Showing posts with label enduro. Show all posts
Showing posts with label enduro. Show all posts
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Friday, November 22, 2013
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Australia's First Vinduro
The first time my dad took me to see an enduro, the thing that immediately struck me was that there wasn’t much to see. Unlike the motocross (or scrambles as my dad called them) and road racing events I’d already seen, there was no hotly contested wheel to wheel action being played out in a noisy, colourful spectacle.
Instead, the mostly bearded men on trail and enduro bikes disappeared at high speed into the bush. Racing against the clock. They emerged later; dirty, dishevelled. Engines ticking and hissing; as water from mudguards, and sweat from tired faces dripped onto hot engines.
The idea of man and machine against the clock was something I found compelling then, and still do. As a teenager I would complete in a handful of enduros myself before moving away to university, and onto road bikes.
A few years ago I began rediscovering the dirt bikes of my youth. This was mostly via the VMX scene, which has been well established here for some time now. Unlike our European and American counterparts though, we Aussies have been a bit slower to get on the Vintage Enduro (Vinduro) bandwagon. That all changed in September 2007, and when I heard about the first ever Aussie Vinduro event, I just had to be there...
The organisers had done a magnificent job in putting together this first event. Around 70 riders made their way to a property northeast of Melbourne. When I arrived light drizzle was falling, and continued periodically throughout the day, keeping the dust down on the trail, and the grass slippery in the paddock sections.
The Parc Ferme was alive with the sound of crackling exhausts, creaking suspension and groaning joints. From the immaculately restored, to slightly worn out versions with an authentic patina of dirt and oil - and that was just the owners. It was great to see so many pre-1985 trail and enduro bikes in one place.
Enthusiasts from as far away as Adelaide had turned up with rare marques like SWM, Matchless and BSA alongside the more prosaic Japanese models. My IT250 looked right at home, instead of being the odd bike out when riding with modern counterparts.
Instead of “bling” and modern, water-cooled four strokes; there were Belstaffs and open face helmets. There were no race-faces either, but a lot of smiles and bonhomie.
It wasn’t a race meeting after all, and there were no prizes for first place. (Mind you, that didn’t stop some of these middle aged guys riding very fast. Or maybe it just seemed that way because I’m so slow).
In a juxtaposition of old and new technology, I was able to meet people face to face whom I’d previously talked with via the internet about our 20+ year old bikes!
Before we could ride there was the usual paperwork to complete. Then, after the rider's briefing, the first bikes were away at 10am.The riding was organised in a realistic enduro style, with riders released at one minute intervals.
As my minute approached I was a little jittery, I don’t ride much these days, and had no idea of what to expect. Getting lost trying to find the property and almost running the car out of fuel hadn’t done anything for my nerves either.
I was on the same minute as a guy on a DR600. He blasted off down the track while I was still fumbling around with my timecard. Not the most auspicious of starts, lucky it was a non-competitive event.
Setting off from the starting gate, there was a short blast through a paddock and then into some gently undulating single track. A hard right turn and I was onto the first of several hills. I caught the Suzuki rider and passed him in a series of sandy corners at the top of the hill.
This was followed by some fairly technical single track, and then into an open paddock with the course marked out with tape before it snaked its way back into the bush for more tight single track. A few logs to get over, and some sharp corners to keep you on your toes. Man, some of those trees are close together too. No barkbusters for me, but I still counted ten fingers at the end of the day.
The country was quite hilly, but I didn't find any of the hills too hard, despite the fact that none of the climbs seem to have any run-up at all! For me, some of the hardest parts were along the sides of these slopes, where my dodgy rear tyre wanted to slip sideways and send me into the trees.
At one stage I did become a little complacent, and in one of the few open sections excessive speed mixed with over-confidence saw me spearing off into the scrub. I narrowly missed several nasty looking trees. “Take it easy, it’s not a race,” I reminded myself as I extricate the Yamaha and continued.
The course breaks back into open country for some time with a series of corners set on the side of the hill. On a subsequent lap I manage a low speed face-plant on an off camber corner, getting a helmet full of dust as a reward for my carelessness.
Back into the bush and a long downhill had me certain that I was going to see some water. At the bottom the ground was a little moist, but no real mud or slop to be seen (that’s the drought for you). The relative dryness didn’t stop me falling off here on one lap though!
