Cycle News - Archive Issues - 2000's

30 YEARS AGO... MARCH 17, 1970 Elsinore Grand Prix motorcycle and sidehack competitors graced the cover of Issue f8. When you threw down your two bits for this week's Cycle News', you were treated to complete coverage of the 1970 Elsinore trand Prix. At the time of publication, a winner had not been declared by the Gripsters M.e. - the promoters of the event - but apparently it didn't matter. Even though the Elsinore G.P. is billed as a race, it's really just a "Motorcycle Event/' and a winner, apparently, isn't nec- essary... J.C. Agi\ianian advertised that Eve! Knievel would jump 13 cars during the intermission at his haIf-mile AMA flat track race to be held at Manzanita Speedway in Phoenix, Arizona. Participating riders would include Mert Lawwill, Gene Romero and Dave Aldana, among others... Earl Roeseler and Jim McClurg announced that they would team up for the Mexican 1000 on a Yamaha. Roeseler had earned the desert number-one plate in 1965, and more than 60 trophies in his career. 20 YEARS AGO•.. MARCH 12, 1980 The cover of Issue #9 was beautified by the new Yamaha XS850G street bike parked next to Long Beach Marina... Issue #9 was our first issue ever at a price of 85 cents (up from 75 cents for Issue f8) ... This was also our Daytona Preview issue, and the biggest story hea.ding into Daytona was the introduction of 1025cc four strokes being allowed to race against the restricted 750cc two strokes and unrestricted 500cc two strokes that had, to that point, dominated the Super- . speedway. Among our picks to run at the front in the 200 miler were Kenny Roberts (Yam). Randy MamoJa, Dave Aldana (SuzL Freddie Spencer (Yam) and Eddie Lawson on a new Kawasaki four-stroke... Chuck Sun (Hon) won the Atlanta Supercross ahead of Brian Myerscough (Suz) and Mark Barnett (Suz) ... We profiled an up-and-coming local motocross racer by the name of Richard Bernard Johnson, Jr. (or Rick Johnson for short), and he noted his future racing goals were to "Become 125<:c National and World Champion." 10 YEARS AGO.•• MARCH 7, 1990 Issue #9 was covered "~~~~":11';::lI ·with various pictures from Daytona Bike Week 1989 because this was our giant Daytona Preview issue. Inside we previewed the Daytona 200, Daytona Supercross and Daytona Grand National Championship races ... Kawasaki superstar Jeff Ward won his first race of the season at the Atlanta Supercross, defeating early leader Guy Cooper (Suz) and seven-time national motocross and Supercross champion Rick Johnson (Hon). Denny Stephenson (Suz) defeated Jeromy Buehl (Suz) and points leader Mike Jones (Hon) in 125cc action... We interviewed AMA National Superbike and Supersport Champion Jamie James and asked him about his switch from Suzuki to Ducati in 1990 and what his chances are for the season... We also interviewed Suzuki's young motocross star Larry Ward. The 19-year-old Washintonian was fresh off his first win in AMA 250cc competition at his hometown race in the Seattle Kingdome... We talked to twotime and defending AMA Grand National Champion Scotty Parker about his recordsetting 1989 season and how he was going to go about topping it in 1990. CN e was known, for better or for worse, as "The King of Saddleback." And while he certainly was not the biggest star on hand that sunny Midwestern afternoon, to the skinny blond-haired kid standing a few yards away from him, he was big enough. Like most of the competitors racing that Sunday in 198], he had made the 2000-mile. trek east to do his job, which meant he was there to race a motocross bike and to earn some prize money. A native Californian, he had worked his way through the ranks, haunting the dusty, blue-groove circuits of Southern California. He had done well enough that at the track for which he was named, he had been coronated "The King" by someone who deemed himself worthy of granting such a lofty moniker. The King was good - good enough that he had landed a spot on one of the half-dozen or so race teams bolstered by a factory. And while he was neither rich nor famous, his name was in the magazines, and he was establishing himself, his sport's version of, the promised land. The kid was from the rust belt, and he loved motocross. Each month he awaited his issue of Motocross Action with such yearning that he had developed a type of instinctive mechanism that sensed when the light-blue Chevy Impala that delivered the mail to his suburban home was carrying the magazine. His only link to the sport, the] 20 or so pages he would thumb through in a possessed frenzy, would hold his attention for days. With its photos and words of what to him was a far-off motocross wonderland dreamscape known as Southern California, the publication would enlighten him on the myths, fables and folklore of the sport. Through the dark and frigid months of that dreary winter, he had counted off the days to springtime, when the box vans, trailers, pick-up trucks and vans of the pro circuit would make their swing through the Midwest. Although he had never before been to a big-time professional race, he knew all about the riders, the bikes they rode and the men that