Minnesota's Off-Road Gem

All Rights Reserved © 2017 Thomas W. Day

I'm out of my depth here. I specialize in criticism, picking apart the flaws I observe in products and services, and general purpose griping about stuff in general. So, after a long, hot July afternoon at the Spring Creek Motocross Park, I don't have a thing to complain about; at least as far as the park itself and the races are concerned.

Since we moved to Minnesota in 1996, my summers have been jammed with work, travel, and play; pretty much in that order. One of the events I have consistently missed because of overbooking and poor planning has been the Spring Creek AMA Pro National outdoor motocross round. This year, purely by luck, I had nothing planned for that weekend and I kept it empty, once I discovered that happy accident.

Once I started planning to spend a day in Millville's main attraction, I realized that the last time I was at a real outdoor motocross was in the late 70's or early 80's. I was lucky enough to see a few of the 70's Trans-AMA rounds with Roger DeCoster and crew, the 1976 AMA season and Bob "Hurricane" Hannah's first national championship season, and a half-dozen AMA national races every year until I moved to California. The year Spring Creek MX Park opened, in 1983, I arrived in southern California just in time to read about the end of the great motocross parks: Saddleback, Elsinore Raceway, Carlsbad, Corona, El Toro, Hopetown, Indian Dunes, Ontario Speedway, and Orange County International; all absorbed by the vast urban and suburban California housing explosion of the 80's. There was still outdoor motocross to see in California, but it required a hundred-plus mile trek through the city and desert. At the same time, stadium-cross was gearing up and I got large doses of an extreme version of the sport at Anaheim Stadium and the Los Angeles Coliseum. Even better, I could convince friends to come with me to those places. Getting beach dwellers to drive to Riverside is harder than teaching a cat to swim. A decade or two later, Denver and Minneapolis stadium-cross was a big step down from the L.A. experience, so my motocross spectating interests dwindled away. After moving to Minnesota in 1996, every year when the Spring Creek pro national round came around, I thought, "I should go." This year, Saturday, July 22, 2017, I made it to Millville.

Dirt Rider magazine provides a solid blow-by-blow wrap-up of the race results (Check out http://www.dirtrider.com/spring-creek-motocross-results-2017#page-4.) and I don't have anything to add to that. I didn't attend the races as "press," so my access was no different than yours. I paid my $10 parking and $45 general entry fee. I hauled a chair, a big umbrella, lots of water, and a backpack full of electronics and camera gear, so I drove my pickup to the races. Motorcycle parking is free and right by the entrance gate, just like you'd expect from a real motorcycle event organization. I wouldn't be surprised if there were a thousand motorcycles in that area. The "overflow parking" for cagers is about a half-mile from the park entrance and I was glad I dressed for a hiking experience. The park's camping area is another parking lot a little closer to the track and I have to say I was unimpressed with motocross fans' camping etiquette. Saturday afternoon, the campsite smelled like a bunch of the campers were dumping their black water tanks on the ground. Out in the overflow parking lot, a disappointing number of young men were dumping trash into piles and setting fire to their garbage between the parked cars. Apparently, if you can't be a motorcyclist the next best thing is to behave like a drunk and brainless hooligan.

The Spring Creek track and spectator grounds are amazing. On Saturday, it was practically a small town in itself. The variety of food available during the national event was diet-busting. The event organization was totally professional. Even the security guards were friendly and helpful. The ticket area was organized and well-run and and if you wanted to get through the lines fast, you brought cash.

Going to these races was a lot like stepping back in time to the glory days of Southern California's CMC, except for the politically-correct Midwestern electric guitar version of the Star Spangled Banner and the weirdest pre-race Road Warrior-style prayer I've ever heard. If this were a CMC event, the between-race entertainment would be a Van Halen-style band (or the actual Van Halen band) and the motorcycles would provide respite from the sound system volume. The track's PA system is adequate for between race dialog, but is pretty much buried by the 4-stroke snarl of 40 race bikes. However, the track also has a simulcast on the 107.9MHz FM radio band and if you bring a radio and some in-ear phones you can follow the jocks' conversation during the races.

There is no one spot from where you can see all of the action on the track: the course is just too long and convoluted for anything short of a hovering blimp for an overall view. However, there are dozens of great spots to setup a shade tent or large umbrella. Most the good spectating spots are within a reasonable hike to a beer garden, food, and a porta-can. Speaking of hiking, thanks to the giant culvert-underpasses, you can hike the entire perimeter of the course. There are stairs to assist those of us who aren't mountaineers up or down the cliff known as "Mount Martin."

