 minutes to drag the bike back up and I'm
knackered. I get back on and carry on. I'm now hanging back a bit from
the bike in front to give me time if he falls, it works, I see a couple
of bikes go down and that extra couple of seconds allows me to pass them
no problem. "Ha, see ya suckers!" I think.
I'm knackered, muddy and hurting a bit when I come to a steep right
hander that takes you right over the top of the hill, as I start to go
up it I get passed on the inside by a quad and a great bit pile of mud
hits me square in the face. I can't see, I fumble for a tear off, fail
to find one and crash. I try and stand up but It's so muddy I can't and
roll further down the hill. I eventually get to the bike on my hands and
knees. Picking the bike up is a joke, there's no way I can lift it. I
try several times and just end up falling on it. I look about and there
are about 5 of us all in the same state. Bikes are flying up the hill
covering us with even more mud, probably the same bikes I was laughing
at earlier! I drag the bike down the hill and manage to pick it up. I
fire it up and have a go at the hill, I can't get ant traction at all
and slide further down, the bike goes sideways and over I go. Another
two attempts put me further down the hill. I look back to try and find a
flat bit so I can get a run up, nothing, it drops straight into a brook.
"What the f$*k am I doing here" I ask myself. The others are in a
similar state. We all look at each other, there is no way we're going to
get the bikes up that hill till spring when the ground dries out!
A marshall comes to see us, he tells us that we've been there now for 20
minutes and that the secret to it is to get the right line and gas it "I
bloody new that!" I thought. He tells us to cut this hill out and go to
the bottom of the next. I'm both pissed off and happy as I feel like a
bit of a cheat, but know a couple more attempts would have finished me.
The next bit of course is very muddy but managable, then we go into a
stream and ride up it for a good 400 yards, my boots are now full of
water but I don't care this bit is fun. It's then out and up a long
climb back to the pits. It takes a whole bottle of Fanta to swill out
the mud I've got in my mouth. The race continues, as do the falls,
although not as bad.
I'm getting into it now altough I have noticed the brakes are losing
their bite. I'm starting to follow the quick boys for as long as I can
and study their lines and technique. I'm following one when we go down
through the brook, I tip my head forward so I don't get a face full and
bang, next thing I know I'm lying on the floor watching the bike carry
on. There's the distinctive sound of a two stroke coming my way, I
quickly roll over 360 degrees only to see a MX rear wheel miss me by
inches. I'd forgotten about an overhanging branch and it took me clean
off the bike. It takes a few minutes, but I can see properly again and
I've got a headache from hell, but there's no way I'm giving up now. The
next time through the brook the rear brake packs up completely, the clay
slurry has gradually got into the drum brake. I'm now seriously
concerned about the front brake, which is operating at about 50%, a lap
later the concern is justified as both brakes are useless. I continue
for two laps like this, it's bloody hard work only using the engine as a
brake and it results in several spills slowing down into cormers. I pit
and express my concerns to Richard my pit crew. Working on the
assumption that wet drum brakes are better than wet clay filled ones we
tip some water into the drums and it flushes out a load of clay. He
tells me there's only 10 minutes to go, so off I go. The back brake
still is no good but I'm back to a 50% front. In the woods I take a
right hander and a 250MXer tries to take me on the inside, he losses his
front, hits me and pushes me into a tree. His fork slider hits the back
of my leg and pins it against the side of my engine. Then rather than
roll his bike back he decides to nail it. My foot is being squashed, I'm
screaming, he throttles off and I hurl a torrent of abuse at him. "Shit
sorry mate" he says as he flys past. I sit down, at first I think I've
bust my foot, but the pain eases and off I go, I get round the rest of
the course without incident and cross the line with a 50 yard stand up
wheelie (Well, in my head I did!!)
The PE250 has now been retired, at 17 years old I think it deserves an
easier life, so it looks like a mate of mine is going to buy it and take
it over to Sweden, to use out in the woods when he's over there visiting
his other halfs parents.
A KX250 motocrosser beckons.......... :o)