Some more single track, a little more paddock time, then a short ride through the bush to get to the finish gate.
Overall I found the loop to be challenging without being overly difficult, though some entrants struggled a bit. Some parts left me panting for breath, but overall the feeling was one of tired elation. A tricky, ‘expert’ section added a bit more spice too.
An impromptu prize draw was held in the early afternoon, with prizes donated by local motorcycle businesses. Following the presentation, a few diehards (myself included) beg to be allowed out for one more lap, and the organisers acquiesce…
For this enthusiast it’s the perfect day. When’s the next one?
Instead, the mostly bearded men on trail and enduro bikes disappeared at high speed into the bush. Racing against the clock. They emerged later; dirty, dishevelled. Engines ticking and hissing; as water from mudguards, and sweat from tired faces dripped onto hot engines.
The idea of man and machine against the clock was something I found compelling then, and still do. As a teenager I would complete in a handful of enduros myself before moving away to university, and onto road bikes.
A few years ago I began rediscovering the dirt bikes of my youth. This was mostly via the VMX scene, which has been well established here for some time now. Unlike our European and American counterparts though, we Aussies have been a bit slower to get on the Vintage Enduro (Vinduro) bandwagon. That all changed in September 2007, and when I heard about the first ever Aussie Vinduro event, I just had to be there...
The organisers had done a magnificent job in putting together this first event. Around 70 riders made their way to a property northeast of Melbourne. When I arrived light drizzle was falling, and continued periodically throughout the day, keeping the dust down on the trail, and the grass slippery in the paddock sections.
The Parc Ferme was alive with the sound of crackling exhausts, creaking suspension and groaning joints. From the immaculately restored, to slightly worn out versions with an authentic patina of dirt and oil - and that was just the owners. It was great to see so many pre-1985 trail and enduro bikes in one place.
Enthusiasts from as far away as Adelaide had turned up with rare marques like SWM, Matchless and BSA alongside the more prosaic Japanese models. My IT250 looked right at home, instead of being the odd bike out when riding with modern counterparts.
Instead of “bling” and modern, water-cooled four strokes; there were Belstaffs and open face helmets. There were no race-faces either, but a lot of smiles and bonhomie.
It wasn’t a race meeting after all, and there were no prizes for first place. (Mind you, that didn’t stop some of these middle aged guys riding very fast. Or maybe it just seemed that way because I’m so slow).
In a juxtaposition of old and new technology, I was able to meet people face to face whom I’d previously talked with via the internet about our 20+ year old bikes!
Before we could ride there was the usual paperwork to complete. Then, after the rider's briefing, the first bikes were away at 10am.The riding was organised in a realistic enduro style, with riders released at one minute intervals.
As my minute approached I was a little jittery, I don’t ride much these days, and had no idea of what to expect. Getting lost trying to find the property and almost running the car out of fuel hadn’t done anything for my nerves either.
I was on the same minute as a guy on a DR600. He blasted off down the track while I was still fumbling around with my timecard. Not the most auspicious of starts, lucky it was a non-competitive event.
Setting off from the starting gate, there was a short blast through a paddock and then into some gently undulating single track. A hard right turn and I was onto the first of several hills. I caught the Suzuki rider and passed him in a series of sandy corners at the top of the hill.
This was followed by some fairly technical single track, and then into an open paddock with the course marked out with tape before it snaked its way back into the bush for more tight single track. A few logs to get over, and some sharp corners to keep you on your toes. Man, some of those trees are close together too. No barkbusters for me, but I still counted ten fingers at the end of the day.
The country was quite hilly, but I didn't find any of the hills too hard, despite the fact that none of the climbs seem to have any run-up at all! For me, some of the hardest parts were along the sides of these slopes, where my dodgy rear tyre wanted to slip sideways and send me into the trees.
At one stage I did become a little complacent, and in one of the few open sections excessive speed mixed with over-confidence saw me spearing off into the scrub. I narrowly missed several nasty looking trees. “Take it easy, it’s not a race,” I reminded myself as I extricate the Yamaha and continued.
The course breaks back into open country for some time with a series of corners set on the side of the hill. On a subsequent lap I manage a low speed face-plant on an off camber corner, getting a helmet full of dust as a reward for my carelessness.
Back into the bush and a long downhill had me certain that I was going to see some water. At the bottom the ground was a little moist, but no real mud or slop to be seen (that’s the drought for you). The relative dryness didn’t stop me falling off here on one lap though!
