Now here's how post-race pain works. The day after the race, you're normally stiff and sore. However, the day after the first day is usually the worst! For some reason - I have no idea why - that one-day lag brings out the maximum in misery. Pain operates in its own un-fathomable way. To this day, no one has been able to explain to me the workings of the pain-lag principal. Which, in the most round-a-about way possible, brings me to the reason for this study in misery.

You see, I just got done racing the Desert Vipers Adelanto Grand Prix. It's one of my favorite races of all time; a genuine Grand Prix put on by a solid club. When I was in shape and used to race every weekend, I'd go out there and compete in maybe three or four of those one-hour races over the two day weekend. Then on Monday, I'd be sort of stiff and sore ... a bit more than usual.

But that was then, when I raced every weekend and rode once or twice during the week. Now, my knees are 153 years old, and I don't ride regularly. Yep. About every six weeks or so, I go trail riding, and maybe three or four times a year, I race a Vintage Bike Race. And that's it. It's one thing to hop on a vintage bike and do a pair of short motos; it's another thing to get out on a long track that's beat to shreds, and hammer it for an hour.

Let me describe the event for you, in semi-gory detail: The bike I was riding was not your ordinary vintage bike. It was Rich Thorwaldson's old factory desert Suzuki TM-400. It sported a trick frame, wide-ratio gear box, excellent engine and suspension from 1972. I got the rear end working well by simply installing a pair of Works Performance shocks. I never got the forks sorted out, and the action was about like a set of stock Cyclone forks. Which meant that it worked not quite as well as the damper on a typical screen door.

Sunday morning was race day for the Vintage and Bomber class. A massive line-up of old bikes filled the street being used for the start of the GP. The sound of tired old pistons rattled through air-cooled barrels and echoed off the buildings. A haze of blue-gray smoke filled the air. A live-engine start with a banner drop was used to ensure that most of the old iron would be able to leave the line without being push-started. Even with that, as each row left, a bike or two burped, stalled, and puked a plug, requiring a running bump-start to get the fire lit again.

I was in the sixth row off the line, and got a pretty good start. The engine in the Suzuki was excellent, and it pulled about like a tired 430 Husky, which is amazing for a 1972 dirt bike! After the pavement section, we peeled off into the dirt and started the time-honored game of trying to pick the best lines. Unlike most courses in the West today, the Adelanto GP is wide open and there are a zillion lines available. You still have to hit the major flying checks, but in between those checks, you can not only work the edges, you can make some new ones.

Funny thing about racing vintage bikes: you tend to forget what you're on when you're out there cooking. I got caught up in darting around bushes and throwing big rooster-tails in the moist sand. Then I saw a great line that would save valuable seconds. All I had to do was launch off a big hump and clear a ditch; this would let me cut off a turn with a bunch of whoops leading in and out of it. I gave the throttle a blip and jumped off the hump, easily clearing the ditch. Then when I landed on the other side, I took a crushing hit of landing. Whhooooommmph! I had sort of forgotten that there were only four inches of travel in the rear end. I flattened the saddle with my ... ahh ... most tender parts, then did an eye-ball popping hand-stand a micro-second l ater. Only a death grip on the bars kept me from being run over by my own bike.

I continued onward, in spite of little dots whirling in front of my eyes. On the MX portion of the course, I dove into a corner deeply, and promptly crashed my brains out. Confusion reigned. Why did I crash? Moments later, that perplexing question was answered, as I depressed the rear brake, only to ride over a berm and into a snow fence. Aha! No rear brakes! A glance down showed that the pedal was hitting the low pipe and preventing it from getting full stroke. he adjusting nut was double-nutted, so I couldn't do a quick on-the-course adjustment. I rode on until I saw a spectator with a CZ shirt, pulled over and motioned to the brake rod. He understood immediately, and bent the rod out, giving me a some brakes. Spongy ones, but brakes, nonetheless. The rest of the race was pretty straightforward. Ride hard, pick a good line, hit a big bump, almost crash, get going fast again, take another knee-jerking shot from a bump, and repeat for a hour.

Still, over the years, I have learned to keep riding at a good pace, even when fatigue sets in. All you have to do, is keep changing position to force the muscles to work at different angles. Ride for a while on the balls of your feet, then ride back on your heels, and then in the center of your boot. Elbows up for a while, then out until your arms start to cramp. Move the pressure to the heel of your palms, then ride on the middle of the fingers for a while. Ride forward a bit, then with your butt back for a while. Heck, before you know it, the race is over. And not a moment too soon! If you do this right, everything will be tired. Late that night, the stiffness will start to set in. Strong drink helps. At least for me. And then you'll sleep great!

The next morning, you'll wake up and lots of things will hurt. My joints weren't working well, and my fingers felt real thick, like when you sleep on your arm and your hand falls asleep. A simple thing like brushing your teeth will bring minor cramps to your forearms, especially the throttle arm. Walking up some stairs is not too bad, but going down stairs brings stabs of pain to the big muscles in the front of your thighs. Bending over is something that you don't do too suddenly, and certainly not too far. A simple thing like tying your shoes becomes not so simple. So you take it easy that day, eat a few aspirins and take several hot showers. The hot water feels good. Really good. It makes you wish you had access to a jacuzzi. The day takes a long time to pass, and you keep moving around during the day, the stiffness doesn't seem to get much worse. But the next day ... don't ask me why ... the real soreness sets in. You feel like you've just gone a dozen rounds with somebody named Bubba. And came in third. Not even the hot showers help on the morning after the day before. In fact, almost nothing helps. Somehow, you have to make the day pass, because the next day will start the healing process and you'll feel half human.

Which brings me to the question: is there anyone out there who has a way to get past Day Number Two? Is there some short-cut, some way to simply bypass that wretched day of non-healing? Is there some wonder vitamin I can take? Please don't suggest that I get back in crack riding condition; time and sloth prohibit this. Send all suggestions, ideas, rays-of-hope, shots-in-the-dark, wild guesses, random shots, quirky ideas, voodoo tricks, faith healing tips, crazed theories, crack-pot medicine, new-age chanting, prayer-wheel kits, incense burning tips, herbal flushes, acupuncture tricks, bizarre creams and lotions, upside-down massages, oriental sweating baths, cold packs, horse liniments, psychic mind-melding, crystal-gazing, ouija-board readings, chicken entrail interpretations, steroid injections, vapor inhalations, moon-light sacrifices, ritual tattoos, sonic vibrations, heat-treating, Indian poultices, mud-packs, ritual sacrifice, mystic chanting, mega-mineral doses, soaking in vats of Absorbine Junior, or whatever to this beat up old rider.

And please hurry. I have another race coming up, and I'm still sore from the last one. Thank you.

E-mail: rick@off-road.com