I knew there was only one good line through the upcoming mud hole. The fourth one since the race started, a half mile back.  I rounded a slight downhill right hander, & headed into a gray, mucky, creek bed.

  As luck would have it, my line was ...uh, stopped up, with another bike. 

  With half of my class right  behind me, & the other half within passing distance out front. I didn't hesitate. 

As quick as a fighter pilot,  I did the target acquisition scan for an alternate line. And there it was, a path about a foot wide all the way across the dark, mucky, creek bed. This was that kinda goo that you use to seal your roof with, the kind of crap that when you step in, you draw back a foot with no shoe. Ya gotta keep your momentum up. Ya can't stop, or even slow down.  So instantly, I made a course correction to aim the YZM450 at the only virgin dirt within a hundred miles.  Then I saw why it had remained unmarked by knobby tires...there was a  stump pokin' up through the crud like a black ice burg!  A stump about six inches tall & 2 Dunlops wide.  I had only a millisecond to ponder this decision, but no matter, it wasn't any bigger than a thousand rocks I'd wheelied over in the past.  I hit the gas...hard.  The front wheel of the big bore fourstroke  clawed for the sky. Up & effortlessly over the stump. I unweighted the rear end just as the back wheel started to dislodge bark from the face of the stump. Then...the bike stopped like a pit bull lunging to the end of his leash.  I on the other hand,  did not. 

  It was kinda like flyin' I guess. Everything was light & breezy. I remember smelling the aroma of the natural gas plant on the other side of the fence. I saw the guys behind me, funny, how they appeared to be upside down. 

 I saw my boots pass in front of my face. O'Neals. Black with white trim.   

 Ya know, I've never been too good at the handstand, but right then, for that one brief moment, I did a perfect one.  Both hands still grasping the bars. Arms, torso, & legs completely outstretched. I thought that just for an instant that an owl landed on the bottom of one of my upturned boots.  I paused there in mid arc for a second for effect. Sorta like one of those guys on the uneven parallel bars.

 Isn't it funny how just when you most need all the oxygen you can get, that it all leaves your body? 

 "Ooomph!"  I landed on my back so hard that some leaves fell out of the surrounding trees.  One landed on my goggles. 

   And yes, all the air left my body... instantly.   Just when I needed it most.  At least my feet were on dry ground,  above my head, and on the other side of the creek.   

 One of my competitors paddled by in the slop.  "Nice one Patman!"  

My beautiful motorcycle fell lifelessly on it's side.

  Feigning non-injury, I scrambled to my knees, & then to my feet.  A moment later I was straining to upright the beast in the goo. Then someone ran over my feet. It didn't really hurt that much, 'cause I wear really good boots, but when I looked up I was looking directly at my side number plate! Ya see,  while my toes were providing much needed traction to my fellow racers, I was driven several inches deeper in the mud, but through a last ditch effort, had managed to push the YZM upright, where it now sat. High centered on the very got dammed stump that had started this mess. 

 By this time, the guy who was stuck in the "good line",  got moving & made it out the other side.  His skid plate made little sucking sounds as he pulled free.  

 My motorcycle, always seeking the "good line", immediately fell over where he had just been, on what was it's only clean side.

  "Ha!" I thought, I'm finally in the "good line!".

   Another rider in my class passed me by, it was Glen. He motored through the slop, on his RMX like it was just a sidewalk ride. After he rode off it was kinda quiet, except for the gas plant sounds.

  Well after the mud hole fiasco,  I found myself in last place, and in a genuinely dreadful mood.

I hadn't really wanted to race this one anyway after all the rain, and the preceding day's reports of a pro rider loosing his KTM to an alligator back around mile marker seven. And another guy, a 125 amateur, having to relinquish his Yamaha to a swarm of killer bees! He ended up leaving it out in the swamp overnight, & fetching it again early the next morning while the bees were sleeping.

 Yes folks, It was just a little wet out here in Longview this weekend. I didn't even take my bike off the trailer at all on Saturday, choosing instead, to go and work on the property's elaborate system of irrigation channels or whatever they were.

   But here it was Sunday, & I was ( foolishly ) racing in the last race of the season. Solidly in last place.

I had trouble getting any "rhythm" after the "mud hole fiasco". I didn't feel like ridin' too much, & was trying to get a mental grip on myself, to get going again. I definitely wasn't "as one with the bike", that's for sure. Hell, I had so much mud caked on my hands, & ass, that I couldn't even feel the bike!! 

  About 2 miles in, exhausted from extracting myself, & scoot from the mud hole, & riding pretty much alone,  I came to mud hole number 24, also a down turning right hander, and also with someone stuck in it. Ha!  I took a very wide track around the messiest part. And made it through,  up, & over to the other side. 

  As I made it through the slime, I chanced a glance at the stuck rider, & realized that it was Glen, another rider from my class. He was stuck good. I pulled over & parked my bike. I walked over to him, still tired from my own mud thing, but thinking that if I help him, I'll have someone to race with...for a while anyway, 'till he blasts me into the swamp. 

