The Grand Walkerville Stof Skop
(6 August 2016)
“Trek op daai panties – EK KOM!!!”
If it sounds like we had loads of vulger fun - you would be right about the ‘loads’ and the ‘fun’ parts!
The Stof Skop is a social motorcycle event in its first year. The motto of the day was ‘run what you brung’. With this, they wanted to motivate the novice to dig out a neglected ride or carefully selected mean machine, dress up and come pit wits against other like minded nutters. Did I mention the oval… dirt… track?
There were four different classes… for us ‘I have no clue what I’m doing’ bikers. And then they had a professional exhibition. If you saw anything through the clouds of dust, your jaw would have dropped and your teeth would have stained dust red.
The day started with old friends pitting next to one another under the zinc stands. Complimenting each other on the size of their oil leaks. Wheels got wiped, mirrors got taped and costumes got ironed.
I bought Dapple (my new filly to the stable) a few weeks before the event and I never even got time to check if he runs. But he jumped to life with a first kick to the ribs. This Suzuki BX120 Super Star was the contender to keep an eye on… until you dropped the clutch. He daren't like clutch action! Gavin Petersen eventually got him running with wrists full of throttle. He was spewing black smoke and bubbles everywhere.
Just check how clean his engin runs!
I entered the race as “Het van Verlangekraal” with a pressed school dress, skooltas on the back and even Wilmien my teddy bear enjoying a lift in the carrier basket.
Some of the contenders for this saute after title:
There was Iron Woman (Mercia Jansen) – she had NO aluminium in her frame!
In the other corner we had TutuTwoStroke (Sharne Gordon-Davis) – get outa my way or I’ll bump ya off!
FoxTrotBravo (Andrew Kayser) – chase me down foxy lady!
At registration, we signed our lives away – not that these were of any worth at a battle of blood, guts and o-rings…
The Race Caller was Greg Moloney. He memorized all the horses' colors and jockeys' silk before the race, to be able to quickly identify each entrant. Though he kept calling me a delivery girl, even though I was late for my Huishoudkunde class?!?
The spectators were hanging on the line with excitement.
The starting (dry)line was cluttered with undies. I had to double check if I still had mine on?
These guys are me(n)tal – on a bike with only one gear and NO breaks! A blerrie small seat and a side-stand on the wrong side… This is the birth-sport of racing.
You put your left foot in… you put your right foot back… you hook a right… you go left.
"Hang on baby J#$&s - this is going to get bumpy!" - Ricky Bobby
If you were wondering where the name STOF Skop comes from… let’s start at chapter 1!
Then you spin the track on it’s head and gooi a side-car in the game. You won’t believe… but that thin little side wheel has no chicken strips – ON THE OUTSIDE!!!
(Anything MX, off-road or enduro)
They line up, they trottle, a panty goes flying in the air…
…and they’re off!
Hell – I have no idea who was who. There were dust and plastics all over the show.
Though you couldn’t miss the Jakkals.
Scrambler & Tracker
(Shop bought or hand built, road or ‘nearly’ road legal)
An even more colourful bunch, if you could identify any colour other than rooigrond.
Andrew, on probably the most expensive wheels on the track – AND NOT HOLDING BACK!
Choppers & Bobbers
(Choppers, bobbers, cruisers, customs)
This is where the pretty horses came out to play, but if you thought they were a bunch of Lipizzaners… Oh, how wrong!
You stand, you watch, you breath, you go…
…till the earth invades your every thought.
Every granule of sand is one step closer to victory.
Joe Flemming confirmed it: Beards are like spoilers - they make you faster!
Inappropriate Road Bike
(Bikes that could reasonably be or are being used on the road)
Specled-tators, flecked with the stof of a 100 bikes anxiously awaiting this class to skop af.
There were 4 heats and we dripped with sweat as we lined up for the first one.
I could not get Dapple rolling, but luckily the spirit of the festival invoked the other racers to give me a small push… push… PUSH HARDER!
It was TutuTwoStroke, the Green Lantern, Het, and Iron Woman. You could smell the tension… or was that the fumes from the 2-strokes? Our hearts were revving, the engins not so much… The skid-marked pannas flapping in the wind… THREE – TWO – ONE…
AND THEY’RE RUNNING… wait… they’re peddling…
Peddling hard! It was going to be four laps of thigh burning propelling. The others were leaving me in the dust. Not that there were any dust-free zones around the track.
But after I got Dapple into a jogging pace, flooding every crevice of his frame with oil and gas, he started sputtering to life. I had at least half a circle to try and catch up. Could my little brave donkey achieve this with three laps to go?
Lap two I snapped into third spot.
Lap three I took the toit inside line of Queen Tut.
One lap – one boer!
Pratley Princess put up a good fight but my new hooves galloped past her on the last corner.
I took the line by a boot space.
After our first warm-up heat, the other racers were showing me sprocket-teeth.
I still had Dapple running as I was too scared to kill his main blood flow in fear of him never starting again…
I got another run start – four legs are better than two.
I gurgled down a Lucozade, though my hamstrings were feeling the burn of the lactic acid. This time the chicken riders were ready for me and my donkey. They both flew out under the broekies and broke away on the first lap.
