Posted August 1, 2007   Email |  Print

Project PE175: Part 2

The rider's report, or how I broke into post-vintage motocross racing at the year's biggest race.

By Bill "Krez" Kresnak

I'm at the starting line, rapping the throttle of my 1984 Suzuki PE175. I'm waiting for an official to wave a flag to send me out for practice in my first motocross race ever, and I'm 52 years old.

How the heck did I get here?

It all started a couple months ago when I decided to get an old (meaning cheap) dirtbike to play around on. But American Motorcyclist Competition Editor James "Erv" Holter said I didn't need a playbike, I needed a full-on race weapon.

He said if I found something appropriate, that he would prep the bike so I could race it in the premier vintage motocross event in America -- the American Historic Racing Motorcycle Association (AHRMA) program at AMA Vintage Motorcycle Days. Held at the Mid-Ohio Sports Car Course in Lexington, Ohio, in late July, this is a big-time event. Road racers have to dice with the likes of Jay Springsteen, and motocrossers, like me, could find themselves on the track with stars like seven-time AMA national champion Rick Johnson.

Yep, VMD is serious racing, and I couldn't wait to get there.

But first I needed that race bike.

It took more than a month of looking, but we finally found a bike. It wasn't a motocrosser, but it was the off-road equivalent of Suzuki's RM series. The PE stands for "Pure Enduro." As we discovered when we looked up old bike reviews, the PE was considered a top-of-the-line woods racer in the early 1980s. Erv said the competition off-road models, such as Kawasaki KDXs, Yamaha ITs and the PEs, are pretty common at AHRMA motocross events, so I snapped it up for $450 and Erv went to work (see Part 1).

And three weeks later, here I am. Signed up for the Ultima 250 Novice class in Sunday's post-vintage motocross program at VMD.

Admittedly, just days before the race I had second thoughts. After all, I'm 52 years old and the most serious dirt riding I've done since I was 17 was an off-road poker run earlier this year. I've never ridden motocross.

I imagined sitting at the starting line, looking left and seeing 50 expert and intermediate racers, with just a few novices, revving their engines as two-stroke exhaust burnt my nostrils. I imagined looking right and seeing 50 more.

They would all be on 250cc or bigger bikes, and in seconds, I imagined, we'd all be pinning our throttles racing down a long straight to funnel into a very narrow, very crowded right turn.

I imagined the carnage as bodies flew everywhere.

I shared this fear with Erv, but he told me the race would be just a Sunday ride with a handful of novices. He said all I had to do was ride my own race, hold my line and there'd be no problem.

I changed my mind and decided to race. (Erv quite frequently talks me into doing things that maybe I shouldn't do.)

So, here I am waiting for the starter to wave a flag and send me out for my practice. I look left and see 50 expert and intermediate racers, with just a few novices, revving their engines. I look right and see 50 more. They're all on 250cc or bigger bikes.

The flag waves.

I'm last into the first turn -- thank you, Mr. 175cc motor -- and hold my breath so I don't suck in the dust kicked up by the 100 bikes in front of me.

I get through the right-hander and head for the first jump, remembering the pre-race advice given to me by AMA Board Chairman and vintage motocross racer Dal Smilie when we bumped into him at sign-up: "You don't have to jump over the jumps. Just roll over them."

I come to the first jump and roll off the throttle. But it wasn't enough. I still launch off the small hill, landing front wheel first. That's not exactly a technique endorsed by Ricky Carmichael or James Stewart, I think (and Mr. Smilie probably wouldn't approve either).

Then I spot him.

He's a novice racer like me, but I think he's the fastest guy in my class. So I decide to follow him to learn his lines and see where I can pass. I'm right on his rear fender. I follow him through a few corners and over some large jumps, which most of us this deep in the pack are navigating as hills. But then he stalls, right at the bottom of a steep jump out of a tight right-handed turn, stopping me in my tracks.

The PE doesn't have the oomph to get me up the steep hill from a dead stop. It stalls.

I push the bike off the track and watch the rest of my practice group continue around the course.

"I can't do this," I think. "The jumps are too high and the ruts are too deep."

Suddenly, Erv is by my side at trackside (again, like that little devil guy who sits on your shoulder talking you into doing things you shouldn't do).

"The bike can't make it," I shout. "Not enough motor."

Erv yells back: "We'll tweak it after practice. Go! Go!"

I don't know why, but I listen to Erv. I wait for a gap to open in the crowd on the track, and re-enter the fray. I gingerly make my way over the jumps and around the ruts, taking full advantage of tip No. 2 from Mr. Smilie: "You can ride anywhere on the track you want as long as you stay between the ribbons that mark the course." I head down the straights, through more jumps and turns, and back into the pits.