Some more single track, a little more paddock time, then a short ride through the bush to get to the finish gate.
Overall I found the loop to be challenging without being overly difficult, though some entrants struggled a bit. Some parts left me panting for breath, but overall the feeling was one of tired elation. A tricky, ‘expert’ section added a bit more spice too.
An impromptu prize draw was held in the early afternoon, with prizes donated by local motorcycle businesses. Following the presentation, a few diehards (myself included) beg to be allowed out for one more lap, and the organisers acquiesce…
For this enthusiast it’s the perfect day. When’s the next one?
Friday, June 27, 2008
Blue Light Ride 2004
Choking dust or impenetrable mud are regular features of the annual Blue Light Ride, an off road tradition here in Victoria. In 2004, I decided to enter my first BLR on a 1983 Yamaha IT250K…
When I arrived I learnt that the organizers had had to change the route five times in the previous week due to rain. On the way there I had seen a bearded guy herding animals into a large boat in his back yard. So I knew dust wouldn’t be a problem. With a whopping 1382 entries, it was always going to be interesting.
I checked the IT in with no problems. I was on one of the last rows to leave so I had plenty of time.
Might as well top up the tank, I thought. Kerplunk! An extender on the end of the funnel took the opportunity to drop off into the tank. It had never happened before, but hey, no problem. It didn’t matter. I took my place on row 80.
So this is what 1300+ dirt bikes assembled in the one place looks like. The line up was mostly modern, but there were a few older bikes around including a couple of other ITs. I spied a Yamaha YZ /WR with a 1976 XS650 motor shoehorned in, and a 70s era Triumph. There was even several XR Hondas from the 80s and a twin shock DR500 on the same row as me.
As I wheeled the bike closer up, I marveled at just how smoothly the throttle twist grip spins in my hand. The late night ‘clean & lube’ session (ahem) had done wonders. Wait a minute, that’s the LEFT grip spinning freely! The steady soaking rain must’ve worked it loose. My carefully packed tool kit is on the ground before I even leave the paddock. It takes a ridiculous amount of wire and cable ties etc to finally secure the recalcitrant grip.
Just in time, I grabbed my punch card and set off. I had already decided to err on the side of caution. I was nowhere near ‘race fit’ and had already witnessed one exuberant rider flip his machine on the start line; plus quite a few first corner mishaps. The rest of my row roared off, and I meekly follow behind. Within minutes I hit a series of whoops and could hear a crunching noise from behind me. It wasn’t the gnashing teeth of a frustrated rider trying to get past me (that’s an altogether different sound, which I know quite well).
I knew straight away that my rear mudguard repair has failed. Another crunch as it touched the back wheel confirmed my suspicions. Bugger. Out came the tool kit again, and I was left with a stubby fender that I knew was not going to keep me clean.
A few bikes slithered past while I was doing the modifications. By the time I get going again I figured I must be dead last. It doesn’t matter.
Amazingly, I caught up to and passed a couple of other riders. The ancient Kenda knobby on the back of the IT actually did a reasonable job of supplying forward motion.
The first real test soon arrived in the shape of a long, slimy hill. Followed by another one soon after. I adopted a strategy of creeping up in first or second gear with both feet paddling. It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked, and as I chugged pass several stuck bikes I was thankful for the Yamaha’s low down grunt. Not bad at all for a two stroke. A short while later I passed the DR500 from my row, parked by the side of the track. There was no sign of the rider.
Soon I reach the first checkpoint. There was a queue here as progress has been halted. Rumour had it that there was a killer hill ahead that no-one can get up, so the course was being re-routed. I took the opportunity to catch my breath, drink water and scrape some of the excess mud from the bike. Formed up into orderly rows, we were off again.
Another long slippery hill, and this time I did get stuck while dodging traffic. Luckily I managed to get myself going again fairly easily. That was the last time I would be so lucky… What followed was a seemingly endless struggle to keep my aging 250 upright. Downhills were almost worse than up, as the beast just kept sliding in the muck with both brakes fully on.
There were massive queues at particularly snotty hills, and at some of these I had encountered riders out on their second loop while I laboured to finish my first one. Rest stops were frequent.