I caught up with the Lantern, but Dapple was still not on full speed.
I started getting tennis elbow from working the trottle to full extent. I slowly roped in the two super hero chickens…
…but there was just not enough track left. I dashed over my handlebar but it was not enough. We called for a photo-finish and it clearly showed me in third place.
“Eat my pencils, Het!”
Gavin decided to take another look at Dapple, cause even the aunties on the bleachers started screaming that someone should help him. He took the mule for a spin and came back with some informative, yet devastating news… The BX120’s only had three gears - and Dapple was missing number 1 AND 2!
This was why it took me a full lap prodding him up to a speed before I could run him in third.
It was time to be cleverer!
Heat 3 got hotter! Two Vesparados entered the game: Bonzet and Dwayne
Dwayne intimidated us with his round-house kick…
…so I versmoored them with my Dapple-fumes!
“They may take our lives – but they’ll never take our VESPAAAA’s!”
…cause they probably won’t get them started, dude!
My evil plan was taking shape. I was hanging back till everybody was standing at the start line. I started winding Dapple to top speed (which is probably close to crawling snail speed), but there wasn’t a gap between the other contenders. So, I closed my eyes as I pumped the throttle before the line, hoping for the best...
The testosterone filled bikers bulleted off and gave me a gap through the middle. I immediately took the two chickens, but I knew they weren’t far behind.
Dewald tried to keep up with the meisie with the two boksterte, “Wil jy met my kys!?!”
My dapper Dapple ran his lungs out and got a second spot behind the one Vesparado.
Track maintenance was scheduled just before our last heat. A JoJo-lorrie did a few rounds settling the dust with water spray.
Just before I waddled out onto the track someone grabbed me by the elbow and wispered in my ear that the track was slippery as SNOT.
I have no idea what really went on in this heat and I’m not sure who finished first? I kept seeing Vespa’s sliding past me on their sides (Yes… even when they were sliding, they were going faster than me!)
I think Bonzet started playing ten pin bowling, and may I mention that he nearly had a strike on lap two!
Is that what you call BRAKE-dancing?
The two Vesparados jumped on the only remaining scoot, cracking up the track.
I tried to stay on the dry-ish inside line, giving my B(M)X some traction.
I crossed the finish line by a smoke puff, just ahead of the DUALpurpose pasola.
The winners in each of the classes got to jaag one another over the final four laps.
How would I ever keep up with the powerful engines of the other classes???
“If you don’t ask yourself, ‘How did I get myself into this?’ at least once a day – you’re not having enough fun!
But then luck strike. It manifested in a tap on my shoulder just as they opened the gates to the track. One of the racers in the Plastics class offered his 250 as a replacement steed. Finally… I stood a chance. Albeit a FAT chance!
The knickers pulled up and I scrambled for hole-shot, but I forgot to load the gun…
One lap down and the guys were giving one another sideburns.
…while I covered the rear!
At least they didn’t lap me!
CATCHING A LIFT WITH A PRO
It was nearly the end of the day, and I started folding up Dapple to put him in my boot, when Gavin came to me with an outlandish suggestion, “Would I get on the back with one of the pro’s?”
WHY? Do they need a navigator???
Neil Pettit stood there with a smurk on his face. He promised me he would not slide through the corners. That’s when he lost me…
A new deal was struck: YOU SLIDE – I’LL RIDE!
“Mamma, daar’s ‘n seuntjie by die skool, né. En as ek hom ‘n toebroodjie gee, sal hy my lift agter op sy bicycle!”
Flat track pillion lesson number one: HOLD ON!
Flat track pillion lesson number two: TIGHTER!!!
And just when I thought nothing could top that, someone called me a MONKEY!
I got a quick 5 minute tutotial on where to hold on, where NOT to touch, and when my boude should change sides.
“I'm normally not a praying man, but if you're up there, please save me, Superman.”
You might think a side-car is for a relaxed Sunday stroll through the countryside, picnic basket at your feet, scarf blowing in the wind…
“Hoe ver nog, paaaa?”
You can call me ‘monkey’ anytime!
Riding is the blood my heart bleeds, it’s the bruzes on the inside of my knees, and the blisters on my soul. It’s the painful proof that I AM ADVENTURE!
Though there were no LEGAL winners, a prize was awarded for MOST-FUN-HAD-BY-ONE.
It was a beautiful orange helmet trophy, with the peak cabletied and the goggles fastened with nuts and bolts.
And the award goes to…………….
We washed the soot from our teeth down with a few beers, as we wiped the soil from our jackets. Reminiscing about racing through clouds of powder, playing joyously in the dirt. The layer of smut covering our machines a testament to a very successful first Stof Skop.
IN DUST WE TRUST!
Dapple, is just a plain donkey. He cannot gallop in the air: but on the king's highway, he shall pace ye with the best ambler that ever went on four legs. Dapple has his own kind of dignity; he's just being what he is, and what he is isn't too bad.
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Pssst… most of the kiekies were taken by Jolandi Mentz & Louré van Schalkwyk