Horsham Boys
February 16, 2007
Words by Jeff Perrett & Tim March | Photography by Nuno Laranjeira
Like any other Sunday morning in my life I woke early, well early forme anyway. It’s amazing how your body just knows it’s time to go motocrossing. For me it was just another weekend ride, it felt no different to any other race that I’ve done in my ever expanding riding career but for the remaining two thirds of the MOTO team it had more significance that’s for sure. As I turned on my phone a text message came through. Once I read that I knew the wheels were going to fall off our day but I didn’t want to panic the boys too much. My ‘logistics manager’ Dave ‘lefteye’ Lopez was also going to race and take our shiny new long term test bikes in his sprinter van, but just like the kind of far fetched excuse you’d come up with at school his van was in the oven!! To be fair that was a genuine reason. He was having his van sprayed and it wasn’t finished in time. Bugger.
So I quickly bundled all the bikes into my loyal VW and took satisfaction that she’d clock past the 240,000 mile mark. As I rallied through the New Forest I got a call from Tim saying he was at our meeting point and where the hell was James and I. At this very early stage in the day I knew we were going to struggle to make it to the church on time. I was only five minutes down the road but James on the other hand was more like twenty minutes and Tim was already showing discontent. We finally all met up and like a Sunday football team only much more extreme and exciting made a convoy to Horsham.
So I quickly bundled all the bikes into my loyal VW and took satisfaction that she’d clock past the 240,000 mile mark. As I rallied through the New Forest I got a call from Tim saying he was at our meeting point and where the hell was James and I. At this very early stage in the day I knew we were going to struggle to make it to the church on time. I was only five minutes down the road but James on the other hand was more like twenty minutes and Tim was already showing discontent. We finally all met up and like a Sunday football team only much more extreme and exciting made a convoy to Horsham.
In that time a whole fleet of Sunday drivers had hit the roads on a crisp, sharp winter morning. Their maximum velocity is normally 30mph at the best of times but with the possibility of icy dew on the roads we were down to staggering 20mph. Like a scene for the film Scanners the veins in my head started to swell, Christ knows what mental anguish Tim was going through behind me. The sheer relief when they finally turned off almost brought me to tears of over whelming happiness as with three bikes in the back and too many bends over taking was virtually impossible. With clear road ahead came the next problem. Where the chuffing hell was the track? I couldn’t remember, I’d only been there the once and that was seven years ago. I called Steve Guttridge to find out. The Kawasaki trio of Steve, Paul Cross and Ross Burridge were already there and set up, of course they would be they’re like Cowley, Bodie and Doyle from The Professionals!
Finally after turning off the road to nowhere or so it seemed, we pulled into the sodden pits. Vehicles were stuck and there was a scene of organised chaos that suited us just fine. James and Tim parked near the gates (perhaps they were already predicting an early get away) but I managed to weave through the melee to get next to Kawasaki’s truck. We needed to pit next to them as we had to use their toolbox, there simply wasn’t room in my van for ours. The bikes came out of the VW even quicker than they went in and there was panic in the cold winter air, for some more than others.
It was at this point that I realised just why we really wanted to feature a Southern Motocross meeting (SMX) in the magazine. It’s the pure essence of the sport. It’s for the people that make the industry what it is. There were vehicles with all kinds of trades written over them. Builders, plumbers, electricians, landscape gardeners, everyday people, basically the common man and woman. From the teenager to the man close to claiming his pension. The same goes for the bikes with classes for the old and the new. Of course professional working people also race motocross but it can become more of a status symbol than a love or a hobby for some. Not all but some, I don’t want to tar them all with same brush. In the pits there were bikes slung in the back of flatbed tipper trucks but no £80,000+ swanky motorhomes. It was bloody brilliant. Here were people that didn’t care if their boots or helmets matched their kit or even if their pants matched their shirt. After all who really cares what you look like as long as you’re having a good time right? Take being blinded out of your mind on drink for example, not a fine one I’ll grant you but a point none the less. At an SMX meeting it’s just the raw elements that matter. Scrutineering? No problem, a man comes around to you and checks the bikes over. You can simply turn up, pay your money and ride. There’s no complicated forms or licenses, just pay £40 and race no matter what level you’re at, beginner or pro. SMX head honcho Tony Ford and his crew have been putting on these ORPA events since January 3rd 1982 and since then have run approximately 1040 meetings during that period of time. Proof in the pudding right there that motocross shouldn’t be stressful or complicated but for Tim it was not proving to be the case.
