PRESS PASS

THE VIEW FROM CHECKPOINT #3

Fear & Loathing In Hammer Town

By Robin Hartfiel

G“ reetings Earthling… Welcome to checkpoint 3.” No question, weird things happen out in the high desert. Hunter S. Thompson Bat Country runs into

UFO Conventioneers at Giant Rock kind of things… and then there is the Integratron where George Van Tassel was being parceled out the secrets of the universe… but this is not about that. This is about working King of the Hammers/

King of the Motos type craziness!

The day certainly did NOT start off auspiciously…3:30 a.m. wake up calls are never good. Losing my receipt for the mandatory COVID test in the early morning fog didn’t help and paying for a second test at the entrance to Hammer

Town and having to wait for the results cut precious minutes off my ETA to shoot the start of King of the Motos. But breaking my camera in the mad dash to reach Chocolate

Thunder fixed that “problem” about getting photos. Zero cell reception, missing my ride and burying my 2WD truck up to the axles a mile from the start is when I started getting a wee bit perturbed.

But I figured a mile run up hill in the sand would help settle my frazzled nerves… or at least cause a brain aneurysm to take my mind off missing the start. However in the desert, like Blanche DuBois, I have always relied on the kindness of strangers! Some random strangers saw me hoofing it away from the stuck truck and gave me ride right to the start just in time to see the first wave of bikes flagged off. When the last bike finally struggled over the crest of the hill, I looked back to see my riding buddy Paul Golde hanging out with Oscar Jackson (the man responsible for the turbos in Honda Talons) and they had a spare seat in Oscar’s personal Talon test mule… but it gets better. Much better! And there were dogs… not just any dogs, but a cute little Basset Hound. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Paul was talking to a pal he had worked with at Vetter 30 years ago — Steve Reese was the facilities manager at the the sprawling Vetter factory in San Luis Obispo during the 1970s and ‘80s. Turns out Steve had a tow strap that could pull my stuck truck out with. And then it got better... much better. Steve’s UTV was emblazoned with the logo of Barrel House Brewing Co. Shades of my days as editor of All About Beer magazine! Not only did my benefactors unstick the truck, they insisted I follow them to their oasis base camp — a full blown mobile brew pub, complete with carne asada breakfast burritos and an endless supply of cold beer…. And the aforementioned dogs, with whom I was very popular with when I dove into my burrito.

Then it got better… and weirder. This is the desert after all, and it is Hammer Time with all kinds of crazy masochists abusing their vehicles in the toughest race terrain the desert has to offer. I channeled my inner Charlie Williams and volunteered to man Checkpoint #3 with Paul and Oscar. Very cool to spend the day talking turbos and all manner of race craft with Mr. Jackson…

Very weird to be 14 miles from anywhere on a closed course and not having seen a soul all day, crack open one beer and suddenly have King of the Motos creator Jimmy Lewis ride up out of nowhere asking if we had a spare cold one. Apparently that sound resonates at higher frequency than humans can hear, but draws Jimmy in from miles.

So now, we are talking Hammers history, the best lines through impassable trails, beers and the nuances of GPS. Almost on cue the first racers come blasting into the checkpoint where Paul greets them as earthlings, Oscar calls out the time and I log in the race # and time through CP#3. Meanwhile Jimmy offers sage advice to each competitor. Like Dr. Phil, he tells each racer what they need to hear… tough love, outright ridicule for their inability to use a GPS and useful line selection tips are liberally dispensed by Dr. Lewis.

After Hart, Haaker, Robert and Webb pass though, there is a lull in the action and Jimmy vanishes. We spend the next couple hours marveling at the masochists as they struggle through the desert, Paul still cheerfully greeting them as earthlings. Finally, the call comes through on the radio that the race is over and anyone reaching CP#3 is to be sent down an easy sandwash back to Hammer Town. Work done, Paul cracks a celebratory beer and like magic, Jimmy is back! You can’t make this stuff up.

He has already cruised around the course twice while 60% of the racers have houred out before ever reaching CP#3 once. Jimmy quaffs his beer and says, “Watch for the naked guy!” Before vanishing again. Unfortunately, we are having to tell the stragglers their race is over and send them down the wash… sure enough, one of the last guys to come though is wearing a chest protector, helmet, boots and very little else. Weird, but it is the desert and it is Hammer Time.

Exactly 28 minutes after the official closure, we hear a 2-stroke screaming down the course and the rider yelling louder than that… DON’T CLOSE THE CHECK POINT! #37 comes blasting up twice as fast as Trystan Hart did (twice) waving his watch triumphantly saying “I made it by 1 minute, you have to let me finish!” Unfortunately, he misunderstood at the rider’s meeting and was crushed to learn he was indeed 29 minutes too late. Then it got weirder…

In true Fear & Loathing fashion, the bats started swarming out of the cliffs as the sun went down. Lacking any pharmaceuticals and lamenting the fact that Jimmy Lewis had finished off the last beer, it was time to pack in CP#3… besides, we had already seen the naked guy come through. Then it got better… much better!

We went back to the Barrel House Brewing Co. compound for tapas and libations and to watch Supercross on the big screen TV… and see the dogs again, of course. Nothing like a cold beer and warm Basset for a nightcap.

Just another day in the desert during King of the Hammers.