Return To the Hill
RETURN TO THE HILL
Because it’s there—and because the first time, stock wasn’t enough
CAMRON E. BUSSARD
FOUR MONTHS AGO, WE WENT LOOKING FOR A HILL. Actually, what we needed was more like a mountain, a serious grade that would test the power of Yamaha’s Banshee and Suzuki’s Quadracer 500, the most powerful production ATVs ever made.
Ultimately, the hill we found turned out to be more than we had bargained for, and it immediately humiliated both machines (see “Banshee vs. Quadzilla vs. the Hill,” CW, October 1987). Both barely climbed onto the face of this towering hill, let alone made a respectable ascent toward the summit.
David Edwards and I returned from that ill-fated attempt wondering what it would take to claw up the face of this mountain. The hill gains only 1000 feet in elevation from bottom to top, but has an incline of about 40 degrees and is almost one-third of a mile in length. When we added in the extremely low traction available on the hill’s loose, volcanic-rock surface, as well as the speed-limiting nature of its sandy, uphill approach, we knew that our work would be cut out for us.
Immediately after returning home, we set about hotrodding the four-wheelers—with the help of a few aftermarket suppliers. David remained faithful to the Banshee, insisting that somewhere in its potent two-stroke Twin engine lay enough horsepower to blast the red-andwhite Yamaha to the top. I became the sole zealot of the Quad, believing in its massive reserves of torque waiting to be tapped.
As the Banshee evolved into the Ballistic Banshee and the Quad became Killa Quadzilla, the good-natured rivalry that instigated this madness in the first place surfaced once again. And as both machines got more and more radical with each passing week, we were swept up in the impending duel. Battle lines were drawn; boasts were tossed back and forth; gauntlets were thrown. Finally, when the machines were finished, we loaded them into the Cycle World box van and headed back to the hill.
Strangely, in all the commotion about the outrageous machines we had built, we hadn’t thought much about the mountain; it had become a molehill in our memories. So we returned to the hill with each of us believing that we alone would make it to the top____
Ballistic Banshee and Killa Quadzilla take one more shot at glory
THE SIX OF US RODE SLOWLY AROUND A LOW BUTTE and up the sandy road to the approach area at the base of the hill. From there, Editor Paul Dean, our designated wrench for this attempt, got his
first in-person glimpse of the mountain. “No internalcombustion-powered device,” he sputtered, while shaking his finger in the general direction of what he thought was a cliff rather than a hill, “is going to climb that.” What a cynic, I thought to myself as I fired up the Suzuki and began my first run. As I went up through the gears and powered toward the base on the narrow approach trail, 1 realized that I wasn’t fighting the big Quad as much as I had on our previous attempt. The modified suspension was doing its job well. I also was able to shift into fifth gear on the approach because of the increase in horsepower. Not surprisingly, then, Killa climbed significantly higher than it had four months earlier.
David then made his first run. As the screaming Banshee rocketed toward the hill at full wail, it certainly sounded faster than the torquey, low-revving Suzuki; no wonder the Banshee fans seemed supremely confident when their favorite machine went several bike-lengths higher than the Quad. And after several more climbs each, the results were the same, with both machines getting higher on each run, but the Yamaha always holding a slight edge. The Banshee supporters went mad, their taunts getting louder with every run.
Before long it was late afternoon, and the traction on the hill and its approach had gradually deteriorated as the surface dried out. Up to this point, the two machines had been equally impressive—until David asked to try the Suzuki. He promptly went out and set the high mark of the day, a mark he couldn’t better on the Yamaha. The Banshee contingent cried “foul,” and declared that since rain was predicted for that evening, the only fair solution would be to return the next morning and complete the contest when good traction would be restored.
That was their mistake.
The next morning, the conditions were perfect. The overnight rain had left the approach tacky and provided great traction on the hill. The Banshee’s first run eclipsed the best of the previous day, getting almost to the point on the hill where the rocks begin to get smaller and the paddle tires can start getting half-decent traction. But that turned out to be the Yamaha’s best run; it simply ran out of torque. It could go no higher on horsepower alone. Killa Quadzilla, on the other hand, kept clawing higher and higher with every attempt.
And then I got what I had come back here for: the perfect approach and climb. On the third run, Killa and I flew past the highest marks on the hill in third gear, still going strong. A quick downshift into second and suddenly we were in the smaller pumice and getting better traction on virgin hillside. For the first time, the Quad was able to put most of its massive torque to work, holding the front wheels an inch or so off the ground while continuing to steam upward.
As it climbed higher and higher, clawing its way skyward with no signs of letting up, Killa started to veer to the right. The front wheels touched down for a second, allowing a quick correction; but a sudden increase in traction got the wheels airborne again and continued angling the machine more and more to the right, even though it was still chugging hard upwards. I was living on the throttle by this point, believing we were closing in on the summit. But the Quad continued to pull even more to the right, and suddenly went completely sideways, spitting me off the downhill side. I landed on my feet and looked back up at the dead-engined Killa resting lightly on the gray rocks. Damn! Still such a long way to go.
Then I looked down.
Killa and I had made it almost halfway up the hill, an amazingly long way from where I was standing. I could hear the shouts and screams of everyone below as their voices drifted uphill on the wind. Even Team Banshee whooped and hollered with excitement. The contest was over. This time, the Quad truly had proven itself the King of the Hill, defeating the Banshee by a distance that, on this mountain, was staggering.
Our victory wasn’t made any less meaningful by the fact that we didn’t make it to the top. It’s true that we took the year’s ultimate ATVs to the hill and didn’t make the top. But ultimates change, and maybe, just maybe, someone or something will eventually climb this hill.
I hope not. Sometimes it’s best to have some goals that can’t be attained—and some mountains that can’t be climbed.