The track itself is a little bit of everything; from deep sand to loamy only-in-Minnesota knee-deep topsoil to hard-packed whoops on the way to the finish line. Every stereotypical bit of motocross topology is there, too: killer whoops, even bigger jumps, ruts and berms deep enough stop non-super human riders, a giant hill climb (Mount Martin) and a banzai run back down the same hill with a hairpin at the bottom, more deep sand, and another steep hillclimb and downhill, before the whoop-filled drag race to the finish line.

I've been raving about the Millville park to anyone who will listen since I got back. At least one friend, who raced at Spring Creek back in the early 80's, and I are going back for the end of the regional Millville Super Series season. I can't say enough good things about my day at the park. I'm not familiar with the warm glow of satisfaction, but I could get used to it. The organization that puts on the Spring Creek national races could consult with every other motorcycle event group in the state and improve every one of them.

The Vandals Took the Handlebars

[This was an article I wrote for MMM that didn't make the cut, due to a lack of available space. It also appeared as part of the narration for the first Motorcycling Minnesota television program. Roy's Repair Motorcycle Service does an annual bash that is a Minnesota institution. motorcycling institution.  Here's the story for the year 2000 biker bash.]

The tenth annual Roy's Repair Motorcycle Service Open House/Crash Fest/Motorcycle Hooligan Party survived yet another year without a single ecological protest. Exxon and Kerr McGee ought to check these folks out and see if Roy's publicist is available for off-season work. During this annual event, every aspect of public safety, clean air management, and noise abatement gets the single digit salute the first Sunday of every October, right here in Minneapolis City. Trombones need not apply, we already have megaphones.

If you ever wanted to get a feel for who and what real bikers are, this is the place to visit. Parents, here's your opportunity to scope out all the guys you don't want your daughters getting near. Mothers, quit worrying about cowboys and catch up to the Twenty First Century. Fathers, if your heart pressure, bad cholesterol numbers, or stress level isn't completely under control, stay home and watch football. Kids, if you want to see examples of all the stunts that will get you sent to the military school of your choice, here's your chance. Bikers, if you aren't hanging out on south Snelling on the first October Sunday afternoon, you'd better be racing or riding somewhere or hang up your heated grips 'cause you're a poorly informed poser.

Roy's is located in what has to be the most tolerant neighborhood on the planet. Imagine, if you weren't there, the noise these folks are ignoring when a V-8 powered, straight pipe exhausted BossHoss burns a 1/12th mile strip with it's fat (and flat) 230/160x15" rear tire. Or the smoke and noise generated by a collection of unmuffled Harleys, Harley-wanna-bes, and sport bikes doing burnouts and wheelies. Add to all this racket, the kind of crowd that cheers more enthusiastically for a paint grinding crash than a stand-on-the-seat wheelie and you're starting to grasp that Sunday's general atmosphere.

Add to all the mechanical racket the fact that this has gotta be one of the largest gatherings of general purpose bikers in the Cities. The party started at noon. At 1:00PM, I made a lap around the territory and counted 783 bikes. People were still arriving and my rural-founded, cow-counting habit died a peaceful death. By 2:30PM, there appeared to be twice as many bikes packed in along Snelling and across 32nd.

Unlike a lot of "major biking events" (the most famous of which will go unnamed), you don't find a lot of fifteen year old bikes with 5,000 miles on their odometers at the Roy's bash. Instead, you'll see some of the coolest, most collectible, beat-to-snot and still-being-ridden-to-work-everyday bikes on earth. It's a mobile motorcycling museum of folks whose "other car" is an oil burning, rusted hulk that gets fresh oil only when the OEM stuff is gone.

Side Note: How do you tell when you're looking at a true squid's bike? First, every light on the bike has been modified to be smaller and less useful. Second, the rear tire is only worn in the center, where it's practically showing threads. And, finally, the bike is sporting frame sliders and number plates and it looks like the sliders have seen use.

Fortunately, even squids brought cool bikes to Roy's party. I gaped at custom painted Harleys (ever notice the substitution that Microsoft Word offers for "Harleys"?) and many of the recent batch of American-made Harley clones, all the European brands, all the Pacific Rim brands, and enough ancient stuff to keep a fanatic collector entertained. I'm not a collector, but I was incredibly entertained. I was able to drool with lust, and for as long as I wanted, at several bikes that I've wanted to own, ride, or borrow.

After inhaling all the burnt tire smoke and unburned motor oil that my dying lungs could process, I went for a ride in the country. I even tried out some of the hooligan tricks I saw at Roy's. The bandages come off in three weeks and I should be back on two feet and a cane by December.