There are lots of things in life that are the “last one”. The last beer, the last sparkplug, the last overbore on a worn cylinder, the last breath, etc. But when it comes to the last Adelanto Grand Prix, that’s an entirely different and sad state of affairs. In fact, it pisses me off to no end just thinking about it.
You can’t just run down to the 7-11 and buy another six pack of Adelanto’s. The Adelanto Grand Prix was something special, an event that started as a local So Cal thing, and grew to one of THE races across this great land of ours, that was a must attend event for the diehard dirt rider, or spectator.
I remember being on the start line with guys who drove all the way from Ohio or Wisconsin in an old pick-up truck, just to race the AGP. Now that is right up there with the Indy 500, or the Baja, and when you add fifty thousand spectators, thousands of motor homes and dirt bikes, the Adelanto Grand Prix was a phenomenon. Something truly special in this homogenized, Pepsi-generation, generic USA of 2010.
And now it’s gone, never to return. Thirty years of racing and memories, shot. Like Corriganville (Hopetown), Elsinore, Catalina, Big Bear, the AGP is now just another memory.
What happened?
First off, I think we should explain what a Grand Prix is, in the world of dirt bike racing. Here’s a short list of different types of outdoor dirt motorcycle racing:
- Grand Prix: A timed event, usually 1 hour long, over the same loop. Whoever makes the most loops in the allotted time, wins.
- Hare & Hound: Multi loops over different ground. First one across the finish line wins.
- Hare Scrambles: Repeat same loop multi times, first one wins.
- European Scrambles: Timed event, 1 & ½ hours. Same loop. Be first and win.
- Eastern Enduro: Usually a 24 MPH average over a set course, or loop. Be on time, win.
- Western Enduro: Different MPH averages over a set course/loop. Again, be on time. Win.
Then you have dead engine starts, like the AGP ran for most classes. The Vintage class, due to the cranky nature of the bikes involved, was sometimes a dead-engine start, sometimes they left the bikes running when the banner dropped. Depended on the mood of the banner guy I guess …or if they had a bunch of Bultacos and Montessas in the race that year. Or one BSA 441.
441 Beezer with (gasp) stock Girling shocks.
But back to what happened; I called the Adelanto Chamber of Commerce, the City Hall, Board of Directors, Dept. of Recreation, anyone who I thought might have some idea of why the AGP got the axe, and got absolutely nowhere. It was like calling the Kremlin. I fully expected to speak to a kommissar of the open desert after the first hour went by.
After being shuffled around from department to department (even the Fire Department) I finally gave up. You win. I tried to go with the premise that it was a bad move for Adelanto, being the city is a spec on the map, and ANY exposure to the media outside of cops busting alleged meth labs, and chop shops would be a good thing for Adelanto, but I guess not.
When I was spectating by the mud jump, I met some kid named Zack who was standing by the wife and me, waiting for the quad class to go off. Zack said that in 2009, some idiot ran out in front of the quads right as the banner dropped, and the dumb bastard got run over and squashed by several dozen 450cc quads, and was suing everybody in sight. This has yet to be verified, but big personal injury lawsuits have shut down everything from Indian Dunes to LACR, so it might be true …
ZACK THE INFORMATION MAN
I’d been in touch with Larry Engwall from the Vipers for a few weeks before the event, and he’s a squared away guy, a typical desert rider. Larry said to find him at the race, and he’d get Tom White (not his brother, Dan) to give me some microphone time to promote our new improved website.
So the wife and I found a parking place off Muskrat road, and made our way down to the start line. At the end of the street the race was going, and one of the track marshals had to lift up the police tape to let Amparo and me through. We asked him where we could find Larry, and lo and behold, Larry came chugging up on his KTM four stroke. How’s that for timing?
Larry on his Katoom
We shot the bull with Larry for a few, and asked for directions to the best t-shirt stand. Larry pointed us in the right direction, and off we went, me in the Quickie ‘lectric wheelchair, and Amparo on foot.
After a few hundred yards we finally came upon the vendor booths, and I noticed how few there were, compared with the previous events. Just a few food vendors, a couple aftermarket parts guys, and the T-Shirt booth. What a change. In years past the vendor/t-shirt/aftermarket parts and tire vendors took up a space of about a whole city block. Not this year though.
Rick asked me to get with the Race Announcers, perched high in their retractable motorized scaffold by the mud jump, to get some microphone time, and we did just that. I got Tom White to relinquish the mike for a few minutes, so I could comment on the last AGP, and pump up our new website to the spectators in the bleachers.
It was nice to see Tom White again; I use to be the Customs Broker who imported White Brothers stuff from Europe. The sad thing is that Tom and Dan look so much alike, Tom has to pay for the sins of Dan, who’s a hard-charging business type who doesn’t take “no” for an answer. Thanks Tom, and I’m sure some reward awaits you after all these years of miss-identification.
Tom White, not his brother...Dan White.
Something was different at this year’s race, something almost surreal, maybe caused by the lousy weather mixed with a hint of sadness, and anger. There were too many cops for some reason all built from the bruiser class, eyeballing the crowds and giving hard stares to anyone who dared to look back. A swell bunch of guys. Real sweethearts.
I don't know, maybe I was in a bad mood, but a melancholy pall hung over the whole scene, it didn’t have quite the revelry of races past. A subdued feeling of something lost, like a funeral. Part of the odd feelings, I believe was me going from racer, to spectator.
I didn’t like it one bit, so we hung around for a few more minutes, and hit the 18 back through Littlerock, and all the burgs in-between.
As we rolled down Highway Eighteen I looked back on the town of Adelanto in the rear-view, at the new shopping center, the pre-fab housing tract, and maybe saw a town in transition, one that didn’t need, or want a dirty motorcycle race down main-street anymore. A town trying to shake off the dust from all those lean years, and the sad reputation of being a skip-off joint between Victorville and all points East.
Now I could go on about who won the race, the factory boys whipping up on the privateers, who won what class, all the good stuff you’d expect, but I’m just going to let it slide, because it wasn’t the same. Not one bit. I’m just going to let it go, fade away.
Like everything else that day, the sky was gray and cold, it cast a shadow on Adelanto, and I was glad to be moving away from it at seventy plus. So long AGP, it was fun while it lasted. I’m sure the Vipers will find another town in the high desert that will be the new big spot for the next thirty or so years. One can only hope.
The new works Honda four strokes where there ...
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