Hear from one of our readers as he recounts a story of when he stumbled into a motorcycle race against a quarter horse in Northern Arizona.
An Accidental Participant
Some 50 years ago, in late summer 1973, was the debut year of the Kawasaki Z1 and I was excited to get one. I heard the railroaders talking about setting up a race between a good quarter horse and a motorcycle on Arizona red dirt. The motorcyclist had a 650 Triumph and the horseman was O’Haco, probably the best man for that job in all of Northern Arizona. After weeks of talking about it they set out to actually do it. The motorcyclist got the bike ready. He tuned it, added straight pipes, a larger rear sprocket and an oversized rear tire. The site and date were selected and a cowboy used a measuring wheel to measure the distance. This was a big deal and it took a lot of preparation.
I didn’t even know this date had been determined, I was riding around through Bushman acres and up to the area behind the Winslow community pool when I looked over and saw people, trucks, a horse trailer, etc. To the West I saw two bikes, a black 883 Harley Sportster and a metal flake blue 850 Norton Commando. I knew then exactly what was going on and I wanted to watch. As I rode up to the two bikes and put my stand down the starter girl dropped her flag and they were off! Talk about timing! I saw the Triumph rider trying to keep the bike straight. I heard the booming exhaust and saw the huge rooster tail shooting out the back, it was about 10 feet long. The bike was slewing side to side on every gear change. He was having a tough time. The horse beat him soundly.
Then one of the guys from the horse side came over to me. They brought their wives, kids, everybody, and said “you’re next.” Your bike is faster than his, isn’t it? Prove it if you’re not afraid. We’ll give you about 15 minutes to get ready. I remember lifting the seat, pulling out the small tray that held the owner’s manual and setting it down and with the tool kit. I removed the mirrors and set them down too.
That’s it. Tray, manual, tool kit, mirrors! They had weeks to prepare, I had 15 minutes
A Race for the Ages
I was told do not start early, to wait until the flag was all the way down. I was at the starting line after giving the quarter horse a 15-minute break. I didn’t want to wreck, get hurt or damage the bike. I wanted to start slow and easy. I didn’t want to spin out. I wasn’t afraid to lose and I didn’t want to look like a fool. I found out later a good quarter horse goes from zero to 35 mph in two steps. The flag dropped and I heard a sound that’s seared into my memory — BLADUMP is what it sounds like. I heard that sound BLADUMP and he was gone!
I released the clutch at about 2,000 rpm. The rpms dropped to about 1,500 just to get the bike going. I fed the throttle in slow, painfully slow actually. More and more, never once spinning the tire, just feeding the gas. Then, at about 30mph, the bike started to accelerate better. With about 50 feet to go to the finish line I looked at the tachometer. I was catching up to the horse but I had already just passed redline at 9,000 rpm. It was then that I elected not to shift! The throttle was finally opened and the bike was charging.
My mind jolted as I faced another problem: a weird looking reddish-brown shape just a few yards past the finish line, and I was heading straight towards it! I flew past the finish line, chopped the throttle and glanced down at the tachometer. It was moving into 10,000 rpm. The actual rpm was about 10,400 or 63 mph, all in first gear. I knew that evasive maneuvers wouldn’t work so I didn’t swerve or slam the brakes, I just grabbed tight on the grips. CRACK!!! The forks bottomed out and bounced my feet off of the pegs. I was hanging on for dear life, my feet somewhere over the bike. I did everything but crash, landing front end first, slightly turned front end plowed in, and the very thing that I fought the whole time, the lack of traction, is what probably saved me from wiping out as I got a millisecond to straighten it out as the soft dirt broke away.
I wanted to see what I hit so I turned around. I saw it and looked to the east and saw the backdrop. I looked to my left and saw first base and in front of me second. That’s correct, right in the shutdown area, a short distance from the finish line, I smashed into a permanently fixed bag at second base at 62mph on a box stock 73 Z1. Rider and bike combined was 690 pounds. An abandoned ballpark was where they decided to measure out the race. I rode back by the crowd to go back to get my tools and mirrors. Heads were hanging down, shoulders hunched, the cowboys looked like they had just seen a ghost!
I got over to the bikes and they were yelling “You beat the horse! You beat the horse!” To be honest I don’t know the exact number of yards that they marked out for this race. I do know this: I needed every single one!
I’ve raced cars, street bikes and dirt bikes. I trophied at drag races at the Winslow Drag Strip on that same Z1, this time with a 987 Yoshimura engine. I bored it out again and put 1016 forged MTC engineering pistons with an ATP Turbo kit. I raced on a Suzuki TM 125 dirt bike. I have done all these things over the years but nothing compares to the day 50 years ago when I was talked into racing a horse on Arizona red dirt. Now it’s the 50th anniversary of the Z1, that’s why I called this a race for the ages.
