My Coleman CT200 mini bike sounds like empty soup cans having makeup sex. My bony cheeks deepened with each round, and my hands felt aching joints. Every time I loosen my white knuckle grip, the CT200 tries to upset me.
People were dragged off six miles of terrain with concussions and broken collarbones. A beautiful performance where everyone smiles through the pain.
Tate Morgan, founder of the Gambler 500, invited me to join the Mini Moto Enduro, a 100-mile endurance mini-bike race somewhere outside of Sunriver, Oregon. He picked me up from Portland airport in a decommissioned ‘short bus’ painted with MUD DAWGS—a small team he coached and dropped for the Mini Moto Enduro—and we started three-hour drive to the campsite where the race will be held.
The next morning, we understood the madness of what we were about to do, examining over 100 small bikes in different states of dress and damage.
Tate and I unload our Coleman CT200s from the back of his bus; he lent me one that he has been beating for years. None of us rushed in the LeMans-style warm-up, as the riders raced to their bikes. We waited for the big dust cloud to settle.
Who planned the loop of the race wasn’t what was around—gravel, sand, silt, boulders, squeaks, tree roots, livestock guardians, and many other goddamn rocks. Some sections, like the ‘fork in the road’ and ‘the waterfall,’ would have been sketchy done on full-size dirt bikes, and we went over $500.
I picked my line and stuck to it, even when I made the wrong choice; jumping off the rock, then landing, didn’t look good on my genitals.
Incidents are common; small bikes with flat tires and broken chains along the sides of the trail. I only had two problems: the starter cord broke, which took me ten minutes to fix on the trail, and then the return throttle stopped working, which meant I had to keep my right hand on the throttle body and be gentle. “press gas. ”
I only completed ten out of 18 laps, but my friend Jessi Combs became Mini Moto Enduro’s only iron man. She and a white-bearded man named “Mr. Miyagi” were the only two to finish the race alone.
Wooden pallets are used to build a large fire, which is then used to erect a ramp facing the said fire. A guy named Casey, dressed as Borat, somehow got his hands on a go-kart and jumped over the fire, then continued to jump dozens more times.
Others jumped mini-bikes, one guy plugged his face in, and another guy did a mini-bike burnout on the hood of a Crown Victoria. The evening ended in a tent on the roof of Tate’s bus, and the next morning we were back on the road to Portland’s three-hour drive.
As I write this, after observing the dirt around my shower drain, I realize I haven’t done anything childish in a while; Now “life” gets in the way too often. It didn’t hinder Tate, and it didn’t hinder Tate’s friends, the assistant head coach of the Mud Dawgs. A bunch of idiots, putting themselves in harm’s way in the dumbest way possible, are having a lot of fun.
Inspire cattle ranchers as a hobby, build their own homes and create websites to catch their best friends. Gamblers are the charming folk you want to meet.
Words and pictures of Chris Nelson Because Iron & Air Magazine
