Cycle News

VOLUME 58 ISSUE 34 AUGUST 24, 2021 P127 of hope the slowest cars would get to the top. The thing is, you're racing up a mountain. Mountains have rain— almost every day without fail—and trying to ram that many entries up its roads is risky. At least now the cars won't have to deal with the bikes stealing the best weather. An easy fix would have been for the bikes to run one morn- ing, the cars the next. But being a tourist route that brings in big money, perhaps commandeering the mountain for more than one day a year was impossible. Mountains also have the best roads and riding my KTM 1290 Super Duke R and Aprilia Tuono V4 Factory up those inclines will remain with me as some of the very best times of my life. When that road is closed just for you and your bike, it's an incredible feeling. Seeing the chopper whiz by just after turn one as you began your one and only run, you knew you were part of something special. The thing is, I know the deci- sion to stop motorcycle racing at Pikes Peak had nothing to do with the weather. I was always amazed, in the land of litigation and suing, that I was allowed to race my very high-powered motor- cycle there. It's an archaic event from a safety point of view. Rocks, dirt, no runoff, cliffs, you name it. Every single morning, for four years, we were told at the rider's meeting "don't crash, because if anyone gets hurt or worse, this thing stops." Like we needed any more impetus not to throw our- selves off the side of a cliff. We all knew the risks. Carlin Dunne knew the risks. And we all—Dunne, Carl Sorensen and Bobby Goodin included—decided they were worth taking. I very nearly met the same fate as those riders in 2016, when I went into the guard rail at Elk Park in fourth gear on the KTM. By sheer luck I got away with barely a scratch, yet I know it could have, should have, been so much worse. Yet, this didn't stop me from wanting to take on the challenge. That's the thing about Amer- ica's Mountain. It presented a challenge unlike any other in mo- torcycle racing. No matter where you go in the world, people know the Hill Climb. It's up there with Monaco and the Indy 500 in the pantheon of legendary motors- port events. I understand if the organizers felt their hands were forced by Carlin's death. If they thought running the bikes was just too much of a hassle, that I don't understand. With that, I must say, Megan Leatham, the Executive Direc- tor of the race, is a wonderful woman. She runs the event with crack-the-whip passion, and I'm pleased to have ridden the event during her tenure. It's a shame bikes will never race there again. I'll leave you with a memory I have of my time at Pikes Peak. Not crashing, or winning, or surviving. During the second day of practice in 2019, I went sec- ond behind Carlin. The sun had barely risen, and my good mate Chris Fillmore was next, just behind me. With Chris arriving at Devil's Playground, it was just the three of us, looking out over the breathtaking early morning horizon across Colorado, some 12,000 or so feet up. The silence was soon broken by a screaming, tortured motor, the sound reverberating off the cliff walls. Full revs, brake, full revs, brake. Soon, the sound was recognized as Lucy Glock- ner and her fire-breathing BMW HP Race. The German is most likely the fastest female big-bike rider on the planet. When Lucy crossed the line, Carlin looked at me with a mix of shock and sheer admiration. I don't remember the words he spoke to me, but it was some- thing along the lines of "daaamn!" with a raised eyebrow to boot. This lady was the real deal, and Carlin knew it. Four days later, barely four miles from where we stood, the Mountain claimed Carlin for itself. I'm thankful to have raced America's Mountain. Thankful it spared me in 2016, thankful it allowed me to share the podium with Chris Fillmore in 2017, and I'm thankful for those very, very early mornings with a special group of people who knew the dangers, knew the risks, but still chose to live them and thus, live life, quite literally on the edge. CN

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