Practice is over. I did one lap.

I ride back to the pits. Erv tells me I did good not to crash, but that I probably could have gone a little faster.

I then tell him that the bike is dog slow.

Erv grumbles. I think I hurt his feelings. He is the guy in charge of the bike, after all. But then he goes to work. He tweaks the carb to give the motor more power -- he says he turns the air screw in 1/16th of an inch, but I don't know how much good that can do.

"That'll do 'er," he says.

He then explains that because the PE is an off-road bike, that it has a longer pull to the throttle than a typical motocrosser.

"This isn't a quarter-turn throttle," he says. "You have the turn the throttle all the way."

He then grabs the throttle and demonstrates, seeming only a little insincere as he does it.

Thanks, Erv.

I drink some water and try to get in the right frame of mind for my first moto. Honestly, I don't feel too confident right now, and I'm thinking about pulling the plug.

But then Erv says two things that change my mind. One, unlike practice, for my race there will be only novices on the track. Two, I'm not here to win a race; I'm here to win a bet.

I almost forgot about the bet.

American Motorcyclist Managing Editor Grant Parsons and I have a $5 wager. If I complete two motos, and he fails to ride his 1972 Honda CL350 from Columbus to Mid-Ohio and back (a roundtrip distance of about 120 miles), he owes me five bucks. If I fail my task and he completes his, then I owe him $5.

And if we both fail?

We go together to a store that sells scented candles, body lotions, bubble baths and other girly stuff and buy $10 worth of something we'll share.

Ugh.

Parson's CL never makes it to Mid-Ohio. A mechanical issue reared up at the last minute, unexpectedly derailing what otherwise looked like a sure thing. That raises the stakes big-time. Failure now is not an option. (I really need to think bets through a little better in the future before I make them.)

So, an hour or so later, I'm back at the starting line. Erv preps the gate, which involves stomping down the dirt around the rut left from the previous moto. He then gives me some last minute advice -- "Don't follow the guy in front of you like in practice" -- before going away to shoot photos from the infield.

Now, it's just me, the PE and my fellow racers. My heart races. The starter holds up the two-minute board. He flips it to show there's about one minute to go. The board goes sideways. The gate drops. I dump the clutch and twist the throttle -- all the way this time.

And I'm last into the first turn. Thank you again, Mr. 175cc motor.

Even I can tell I'm going pretty slow. Admittedly, I'm not pushing myself. I'm riding, at best, around 50 percent. Why? Practice was the first time I ever rode this bike and I don't want to get hurt. (Note to self: Ride a new motorcycle in the dirt at least once before entering it into a motocross race.)

That's OK, though. As Erv said, I'm not here to win a race.

I roll over jumps, navigate ruts, get cocky and use a berm while sticking my left foot out just like Carmichael and Stewart do, slow down and watch a competitor frantically trying to kickstart his stalled bike, sit on the seat most of the time rather than standing so I don't get tired, and wave at the AMA's Cherie Schlatter who is helping out with flagging duties. And I'm going darn slow while doing it.

I beat the guy who stalled his bike, but he's not in Ultima 250 Novice. I finish last in my class.

With the exception of the guy stalling his bike, the second moto is a repeat of the first.

More important than the results, though, I had a blast. The guys and gals racing in AHRMA are just out on the track to have fun, so no one razzes me about being a bad motocrosser. I even have several conversations about racing and the track, just like I was a real racer!

For their part, the AMA folks helping with flagging (my co-workers) congratulate me for going out and having fun even though they saw how poorly I rode. They could have made fun of me for going so slow, but instead they pat me on the back and say I did great. AMA Flat Track Director Ken Saillant, a guy who lives and breathes motorcycle racing, shakes my hand.

And, I won the bet.

Erv tells me after my motos that the PE makes most of its power up high in the rev range. That's why he wanted me to turn the throttle more than halfway, he says.

Oops. Maybe the motor wasn't down on power after all.

And he suggests that maybe I should do a little training before next year's race. My training this year consisted of a few stretches before practice. Next year I'll start training a day earlier.

I want to thank the great folks at AHRMA for making my first motocross race so much fun.

And I want to thank my sponsors: AMA Communications Director Bill Wood for lending me his motocross boots (even though they were too big and gave me blisters on my heels), and Cydney for getting me a new-old-stock muffler for my bike.

Next up: vintage enduro racing.

Maybe this time I'll ride at 75 percent.

© 2007, American Motorcyclist Association