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Posted by Dean Devito
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Thursday, 14 February 2008 |
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Page 2 of 2
 Before the beginning of stage 4, I was inspecting my front wheel bearings and axle, as I was starting to get nervous about the durability of the Killer. She was just as she left the assembly line 5 years ago, bone stock, and had already seen some rough days with me in the saddle. She had given me no reason to worry, though it seemed odd that the bike I use upwards of 1,000 miles a month was going to hold together through this. A few quick turns to tighten the axle nut and a double check of the coolant and oil level and she was all tight again and ready to rally. The KLR 650 is an incredible motorcycle.
Stage 4 proved to be an eventful one as my luck and ‘showmanship’ ran out. I was becoming addicted to the speed of the race, and adrenalin was allowing me to save a few situations that otherwise would have gotten me really dusty. They say God protects children and fools, and it must be the case…even if he lets you eat it on your bike from time to time.
The Killer and I were entering a 90-degree right-hander known as the Sandtrap Hairpin, and as you may have guessed, there were spectators there. In my own redneck version of, “hey ya’ll, watch this,” I carried way too much speed into the hairpin. I saw an embankment on the outside, and tried to use it like a berm. The problem is, though, that I am not Bubba Stewart, and the Killer is a bit too overweight for real heroics. We rode up the berm and wheelied off of it just fine but when I set her down she started shaking her fat head side to side and fish tailed for what seemed forever. The sand gave way, then re-grabbed the tires several times, and before I knew it I was off the high side, in front of my adoring fans.
Despite their applause, which I took as proper thanks for the free show, I quickly remounted, restarted, and rode off…with the entire front end bent. Seems the stock bars bent (should have ponied up for the Pro-Tapers), and the forks twisted in the clamps. As long as there were only right hand turns remaining in the rally, I’d be all set. Unfortunately, the rally organizers had a few left-handers up their sleeves, and I needed to back her down and ride easy until the next service area.
 The next 20 mile transit and 15 mile stage was slow and steady, but I finished, and was able to get to the service area to try and fix the bike. This is when I found out the rally was more than good racing as both the competitors and volunteers turned out to be true motorcyclists.
It just so happened a couple of guys, Jim and Paul, that were camping next to us were also volunteering at the rally. Jim had some motocross racing experience so he had seen plenty of worked over front ends on bikes, and Paul had been riding for years...so they were handy guys to know. When I explained to them my problem, they quickly broke out the tools, and straightened out the front end as best they could. We also borrowed tools from other racers that were more than willing to help me. My lack of clout from running in the back half of the field didn’t seem to matter to anyone. Without the willingness of the other competitors, fans, and volunteers, to help me and the Killer out, we would have had a long afternoon. This camaraderie is what sets motorcyclists apart from regular people, and made the rally that much more enjoyable.
Back in the race with a newly straightened out front end, I was flying again. With only bent handlebars and a broken radiator shroud to contend with, stage 6 flew by incident free. The Killer thumped away, winding up to the far reaches of her tach several times before I’d bang off an up shift. She seemed to forgive me for my hack riding style, and I was again able to compete, and even make up some time on those around me.
Twilight was setting in, though, and it seemed Stage 7, the final one, would be run in the dark. Good news since I had the stock headlight with all the power of a candlestick to pull me through the woods. By now, I had made friends with those staged around me, and even though we were in direct competition, everyone was in good humor and it seemed like no more than a Sunday morning ride. We swapped stories, riding tips, and began making plans for the next rally.
 The stage began in the dark, and off in the distance you could see the taillight of the riders in front, and hoped that they knew where they were going as that is all we had to chase. It seemed some had bigger stones than others, and I was passed with frightening speed by a few riders. The dust scattered the headlight beam like fog in the morning, and ruts were almost impossible to distinguish on the racing line. That settled down my speed quickly…until that old competitive streak came back when I started seeing the tail lights in front of me get bigger and clearer. The Killer made up some ground, and eventually snuck by an orange bike in a left hander. Despite my slowed pace, it was scary stuff at night…but everyone made it through despite some of them running a bit faster than planned. At the end there was a buzz since it seemed like we had all gotten away with something foolish, and had one great rally story to share. The time keeper asked at the end, “How was that one?” My response: “Awesome…probably the dumbest thing I have ever done, but awesome. "
There was still the task of the final transit, however, and the dark made reading the roll chart almost impossible. Ben was a rider that I had tussled with all day on the course and his bike, a BMW 650 Dakar, had lost all dash lights, making it impossible for him to read the odometer. So; we had Ben who couldn't read his odometer or his roll chart and me who couldn't read my roll chart but had a well lit odometer. We had worked together all day trying to keep check-in times straight and transits done properly…and this was one last problem to solve before we could call ourselves rally finishers. We hashed-out a plan, and we set off with Ben to my left behind me with his hi-beam on so I could read the roll chart. This was just one more piece of the rally puzzle for us, and we did make the finish at Cheraw HS in time.
 Overall, the Killer and I brought home 27th of 51 overall, and 12th of 24 bikes in our class...with no late/early time penalties!!! I had to learn the rally on the fly, but more experienced rally riders and volunteers helped ease the process; thanks to everyone that answered all of my questions and helped put the Killer across the finish line. I was happy to finish in the top half of the field, but the results seemed not to matter, even if I had lost out to more riders I was happy to have had the experience, and the feeling of tackling a new challenge with my motorcycle.
We all shook hands, and seemed to have a healthier respect for our bike’s, as well as our own, limitations and abilities. There was an enthusiasm in the conversations of the riders as we swapped stories, and tried to thank those that helped us as the day went on. It seemed that most riders had been helped by some other rider during the day, and the most common response to thanks was, “no worries.” Truly a bunch of gentleman racers, and knowing that everyone looks out for the rest of the field like that makes it much easier to ride hard and let a bit more hang out.
Cheers, gentleman, and rally on…I owe several people a cold one, and plan to be back next year so you can redeem it.
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