tuned them. He observed all and absorbed everything. To him, it was all larger than life, and it gave him something to latch onto. Sure 'there was school, with its history and math and football and hockey and a few close friends (there were no girls for the timid kid), but it was the sport, and everything that went with it, that truly mattered to him. Spring finally came, and with it, the big adventure. The kid had just received his driver's license, and after H tormenting the old man for the better part of a month, he was finally given the green light to make the four-hour journey south. That Sunday morning arrived with the stinging sound of the alarm clock, and he, his brother and two neighborhood pals threw their ice cooler full of ham sandwiches, potato chips and Hawaiian Punch into the big, wood-paneled station wagon and hauled ass for the turnpike. Rolling around to see if anybody had witnessed the same incredible thing. And that's when he saw The King. There he stood: The man from that faraway place. His arms folded, The King studied the two -500s and the lines they took as 'they dropped into the tree section at the far end of the circuit. Standing there, he looked relaxed, confident and oh-so very cool. To the kid, it was as if The King had literally climbed off the page of a magazine. The kid had to see if it was all real if The King truly matched the image in his head. His reserve initially prevented action, but the thought - just like The King - wouldn't go away, and before long he found his legs carrying him closer. Finally, with a sensation quite similar to that he always experienced before jumping off the ledge at the abandoned rock quarry back home, he blurted in a rush, "What do you think of the track?" The King, somewhat startled, looked over at him. And for what seemed an eternity, the kid waited for a reply. The King cocked his head and looked down at him. He didn't say a word. Instead, a scowl of disgust slowly crept over his face. How dare this kid trouble him in a moment of quiet introspection? The kid, meanwhile, just stared, frozen, not sure what to do. The King rolled his eyes and walked away, and the kid - stunned and sure that the eyes of all 20,000 people lining the fences were upon him - could feel the blood rushing up into his now-brightred face. A few seconds later, realiZing that his moment of truth with The King was through, he, too, walked away. Stunned, he slowly walked up the hill towards that hole in the fence. The King from that magical make-believe land of the motocross gods had, to a certain degree, broken his heart and provided him with a dose of harsh reality: There is a vast chasm between myth and reality. Before he could climb through the fence, the kid had to wait for the big, red Hondas to race by. As they flashed past, the lead rider - the small one whose feet could barely touch the ground - reached up and quickly flicked a tear-off from his goggles. The thing floated through air, landing on the crest of a berm, and the kid, after a quick glance around, made up his mind and ran. He quickly bent over, grabbed the flimsy piece of dirty plastic, and dashed through the hole in the fence. He was going to take it home. He was going to put it on his bedroom wall. eN So close were the riders that the kid could actually see the sweat on their jerseys and the scowls on their faces. along the ribbon of asphalt which linked together the surrounding Midwestern states, the excitement began to build. His heroes - up to that point nothing more than four-color images on dog-eared magazine paper - were finally going to become reality. Actually being there was more than he could have hoped for. The sun shined. He peered through the pit fence at the exotic bikes and busy mechanics who worked in silent determination. He stood up in a tree, watching the qualifying races scream around the rolling National circuit. He viewed the first moto, slack-jawed, as two of his favorite racers battled to the very end. It was then, at moto's end, that he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He watched another kid sneak through a hole in the fence and tiptoe into the infield. Nobody but the kid had seen the small, red-haired, Aerosmith-T-shirt-wearing youth - but he had pulled it offl After a few moments of deliberation, the kid couldn't resist. He wandered over to the hole with apparent nonchalance, held his breath, ducked down and climbed through. Nobody yelled, and nobody chased him. He, too, had made it. Using the various tractors and bulldozers as a screen, he found a clandestine vantage point and watched two big, red Honda 500s growl around a distant portion of the circuit in a type of flying formation. Soon they came sweeping by, mere feet from where he was standing. So close were the riders that the kid could actually see the sweat on their jerseys and the scowls on their faces. Exhilarated, he looked In next week's Cycle News • • • • First Ride: Suzuki's new GSX-R 750 Interview: Kenny Roberts Jr. Arizona National Enduro Grand Prix Preview cue I ... n ... _ s • MARCH 8, 2000 71

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