lull the riders into thinking the
Jackass would be just another
ride. That notion vanished when
they approached a steep ledge,
so much so that they set aside
their competitive instincts and be
-
gan helping each other physically
lower each other's bikes to safety.
Except for our man Schneiders.
"I didn't have time for such
foolishness, so I just skirted the
crowd and pushed my Sachs
over the edge. Anything on it that
will break at less than 20 mph,
broke a long time ago."
Up next was the treacherous,
rock-strewn downhill, which
Schneiders believed signaled the
"start of the real enduro. From
there on, it was rock, rock and
more rock into the noon check."
Rocky uphills, rocky downhills
and where there weren't any
rocks, there were "deep, deep
sand washes." By noon, more
than half of the entrants had quit
"or were beaten into submis
-
sion." After a lunch break, ev-
eryone had about 10 miles over
a trail, but that came to an end,
and then, of course, more rocks.
Enduro riders
on 300-pound
machines
were now
riding trials,
climbing over boulders.
The Jackass then took a
decidedly unusual, X-Files sort of
turn. Schneiders writes, "I came
upon one of the strangest things
I've ever seen in an enduro. I rode
into a small valley, not more than
a mile long, and there were bikes
and riders all over it. A few guys
were riding toward me (back
-
ward on the course), some were
trying to scale the hills that made
up either side of the valley…
and some were messing about
down in a rock-filled gulch along
the bottom. I figured there must
be some fearsome obstacle
along the trail somewhere, but I
couldn't see what it was. What
-
ever the obstacle, I never found
out. Quite strange."
In the end, fewer than 200 of
the 750 starters completed the
1971 Jackass Enduro. Schnei
-
ders and a few others took pride
in being part of that elite group,
but as is quite often the case,
some smart aleck comes along,
griping that the event was too
easy. "It's the kind of run that can
be won by a Class B rider riding
without a watch or speedom-
eter…riding as fast as he can [he
will] win and timekeeping won't
even enter into it." The sourpuss'
assessment is a bit easier to
swallow when one learns that
the source is none other than
off-road legend Dave Ekins. Still,
nobody likes a wise guy.
Schneiders wraps up his
story with a tribute to one of the
hardy souls who completed the
Jackass, a fellow by the name
of George Verkamp. "George fin-
ished the first loop with a flat tire,
but he determinedly [started] the
second loop anyway. He finished,
and within his hour, too. His rims
were square; he had several
spokes missing from his flat-
tened wheel; his handlebars had
come loose… and his gas cap
was missing. But he finished."
Verkamp's reward for his effort?
A bronze pin. Worth having?
Questionable. Worth working
for? "I doubt," wrote Schneiders,
"if many people have got enough
money to buy it from him."
CN
(Left) Desert
races in the early
1970s were
gnarly. (Below)
Of the 750 racers
that started the
Jackass Enduro
in 1971, just 200
saw the finish
line.
VOLUME ISSUE JULY , P133
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