Last Man Standing
LAST MAN STANDING
RACE WATCH
Team CW toughs it out in Texas
RYAN DUDEK
THAT’S IT, IT’S OVER,” I THOUGHT TO MYSELF AS I LEANED against a wall in the narrow rock canyon and stared into the pitch-black night. Dehydration had set in and I was “out on my feet,” as they say in boxing. My head was spinning and my legs were paralyzed.
I was somewhere near the North Texas border competing in the inaugural Red Bull Last Man Standing. I had completed just two and a half of the four scheduled loops and was stuck out on the trail like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz-except I desperately needed water, not oil. I wondered what creepy-crawly creatures were lurking in the dark Texas night. How did I get myself into this predicament? How do I get out of here?
Six months earlier, a Red Bull rep sent me an e-mail outlining a crazy off-road endurance event with an unheard-of format. Some nutcase at the energy-drink company had picked the nastiest spot in Texas to host a race that would challenge even the best riders. The course would consist of every type of terrain imaginable, from wide-open desert to low-speed trials-type rock bashing, from tight treelined trails to grooved canyons, from the hardest-packed dirt to the softest sand. Rocky, near-vertical hillclimbs were also mentioned.
A month or so after the e-mail, I received a little black box that must have weighed eight pounds. Inside there was a brass cube engraved with an invitation to the event. That’s right-an invitation. The elaborately crafted design was so cool that my excitement for the race far surpassed any concept of how difficult it would be.
Red Bull likes to be in the heart of the action. It accomplishes this by sponsoring more than 500 extreme athletes around the globe and creating new niche markets and unique events like LMS. The goal, of course, is to attract more consumers to its product-which is why the LMS format had to be out of the ordinary.
Run on the 2500-acre Red River OHV park, the course was 40 miles long. The plan was to race the loop twice during the day and twice again at night-with the evening portion run backward. For the math-challenged, that’s 160 miles. The race would start with 200 hand-picked riders. After the first lap, that number would be cut to 100. After the second lap, everyone would stop and rest before nightfall. At dusk, 50 riders would begin the night segment, with only 25 proceeding to the fourth and final lap. The first rider to finish the fourth lap would be the winner.
For me, the trouble began before the 9:30 a.m. start. I was running late, and despite the fact that only 87 of the 200 invitees showed up on race day, the starting line filled up fast. The only spots remaining were on the right side, which was terrible for a good start. So I lined up on the second row behind David Knight, a KTM factory rider, world enduro champ and the favorite to win.
When the cannon (!) boomed, indicating the start of the race, I punched the button on my trusty Honda CRF450X and...nothing. The starter whirred but the engine failed to fire. Finally, after several crankings, the big Single leaped to life, and I rocketed away from the nearly empty starting line in close-to-last place.
I quickly caught the pack but in the dusty mess ran off course into a huge ravine. I can’t repeat the words that came out of my mouth after that miscue. I exited the ravine only to catch the back end of a bottleneck of riders who were funneling into a tree-lined single-track that led into a rocky creek bed.
As I was in a hurry to get to the front, I pinned the throttle and rode way over my head, not thinking of anything but making my way past the other racers. It was working too. I passed several riders at a time, using lines that no one else was taking. What a hero! So what if I was slamming into rocks, flying off the trail and using all my energy in the process? After picking myself up for the third time, I looked down at my odometer and realized that I’d only gone seven miles.
Somehow I survived the first lap, pitted for fuel and water, then rejoined the race. Only 18 riders, including me, made
it through the second ioop, so no further eliminations were necessary We were given a couple hours to rest, eat and drink Knight had the longest rest because he had fin ished first, nearly 40 minutes before me. Mike Lafferty and Justin Williamson rounded out the top three.
At sunset, all 18 of us lined up for the night laps. I was still mentally and physi a1ly drained and in no condition to race, but when the cannon went off again, I drew in a deep breath and went for it. At least I got a better start this time. And a good thing, too, as this was the portion of the event that counted the most.
My strong start put me in a good position for the rocky “Texas Stadium” hill section. To truly appreciate the difficulties presented by this portion of the course, you would have to have been there slipping, sliding and pushing along with the rest of us. From what I heard, Knight was the only rider to make it to the top unassisted. I was so worn out from pushing my bike that it was all I could do to just try to launch it to the top-without me on it-then scramble up the hill after it.
Unfortunately, my plan didn’t work. The rear tire gripped, the bike jumped into the air, then flipped upside down and boomeranged back toward me. I jumped out of the way, and the bike landed on its side,
stalling Guy Cooper in the process. With help from a few bystanders, I was finally able to reach the top. After that, it was semi-smooth sailing. I rested in the easy sections and used all my strength in the tough ones. I was riding just to finish.
Then my legs began to cramp. I rode until they would no longer bend. I didn’t want to quit, but physically, I could no longer ride. So there I was, leaning on that canyon wall, feeling hopeless. After what seemed like an eternity (more like five minutes), I heard engine noises. Three riders passed me like a midnight express, pinning me against the canyon wall. I felt as if someone had given me an uppercut just to add insult to injury.
As the time passed, I began to regain my composure. Hey, who needs legs? I climbed back on my bike, hit the starter button and rejoined the race. I was determined to finish. I don’t give up easily, and dehydration was just a minor setback. I was only halfway through the third loop, and I had a lot of time to make up. It was at that moment that I realized I had probably sealed my fate in the first 20 miles of the event. Instead of riding the course, I raced it, beating up my body and using all my energy. How could I have been so brainless? (Don’t answer that.)
After another treacherous 15 miles, I made it back to the pits and loaded up on energy bars and fluids. Now I was certain that I was going to make it. As luck would have it, the fourth lap was shortened due to time constraints, so it was easier than expected. Still, I had to dig deep. When I crossed the finish line, I realized how proud I was to have survived and salvaged a ninth-place finish-first four-stroke, if that means anything.
By the time I made it back to the pits, the awards ceremony was over. Officially, there were 14 finishers, and Knight was awarded the title of Last Man Standing. For this year’s race, the organizers say the course will be twice as difficult, and outside help will not be permitted.
I think I’ll stay home.
