Elsinore Grand Prix
Elsinore Grand Prix
When An Off-Road Race Is Run Through The Middle Of Town, "Flat Track And TT Be Damned." BY BOB SANFORD
SOME 70 MILES SOUTH of Los Angeles, aside a calm, medium-sized lake and nestled between some roly-poly hills, which are surprisingly green for Southern California, sits the quiet little town of Elsinore. Sometime before the turn of the century, hot mineral waters were discovered in the area, and for a while the community boomed with rich tourists and development dollars. But, as is so often the case with overnight booms, and for reasons best known to developers and rich tourists, the overnight boom turned into an overnight flop and the town was left in care of the handful of die-hards, who simply liked living in that part of the country.
Today, the town is much the same as when the developers and rich tourists left. A few thousand people live here, quietly and for the most part eeking out a living from the not-so-many, not-sorich tourists that frequent the area on weekends and holidays. Nearly 25 percent of the shops on the few streets in the downtown section are either for rent or deserted. On a side street, a sign behind a fast-dilapidating Victorian structure, which is now used to house a “Closed and For Sale” antique store, proclaims a historical monument. The building, it says, is the original Bath House for the original Hot Springs.
Around the lake, ornate concrete lamp poles, with frayed electrical wiring dangling from the top, dot the hillside in straight, symmetrical lines, vintage reminders of a half-century-old gleam in a developer’s eye. Quietly the town sits. waking only briefly on weekends to attend the needs of the few tourists who come to run their power boats up and down the lake, drink their Coors and sleep at one ot the lakeside camp grounds. Monday morning, and the town again dozes.
There is, however, one Monday morning a year when the town has the biggest, most gigantic Hangover, with a Capital H, known to man. Once a year for the past four years practically all of Southern California's entire motorcycle population drops in for a weekend visit. Just a couple of days. To see how things are going. They come in cars, buses, trucks, vans, campers, bikes, and probably even on horseback. They are doctors, mechanics, housewives, salesmen, teenyboppers, sailors, freaks, cops, and probably even robbers. An estimated 100,000 of them descended on the little town of Elsinore this year to take part in, and witness, the most spectacular Motorcycle Event ever held in the wide world. Flat track and TT be damned! This is the Elsinore Grand Prix, mister, so hold onto your hat.
There are some very natural reasons for this event’s popularity, including its proximity to the megalopolis of Los Angeles, with its higher-than-average per capita of motorcycle ownership. But probably more important is the type of race itself. Four years ago, the Gripsters MC (AMA District 37) contracted with the Elsinore city fathers to not only run a race around their town, but through the town as well! City streets, they agreed, would compose about one-third of the 10-mile course. Essentially, it’s been the same for each of the past four races. And, with each year, enthusiasm continues to swell, as riders and spectators join the throngs at Lake Elsinore in ever increasing numbers. This year, for the first time, the Gripsters limited entries, and had to return numerous applications after their 1 OOO-rider-perday quota was filled.
Basically, the event is run in two days, with the smaller bikes (25()cc and below) going on Saturday and the big machines (251 cc and up) competing on Sunday. The idea is to be first to complete 10 of the 10-mile loops. Of course, there are classes based on displacement and rider proficiency, and the winner of, say, the 125cc Novice class may have only finished eight laps when the checkered flag goes out to the overall Expert (usually ) winner.
But the winner(s) of the race is (are) essentially beside the point to the majority of the thousands of spectators who line the city’s streets. Indeed, they enjoy the hell out of bikes careening around corners, than proceeding down Main St. at speeds nearing the 80-mph mark. But the race (Winners vs. Losers) is difficult, if not nearly impossible, to follow, so they content themselves with drinking Red Mountain, eating fried chicken and oohing anil ahhing at dazzling feats of riding skill.
Actually, the Gripsters even have problems distinguishing winners from losers. Not a year has yet to pass that there haven’t been some major bitches about scoring, including the one last year, where Motocross Maestro Gary Bailey was officially declared the overall winner of lightweight competition, when Everybody who knew from Anything had unofficially declared Husqvarna ace, Malcolm Smith, the winner. 1'his year the Gripsters’ scoring difficulties, along with a few other things, including the club’s raising the entry to $15, resulted in District 37 refusing to grant them a sanction, as well as calling for a boycott of the event by District riders. The club was able to obtain a sanction directly from AMA in Worthington. but competition points were not awarded. The lack of points and the boycott, however, did little to deter local riders, who simply rode the event minus their club’s jumper.
Elsinore Grand Prix
The start of the race is one of the most spectacular in motorcycling. Bikes are pushed from the impound area (the city’s ball park) toward the starting line, located on a major road leading into town. At a signal, 1000 bikes are started, in what is undoubtedly the most deafening roar imaginable. And then, 10 at a time and at 10-sec. intervals, waves of riders are given the green flag, as they roar down the pavement toward the back country.
This year a funny thing happened, assuming the Gripsters and their elaborate video equipment agree with majority opinion. John DeSoto took overall honors on both days! The transplanted Hawaiian, who now resides in Long Beach, Calif., powered a pair of CZs to victory on both Saturday and Sunday. On Sunday he lapped all but about 10 riders and finished a good three minutes ahead of the 2nd-place man, Billy Clements (Husky). On Saturday it was a little closer, as it took some pit stop strategy to beat Bultaco mounted Dave Rodgers, who led the majority of the race.
And, after all was said and done, the thousands and thousands of tired visitors tiled pell-mell onto congested, Los Angeles-bound freeways, as once again, the quiet town of Elsinore returned to nature and the natives, who will spend the next 364 days picking up beer cans and trying to get rid of that infernal ringing in their collective ears. o¡
