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Chapter 2

UPPING the STAKES

Mike and his loyal canine partner look sharp riding the hills. (illustration credit 2.1)

The next weekend, Mike and Opee returned to the desert. This time Opee walked right past the quad and jumped on Mike’s dirt bike. Riding a dirt bike is harder than riding a motorcycle or quad. Keeping balance over bumps is difficult and tiring. Mike decided to take Opee for a test spin. No problem! Soon they were riding longer and faster than Mike’s motocross pals.

Other riders urged Mike to enter the Lake Elsinore Grand Prix (sounds like PREE) with Opee. Forty years ago, a popular movie was made about this 100-mile (161-km) motocross race. Today nearly 1,000 people compete in it.

But riding for fun in the desert is one thing. Competitive racing is quite another. “They won’t let a dog in that race,” Mike said.

“Sure they will,” insisted his friends. “They let someone else do it once.”

Mike agreed to give it a try. The first thing he did was take Opee shopping. Nobody sold motocross gear for dogs. But Mike bought Opee the best-fitting helmet, goggles, and padded jersey he could find.

On a chilly November morning, Mike and Opee drove to Lake Elsinore, California. They reported to the check-in table. Mike paid the race fee and signed them up. He picked up two wristbands and three white signs with his number on them. He carefully attached the signs to his dirt bike. He slipped on one wristband and slid the other onto Opee’s front leg.

Mike checked his gas and warmed up his engine. Opee hopped on and Mike drove slowly toward the raceway. The crowd separated to let them through the gate.

Mike gasped at the dazzling sight of row upon row of helmeted riders dressed in padded suits. Every rider sat on a brightly colored dirt bike with bumpy tires. It looked like a lineup from a parade. To be safe, Mike and Opee took a place in the back. The race can get rough. Accidents happen. Mike didn’t want to put Opee at risk.

A woman carrying a clipboard walked up and down the lines. She inspected each bike and rider. Were they registered? Were they wearing the proper gear? When the woman reached Mike and Opee, she smiled. Still smiling, she went down her list. Check. Check. Mike and Opee passed inspection.

As everyone waited for the race to begin, some of the riders bounced on their seats. Others talked or laughed nervously. Mike squeezed and released his hand brakes. Opee sat patiently and barely moved.

Finally, a man yelled through a bullhorn. The race was starting! Another man standing on a platform waved a green flag. The first row of riders roared away. Each one left a burst of smoke behind. The flag waved again and again. Row after row of racers sped off. Mike and Opee’s row was coming up soon. Mike leaned forward and shifted his weight.

The flag came down. They were off!

The uphill track immediately changed to dirt. Mike saw hay bales and a string of colored flags ahead. It was a corner. He and Opee leaned into it. Mike slowed and stuck his leg out for balance. A rider ahead of them went too fast. His bike crashed in the dirt. Mike jerked the handlebars and swerved around him.

The entire route was closed to traffic. Only racers could use it today. But the raceway kept changing. First it was dirt. Then it was pavement. Then dirt again. It went uphill and down. It twisted and turned. For a while it wound right through the center of town.

Clusters of men and women stood on the grass bordering the route. Little kids in baseball caps perched on their fathers’ shoulders. Everyone turned toward the roar of the bikes. As the riders whizzed by, the people cheered. “Hey, look!” someone yelled. “There’s a dog in the race!”

People waved and shouted. The cheering grew louder when Mike and Opee rode by. Mike had never heard anything like it. He felt like a rock star.

Race officials stood at checkpoints along the way. They waved yellow flags to warn riders of turns and intersections.

(illustration credit 2.2)

Doggie