If you have never been to the annual Moto-X event at the Bowan-Rekken Memorial Moto-X Track in Carlyle, do yourself a favour and plan to go to it next year. The 2011 event was held on August 13, and it was an absolute blast of high-speed excitement, thrilling competition, and great family fun.
Moto-X is put on by the southeast racing circuit, and it takes riders and their families to tracks at Oxbow, Estevan, Weyburn, and of course Carlyle. The founder of the circuit is Randy Franke, an experienced rider himself, and he explained that the whole thing began with the intention to cater to people who wanted to ride competitively, without becoming part of the larger professional circuit. Most certainly it fulfils that intention, as this year there were well over 150 entrants, with ages ranging from four years old to over 30.
A race begins with the riders lined up together, side by side. The engines are running and revving, and although the faces of the riders are hidden behind the visors of their helmets, you can sense the determination and anticipation that must be displayed in their eyes. You see it in their body language, you feel it in the vibration as the engines rev, and it is evident in the slight forward and backward motion of some of the machines.
Then they are off, the noise reaches a howling crescendo as engines roar, dirt is thrown up from the spinning rear wheels, riders lean forward for maximum acceleration and minimum drag, and great clouds of dust bellow into the air. The machines accelerate and flash by the closest spectators in a blur of noisy activity, and within seconds the leaders are already at the first turn. They lean into it, accelerating into the next straight, and then comes the first of the jumps.
The younger classes of rider take the jumps with necessary caution, but this event is for more experienced folks. They take to the air, looking impossibly small and fragile as they leap skyward. Front wheels up, rear wheels down, they come back to earth having covered great distances. Accelerating again, the dust flies up, as stewards around each jump keep a close eye on the action, watching for signs of danger should a rider depart from his mount.
The gap between the leaders and the pack grows. It becomes harder to know who to focus on. Long lenses follow the action, high-speed digital "shutters" capture the thrills as the noise continues, and the track gets muddier. The riders become as mud-splattered as their rides, guiding their machines to the best lines, avoiding some puddles while dashing through others. Some of the bikes take to the air and go impossibly high, you expect an injury, but there are none in this race. These people know what they are doing, and they make it look ridiculously easy. After more than a few laps, the winner takes the chequered flag, held out by a young blonde.
Riders come back through the spectators, some of them return to trailers inside the gate, others go out to the gravel road, either way it is time to clean up, and in some cases look for mechanical problems that might have surfaced during the race. Spectators listen to the announcer list the winners, some head over to the food concession for a hamburger, while others look through the viewfinder of their camera to check the images they captured. Many are happy to visit with their friends, or walk down the rows of bikes, chatting with the teams.
It is a superb family sport that attracts boys and girls, and men and women of all ages. There are races for beginners, races just for women, and races for the most experienced. Often, the kids that ride are following in the footsteps (or tire tracks) of a parent, and you can see the togetherness that such a common interest brings. It is a sport that demands dedication and skill. It brings together riders, ushers, announcers, lap counters, track maintainers and sponsors. It has excitement, adrenalin rush, speed, and of course it sometimes has injury, that is all part of it. But for those who love it, it gets in their blood, and for those who see it for the first time, it sticks in the memory long after the day is over.