I won’t bore readers with the details, but much later I emerged from the bush, filthy, tired and sore. I had completely lost track of time as I struggled in the slop. Although keen to keep going, the officials advised me that it was now too late to head out on a second loop.
I had the small satisfaction of not being the last one back, and was awarded a finishers medal as well. Despite the tough conditions, I’d had a ball and my ancient mount had lasted the distance. I resolved immediately that I would have another attempt.
This I would do in 2006. With better preparation, and riding the same bike, I would successfully complete both laps. But that’s another story…
When I arrived I learnt that the organizers had had to change the route five times in the previous week due to rain. On the way there I had seen a bearded guy herding animals into a large boat in his back yard. So I knew dust wouldn’t be a problem. With a whopping 1382 entries, it was always going to be interesting.
I checked the IT in with no problems. I was on one of the last rows to leave so I had plenty of time.
Might as well top up the tank, I thought. Kerplunk! An extender on the end of the funnel took the opportunity to drop off into the tank. It had never happened before, but hey, no problem. It didn’t matter. I took my place on row 80.
So this is what 1300+ dirt bikes assembled in the one place looks like. The line up was mostly modern, but there were a few older bikes around including a couple of other ITs. I spied a Yamaha YZ /WR with a 1976 XS650 motor shoehorned in, and a 70s era Triumph. There was even several XR Hondas from the 80s and a twin shock DR500 on the same row as me.
As I wheeled the bike closer up, I marveled at just how smoothly the throttle twist grip spins in my hand. The late night ‘clean & lube’ session (ahem) had done wonders. Wait a minute, that’s the LEFT grip spinning freely! The steady soaking rain must’ve worked it loose. My carefully packed tool kit is on the ground before I even leave the paddock. It takes a ridiculous amount of wire and cable ties etc to finally secure the recalcitrant grip.
Just in time, I grabbed my punch card and set off. I had already decided to err on the side of caution. I was nowhere near ‘race fit’ and had already witnessed one exuberant rider flip his machine on the start line; plus quite a few first corner mishaps. The rest of my row roared off, and I meekly follow behind. Within minutes I hit a series of whoops and could hear a crunching noise from behind me. It wasn’t the gnashing teeth of a frustrated rider trying to get past me (that’s an altogether different sound, which I know quite well).
I knew straight away that my rear mudguard repair has failed. Another crunch as it touched the back wheel confirmed my suspicions. Bugger. Out came the tool kit again, and I was left with a stubby fender that I knew was not going to keep me clean.
A few bikes slithered past while I was doing the modifications. By the time I get going again I figured I must be dead last. It doesn’t matter.
Amazingly, I caught up to and passed a couple of other riders. The ancient Kenda knobby on the back of the IT actually did a reasonable job of supplying forward motion.
The first real test soon arrived in the shape of a long, slimy hill. Followed by another one soon after. I adopted a strategy of creeping up in first or second gear with both feet paddling. It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked, and as I chugged pass several stuck bikes I was thankful for the Yamaha’s low down grunt. Not bad at all for a two stroke. A short while later I passed the DR500 from my row, parked by the side of the track. There was no sign of the rider.
Soon I reach the first checkpoint. There was a queue here as progress has been halted. Rumour had it that there was a killer hill ahead that no-one can get up, so the course was being re-routed. I took the opportunity to catch my breath, drink water and scrape some of the excess mud from the bike. Formed up into orderly rows, we were off again.
Another long slippery hill, and this time I did get stuck while dodging traffic. Luckily I managed to get myself going again fairly easily. That was the last time I would be so lucky… What followed was a seemingly endless struggle to keep my aging 250 upright. Downhills were almost worse than up, as the beast just kept sliding in the muck with both brakes fully on.
There were massive queues at particularly snotty hills, and at some of these I had encountered riders out on their second loop while I laboured to finish my first one. Rest stops were frequent.
I won’t bore readers with the details, but much later I emerged from the bush, filthy, tired and sore. I had completely lost track of time as I struggled in the slop. Although keen to keep going, the officials advised me that it was now too late to head out on a second loop.
I had the small satisfaction of not being the last one back, and was awarded a finishers medal as well. Despite the tough conditions, I’d had a ball and my ancient mount had lasted the distance. I resolved immediately that I would have another attempt.
This I would do in 2006. With better preparation, and riding the same bike, I would successfully complete both laps. But that’s another story…
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