  As I approached his position,  I looked closer at his RMX, & realized that it wasn't gonna be a "snatch it out" affair with this one. I mean it was really stuck. But, I figured I'd make sure he wasn't hurt, & try to help him out for just a minute.  His bike was sitting upright, back wheel buried, front wheel in to the axel.  In that mud that doesn't have any water in it. Just paste.

 "Hey man, you alright?". "Need a hand?" I said. 

 About that time he plopped down on his butt in the mud, I could see he was tired & frustrated. He looked up &  said, "Ah, I'm goin' back to camp, I knew I shouldn't 'ave raced this race."  

 "Ya OK?" I said again.

 "yeah" came his answer.

 "Ya got anybody cheerin' for ya?" I asked.   "Tell me where they are & I'll send them for ya." 

 "Yeah, I got people here, but they're all racin'" he said.

 "Ya look pretty stuck man, I don't know if we can get it out."

   Well, it was decided that he wasn't gonna race, & I ended up carrying on, figuring that it'd take us so long to get him out that it'd be useless, and that his buddies would be by in a minute to help, or pick him up after the event. So off I went. I hope I made the right decision there. I didn't feel really great about leaving him in the swamp with the crocs, but this was a race, & he wasn't hurt or nuthin'.

 Still on my first lap, now about a mile & a half from the checkpoint, I came across a bunch of stuck riders in a long deep mud hole, only this was very deep & like a small pond, had standing water covering it. I knew it had some deep spots cause I saw one guy lift his previously hidden scooter out the water, & he was waist deep in it!

 There was a line to the outside. I managed to stay on it, kept my speed up & made it around & out to the other side.  I could see someone walking along, their ride apparently abandoned. 

 It was Marty. I pulled along side of him & slowed the big thumper to walking speed.

 "Hey Man, where's your scooter?" I asked, nonchalantly. 

  Marty, always the straight talker, very matter-of-factly said, "It's in that mud hole", & pointed his thumb over his shoulder. I stopped the bike, twisted around & looked at the small pond. The one guy was still in the middle of it, waist deep, with his bike leaning against his hip.  But there was no sign of a muddy handlebar poking up in the air, no fender peeking through the surface of the water, nothing.  I looked at Marty, but didn't question him further.  As he started to complain of being old & tired, & figured it best for me to get him to the check point as fast as possible, before he passed out. So he hopped on & off we went towards the checkpoint a couple of miles away. 

 We actually made pretty good time through the mud holes, sand whoops, ruts, & turns. Even though Marty was constantly yellin' "Hold on there cowboy" when he thought I was covering too much ground too quickly. Or "Watch it! That's pretty gnarly over there". or "Stay to the right", "Hold your line! Hold yer Line" 

In one place he said, "You shoulda just gone through the middle of that one Patman." He actually pretty good at being a passenger, cause  never touched me. I don't know what he was holdin' on too,( probably don't wanna know )  but I do remember during one high speed whoop section, for a second or two, he felt light as a feather.

  Then after about a mile & a half of high speed whoops, mud & so on, & of course Marty's back seat driving, he say's "My legs hurt".  Jeeee-zus Christ, I thought, I might as well have my wife on board!

 Well we made it to the check point, & my passenger thanked me for the lift, and disembarked. Much to the amusement of the check point workers.

  All this & I hadn't made a lap yet!   But wait there's more!

 Well, somehow the brief but exhilarating stab at the doubles competition, revived my spirits, and even though both Clay, and Dean, passed me while doing so, it was so much fun, that I actually felt like racing again. 

 After making it through the score chute, & starting my second lap, I got even more inspired when I espied a group of young women cheering on the side of the track about a mile out from the start. Now this is not really that unusual of course, but in this particular case...well, I didn't think it was all that hot outside that day...maybe she had a bee in her shirt or something, I dunno.   I'd give her a 9.6 for enthusiasm!

 Now that I was in a particularly good mood I started havin' some fun, Laughin' & pullin' wheelies & all that kinda crap.

 I came back around & saw Glen still there. He hadn't gone back to camp, & was still stuck.  I tried not to look at him, & pretended to wipe something from my goggles in order not to have to look him in the eye...well I was sorry, but at least I wasn't last.  I don't know what it was but I actually started to make pretty good time. I passed another rider in my class I think it was Steve, but by then the bikes were so muddy, who can tell!

  And then I came across another rider in my class, it was Scott. It looked as though, he had just taken a little tumble, but was up, and fixin, his goggles. I knew he'd be on me in a second, so I hit the gas even harder. Ha! Someone to race with!  Finally! 

 I passed a few stragglers. & had some fun always lookin' over my shoulder for the Scott Winn threat.  I just knew he was right behind me & was about to go for the pass, but this time, I made it to the checked before he could catch up. My final position, sixth.

 All in all I had an OK time, once I loosened up after the "mud hole fiasco".

I've really had a fantastic season this year, I have a great time with you racers, and now that my officer tour  has expired, I  plan to exert  even more pressure on you guys in my class next year!

Thanks to the People who've made it a great season for the Patman. That would be ALL of you !  Especially the Patman Racing crew, your the best! And of course I couldn't do this without the fine products and support from my friends at O'Neal, Blur optics, Race Tech, BP, Central Yamaha, SMS, Bates, Jeff Cox, and Thumper Racing.