After signing in and paying up with no problems at all, we all changed into our kit quicker than supermodels backstage at a fashion show (but with more boob and less drugs obviously, although Red Bull is a stimulant isn’t it?) During the mayhem it really started to go wrong for team MOTO. Well for Tim more than anyone else and he’s put that in his own special way just for you. James was also still showing nerves. He hadn’t ridden for several months after separating his shoulder and had been worrying about this event ever since the idea of racing it had cropped up. All that nervous energy must of drained him considerably because after just three laps of practice James looked completely spent. Like he’d just done the Iron-man triathlon the day before then celebrated by having a jar of viagra washed down with a bottle of Don Perignon and been up all night in a luxury hotel with Abi Titmuss, Jordan and Kate Moss. He was so exhausted that he had to ask me to lift the bike on the stand. Tim? Well he never even made practice!
Opposite at Kawasaki’s camp things appeared to be going all too smoothly. It didn’t phase me though as I know things are always different out on the track. We discussed the format of our mini MXDN team challenge. Paul then produced a result sheet that he said he prepared earlier, personally I think he got someone else to do it. The idea was to get paired up directly against each other but we had to make sure we rode around together in the qualifying race to do that. By some amazing coincidence it all worked out, amazing because everyone forgot about the plan when the gate dropped. Luckily Steve Guttridge and myself made the A group. Tim and Paul the B and finally James and Ross the duffers group! (ah, just messing with you boys!)
I went to the line in the opening moto full of confidence, I then made it half way up the start straight and changed my mind. Stevie G had grabbed a great start and I was virtually last and had been drenched as the riders in front put a tidal wave over me. Luckily I had loads of tear off’s after only giving Tim two to use for the day! I then started to brake but to my amazement the others didn’t. I thought to myself ‘Bloody hell, have I really become that slow.’ No was the answer as I came out of the first corner in third after most of the field missed the apex of the corner by about ten foot. I got into second and there I stayed looking around trying to see where Kawasaki’s MX1 rider was in the field. (I was riding for the team.) With the last lap flag already out it looked like we were off to a great start but, there’s always a but. With two corners to go my spark plug cap came off. Was this a conspiracy? After all I had collected the KX250 from Kawasaki UK’s HQ. Or had they nobbled my bike while I was eating my Mars bar between races? By the time I realised what had happened Steve had rolled by and got points on the board and I had DNF’d. No need to panic though as we could drop our two worst races.
Next up was Tim and Paul. Marchy got us off to a flyer as he left Paul ‘Cross up’ Cross in his wake. Considering Tim’s story he was doing great and looking steady, which for those who know Mr. March will realise is an achievement in itself. The glory as all too often was short lived. Suddenly Tim was no longer circulating. Thenfrom out of the trees came a tall but sad looking figure pushing a motorcycle with the aid of a man in a high visibility jacket. Spring was not just around the corner for this particular March, far from it. It looked to be the start of a long, long winter. It was really difficult not to laugh at Tim as he soldiered back with what appeared to be bull rushes stuck to his lid after he high-sided, hit the ropes like a Ricky Hatton opponent and ended up in a ditch. It left him asking questions in his head he didn’t want to answer, let alone any from anyone else. He quickly changed and went home disgruntled and in considerable pain.
That was it. The race for bragging rights was over. Team Kawasaki UK had won before James had even hit the track. That was probably a good thing as we didn’t need him to become a casualty of war, he’s got a magazine to design and that would be difficult with broken arms! So after James had ridden around and made it home safely we packed up very quickly, made easier by the embarrassment and went home with our tail between our legs but we’ll be back. Only next time we’ll try to be prepared and if we’re not, well who cares if you’re having fun eh? The only problem is being ridiculed by those horrible little green meanie men but that will make revenge taste so, so sweet.
I’m not sure how many folks reading this will admit this but I feel the need myself to get this off my chest once and for all, I have a backlog of regrets that follows me round like a load of ravens after roadkill. I’ve seriously made some monumental fuck-ups in my life but by far the biggest was giving up racing MX bikes. In 1981 I had just been dropped by Honda (a team run by Bryan Wade where Rob Andrews was my team mate) after nearly winning the 125 British Championships but was pipped to the post by Kawasaki factory rider Howard Lucas after I had 4 engines blow up in four races. At the time I was also buggering about on a BMX bike in the winter and won a few races on it. I was earning around £300.00 a week racing down in Devon and Cornwall as a privateer after I got dropped (Wadey wanted my old man to put 30k of his own money into the team, we were broke so that wasn’t happening), and I was in a dead end job as an apprentice earning £26.00 a week working for 40 hours doing a job I abhorred. At the BMX race a fella came up to me and asked me if I wanted to be sponsored and go to California in a week. I was 18, the pay was £900 a month plus expenses and I just said yes, on the spot.
