We adventure riders always push the limits, be it riding a few thousand miles in a couple of hours or taking that fully loaded, heavily farkled BMW 1200 on a mountain goat trail where failure means instant death from falling off a 1000 foot cliff.

For me the limit was entering a desert race. For 46 years the Stump Jumpers Motorcycle Club out of Lynnwood, Washington has put on the Desert 100  race currently held near the small town of Odessa, Washington. This area is on the Eastern side of the Evergreen State where it is all sage brush, lava rocks, and desert, perfect for motorcycle racing!

Due to my age I was in the “Super Senior” class that only required one 50 mile loop. Also in this one lap class were women, people 50 years of age and older, 15 year olds, vintage motorcycles, and big adventure bikes. I figured 50 miles and I would cross the finish line in two hours averaging 25 miles per hour.

Thirty minutes after the first wave took off, the second row of one lappers lined up across the desert for about a quarter of a mile waiting for our signal. We then parked our motorcycles and walked back fifty feet for the LeMans style start.

As I stood in this line of racers waiting for a cannon to go off signaling the start I had a conversation with a Canadian racing a BMW 800 GS. He said he was going to take it easy, not hurry and just finish.

The cannon went off and racers ran to their motorcycles and took off across the desert. It was pretty apparent that besides 2-stroke smoke and dust in the air there was a lot of testosterone evidenced by many male racers welding his motorcycle into sage brush or a large rock 30 feet from the start line.

I looked up and down the now mostly empty starting line seeing a dozen or so racers madly kicking the starter lever on their bikes with silent motors. You could see surrender on their faces when they dropped their head in disgust at their current mount. I thought, “Whoo Hoo” I am not going to be last!

The first mile is across a mostly wide flat section before the route funnels down to a single track trail also known as a “cow trail”. I am running my Suzuki DRZ at a comfortable 30-40 MPH when two racers blew past me as we came to a slight rise in the course.

Unlike the previous mile, this area was more rocks than dirt and looked to be a former quarry. It is also well know the race organizers spend a year collecting rocks from all over the country and then scatter them on the course.

As these two racers passed me their front wheels made contact with large rocks causing the front of the bikes to stop; unfortunately the racers continued on and did spectacular contortions in the air before bouncing and sliding on the ground. I scored both racers a nine for difficulty and style for their in the air gyrations.

No one scored me about a mile later as I followed a woman racer up a steep section and she dumped her bike requiring me to spur my horse and chase what was a bad line. With the front wheel off the ground the rear wheel hit a rock (have I mentioned there are a LOT OF ROCKS!) kicking the bike into a fall on the right side.

I really augered in and appreciated the safety gear I was wearing but I still got a pretty good ringing in my ears. I noted to remind myself to only ride as fast as I was willing to fall. I repeated crashing or dropping the bike 4 or 5 more times before the finish line.

The course narrowed down and I appreciated my knobby tires as they had good grip in the various conditions. At about six miles out I stopped to check and make sure my Suzuki DRZ had not somehow transformed into a fully loaded Harley Davidson Electro-glide that had the saddle bags loaded with concrete.

It felt like I had gone 120 miles. I continued on, crossing the highway and travelling onto the first check point. The volunteers here (as with all of the check points) were covered in dust but cheerful and gave encouragement to continue racing.

Several miles out I met a hapless racer pushing his motorcycle explaining it was “locked up”. He figured he was 3-4 miles back to the check point and then would be able to get the bike extracted from there. I wished him well and I took off on down the course. Less than a mile later I came across another highway crossing.

At this point you have the race track pretty much to yourself with the occasional racer being passed (honestly I did little passing). At this point I lost vision in my left eye and I am thinking I have over done it and had a stroke!

I am in a panic until I realize sweat is rolling around in my goggles and it is fogging up one side of the goggles. I stopped thankful everything in my brain was okay (this is a point in the story is where my wife does not get to comment), I cleaned out the sweat and defogged the goggles; I motored on until I came to a group of racers sitting on their bikes looking down into a deep canyon.

Their conversation went, “you go first, no you go” when a woman racer tells everyone to get out of the way as she is going. She decided the best plan was to walk beside her bike down the near vertical hill and about twenty feet down she and the bike fell over. I make a note to self not to do that.

A guy said to everyone to not use your front brake and took off down the hill under power and then he welded the bike into a rock. I made another note to self. I decided to turn off the bike and ride the bike down in first gear using the engine’s compression as the rear brake and use the front brake. I made it down the cliff and surveyed the many racers taking a break, nursing minor injuries, or repairing bikes. I continued on.

I came across a special section that was carefully arranged so you travelled over boulders. I noticed a sprinkling of multi-colored parts here along with broken foot pegs and a skid plate. I took it slow and with both legs down and pushing and balancing I made it through this rock garden with no damage.

I then came to the river and listened in as several racers were talking about how they screwed up and tipped over and drown their engines. Since my experience in water crossing is something like crossing a mud puddle, my apprehension grew. I watched several racers ford the river all nearly meeting with disaster.

I noticed a spectator and asked her where I should cross. She told me to stay left as it is very shallow there. I’m thinking as I drive off to cross the river, is she getting her camera out to capture my crash in the water as a hidden hole swallows my Suzuki?

I’m committed, and good to her word it was shallow and it was an easy crossing EXCEPT FOR THE MUD as you climbed the river bank! This slick goo nearly caused me to spin around and end up back in the river! That video would have got a million hits on the Internet!

More check stations and miles and miles of sagebrush and rock covered desert. By now the front runners of the two lap course are passing me in sections where I feel I am risking my life at 15 miles per hour and they are doing around 100 MPH.

Well maybe not that fast but it looked like an art form as they lifted ther front wheels riding flat out through the rough portions of the desert even when we came to the axle deep sand and dirt. These sections were special.

Most of my drops were in these loose dirt sections. During one of these face plants I was laying there when a lady racer came along, lost it and ended up with bike and her on me. She kept saying “I am so sorry sir” and I am thinking, “Really I look THAT old?” We laughed and I helped this twenty something racer get her bike upright, restarted and on her way.

A few more hills, deep dirt, one last check point, and finally I could see the flags at the finish line and spurred my Suzuki to get in line for the final check in. My wife found me and gave me the “it is about time” look. It was cool to ride up on the stage, clock in (4 hours 19 minutes) and get my T-shirt saying I finished the race.

How many racers? Only the Stump Jumpers management knows. I would like to say I was in the top 10, top 100, or even the top 500. Nope, I finished number 671, but I blame my poor showing on the dual-sport Suzuki not being ideal for racing. I am already in the hunt for a much lighter motocross style motorcycle so next year I can be going REALLY FAST… when I crash.