Super Quick ISDT Action! New Blaine 2010!

Pretty quick post, this time...with Gatorback in the bag the next race was one of the legs of the ISDT series, which are never very good for pics. It was March, and we were off to western Arkansas and scenic New Blaine. This time we had with us new friend and generally decent guy James Hogan. Hogan had brought along one of them fancy, occasionally operable two stroke things, a Bultaco Herpa or Shalpina or some such. I'm mostly gonna quote from my old race report for this one, because its easier than trying to remember these things:
"After a 463 hour drive, we (myself, Max, George, and Hogan) safely arrived, registered and tech-ed in, and retired to our camp to await the bad weather that inevitably was going to come, which is apparently our gig."

Being numbah 4 in our little band, Hogan was stuck on his own start time a bit ahead of us, leaving at 9:09am. Sadly, this meant we really only got to see him for a couple minutes at time checks an' such, but some incidental contact and general self abuse aside he seemed to be having a good day anyhow. One good side effect of this, however, is we got some pics of him setting off.

"our lil' trio of 5hunnert Triumphs departed on the 25th minute. Max, as per usual, tore on ahead en route to laying waste to the classic expert class he bumped up to as of this race, which left George an' me to carry on together which we did for most of the weekend, except for rare occasions when George held his bike's head underwater to try drowning it for having committed some trivial offense. In the end it was a good solid day with Max getting first and a gold medal; Hollywood a third and Bronze in PV Open Int.; Me 3rd and George 4th for bronzes in Classic Int. Then the weather rolled in. I can only ascribe the luck in finishing the day's riding before it got ugly to Hogan's presence, but when it hit, it was nasty. Winds kicked up and then the hail started....lots of hail....big hail for people not used to it. It looked like it had snowed for crissakes. Oddly, it was a short bit of hell, and unlike our usual luck, the worst stayed JUST either side of us, but how it would affect the course next day was a concern."

"Day 2 didn't start as pretty as Sat. It was gray, breezy, damp, cold, and generally meh. Hogan's bike responded to this dreariness by proving reluctant to start on his minute, but was soon running and on his way. Unlike day one, we would unfortunately catch up to him on the course. George's bike showed its anger at the weather by also proving a bit "hard start-y". For the most part, it was a good day riding, but on the way back from the second special test to the final time check we came upon poor, sad Hollywood, with a sparking plug hole that was stripped. Unable to get a plug in his hole, he ended up retiring, getting to ride back to camp in style while being regaled with the full history of the New Blaine region...the lucky dog. 

 Having stopped to offer moral support to Hogan, George an' I learned the valuable lesson of perhaps needing a time keeping device of some sort while riding in a time controlled event, arriving at the final control 4 minutes off our time and earning a fairly good penalty. After a break, with no sign of Hogan's return, it was down the road to the 4 lap grasstrack test, which I found pleasantly horrifying."

"That done it was back to camp. In the final tally for the day, Max beat stiff competition for another first and gold in Expert, I lost second and a silver due to my lack of watch/concept of the passage of time/brain, so George an' I finished as we did on sat with 3rd, 4th and bronzes."

The Start of the Big Dang Year: Gatorback!

And so begins 2010. As stated, this was to be a big year for us. Which means it was going to be a busy one, with lots of traveling. That wasn't the plan from day one, but as the season progressed Max an' I decided we would hit any races we possibly could and try to win our respective classes. I say "respective classes" because after this first race Max bumped up into Classic Expert, the writing being pretty clear on the wall that he was far beyond us Intermediate muddlers. So the season's first race at Gatorback was a milestone, being the last time Max would start on the same line as me and George. They grow up so fast. It was a pretty good sendoff, however, as we made up the entire line in Classic. There was Max, out for his first race on the Tr5t he had built over the winter. George, on his trusty Tr5t. Me, having sorta recovered from my broken leg, on the old T100. Jay on the Field Pig,

and Chad and Alex on their menagerie of BSA unit singles,

Max immediately dissapeared, which though not a surprise, proved he was even faster on the "little" Tr5t than he was on his old 650.

The rest of us lined up and proceeded to plod around the course at a much more sedate pace

That's us, politely lined up. I'm in the front followed by Chad, Jay, and Alex. George is hidden back there in the trees. I had no idea any of them were behind me until Chad popped around me in the woods. We kept on like that until I cleverly missed a turn and they followed. Jay wasn't fooled by my mistak....erm, clever plan. I think after I got turned around and bactracked to the turn I'd missed I got back on the course just in front of him...I think. Hopefully he'll refresh my memory on that. I do know he got past me, but I'm pretty sure it was further on. However, the Field pig sulked up going through the timing tent a bit later and I sneaked past. Max was, of course, beating us all to death, and lookin' good doing so,

I was mostly second, eventually holding that spot to the finish,

George finished 3rd because he ran a good, solid, trouble-free race, which is a statement that will be important as we get to the results of the other sad feckers.

And here we go. Let the tales of woe begin. Chad, seen here apparently crapping himself up the big hill,

and who had been running with us until the slight getting-lost incident decided to kill some time when his exhaust pipe fell off, requiring him to wedge it back in place with our favorite tool: "a stick". This dropped him back to Fifth

Alex, who had also been happily pounding along,

got caught up by George when he dumped his bike in soft sand, then got a bit confused and thought the white flag meant "surrender" instead of "one lap to go" and missed his last lap. He still managed Fourth.
And then there's Jay. Oh...Jay.... Monsieur Jay, who had gotten himself up into second until he stalled his bike, finished sixth. Soon after he got his bike restarted he lost his gas cap. This only became problematic/excruciatingly painful when gas began sloshing out of the tank and onto his crotch. To this day his campfire tale of dancing around with his pants off, scaring spectators while trying to get water to douse his, ummm, man bits is one of the most ridiculous things you will ever hear. If you ever meet him, be sure to ask him about it. As the tears well up in his eyes remembering the pain, you will thank yourself.