Now I’m sitting here writing this after my first race back on a motocross bike since the new years day Hawkstone race of 1981 ( I think). I won that on a 465 Suzuki, in the support class, Mark Fulton came second I think. You see when the going got tough I bailed out, took the easy way, and my lifelong ambition to be a professional MX rider disappeared along with my balls and the will to see the job through, no matter what the outcome may be. A decision I greatly regret. I am not joking. I have won numerous European championships and a world title as a BMX rider, but I’m more proud of beating Jeremy Whatley, Greg Hanson and Andy Nicholls than I am of any of those titles. I hate myself for it as I deftly avoided a side of my character which has come back to haunt me every turn I took to try and avoid the inevitable, which is this. Motocross will stand you up face to face with the darkside of your soul, it will tell you what you don’t want to know and leave in no doubt who will have to deal with it, you, the face in the mirror. I ran, I admit it, I took the easy way out, my dad knew it (but was kind enough to never mention it to me) and I knew it, I’m ashamed of that weakness in me but at least now I can finally get it out.
So when I decided to do this race despite the fact that my body is so trashed from racing BMX bikes and skateboarding that I can barely walk somedays I just had something in me that wanted to front up. No matter what the outcome would be, I didn’t care. So here is a little story of how I came to end up racing at this SMX race with my mates Jeff Perrett and James who designs MOTO, a magazine that I started over two years ago after bullying my publisher to do it. So without much further ado here’s the day.
I nearly died today, of anger and humiliation, in fact I’m sure you can’t actually die of these two symptoms but it felt like you could when I couldn’t start the bike at all and missed my practice, on top of that I knocked myself stupid by headbutting a grass bank after I went through the ropes flat out in third gear. For some reason the skin on the sides of my fingers hurts and I can’t move my head backwards, forwards or sideways, I nearly crashed the car twice on the way home when this black haze came over my vision but there was no way I was going to be stuck in Horsham hospital overnight, so. How was my first race back in the saddle after twenty-three years? Interesting if nothing else.
The bad stuff I’ve documented for you in this issues 13 things on page 112 Here I’ll write about the good stuff I loved and there was some, this shouldn’t be too hard. To start with the guys we turned up to race from Kawasaki were as cool as. Steve Guttridge, Paul Cross and the other tall blonde fella who’s dad helped me get the bike started made my miserable day far more enjoyable. Walking round the pits everyone was smiling and just generally in fine spirits. A welcome reminder of what twenty-three years ago I had left behind to pursue a career racing BMX bikes where there were far too many arsey parents. When my bike wouldn’t start by the usual methods of petrol on, choke out, no throttle a fella came up to me seeing I was in a total state of distress and asked me what the problem was. I told him the truth, the problem was in about 30 seconds I was going to kill the bike. Calming me down as older wiser gentlemen often do to moody twats who have lost their temper like me, he told me to turn the petrol off and put the choke in and then start the bike with the throttle wide open. Of course I did what I was told as if he was Merlin the magician and the bike started first time. I’m not gay but I asked him to marry me and that I would be his slave forever. I want him to be everywhere I go so I don’t make as much of a tit of myself as I did.
So I missed practice, when Jeff and James came back it was interesting to see their faces and my clean bike. Jeff obviously shocked at the sight foolishly asked me what had happened, so I told him, a bit red he went. Anyway I managed to get it together for the first heat, I got an ok start around tenth or something and then held on for three laps by which time I’d slipped down the field but was still ok to qualify in the b race. The track was brilliant, grippy, technical and really good fun to ride, for two laps only though because after that I felt like my arms would fall off. The first full race I was in ended around the three-quarters mark when I was around the top 10 mark (could be a bit out on that.) I just got it a bit wrong coming over a hill and took to flying through the ropes (why not tapes) which stopped me dead whilst flat out in third gear. That catapulted me onto my head in a ditch at which time I just remember this cracking sound as my neck buckled and I face planted myself. Race over.
That was it, numb hands, arms and a stagger that I wasn’t proud of. A kind lad helped me push the bike back to the pits after I managed to get my bearings and pick myself off the floor with stars in my eyes, he made me feel like a part of something again, just a kind hand and welcoming smile in my despair, something that has been lacking in my life for too long. I need MX, the folks I have missed, the men who race and support MX and put their health and livelhoods on the line every weekend for nothing else but a chance to get it out and let it hang out. How on earth I stayed away for so long I’ll never know. Driving back home unable to move my head of course I swore I’d never ride again ( I always do that when I nearly snap my head off), by Tuesday I was already planning my next practice session with “no tools Perrittio”. MX I have missed you, I have neglected you and me and I’d just like to say I’m sorry. I’m back, if you’ll have me.
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