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It was the beginning of the second lap of the Biltwell 100 off-road race, and there were motorcycles littered everywhere.
These weren’t lightweight adventure bikes from my class, but a motley crew of pull-start minis, vintage Japanese enduros, scooters, pedestrian electric bikes, and antique Harleys from subsequent race waves. After letting out a few expletives in response to the chaos I was dodging, I had to laugh out loud in my helmet. Even as a CTXP veteran, I’d never seen anything quite like this.
Friends had told me that the Biltwell 100 is inclusive, zany, and a lot of fun. The event’s “good times, not lap times” motto was certainly being displayed on the course, but racing is just part of what attracts 800-plus motorcyclists to a random OHV area outside Ridgecrest, California.
For me, the fun started the day before, when I shoved off from home in Long Beach aboard my fully laden Honda CRF301L with an enticing REVER route loaded into my GPS. It had been a minute since I’d done any bikepacking, and I figured a day in the saddle was a great way to clear my head ahead of what would be my first race on knobbies. (Well, other than that one time in Italy.)
After slogging across the L.A. basin, I motored into the Angeles National Forest, enjoying mile after mile of twists and turns as the two-lane road led up the wooded south flank and then down the chaparral-covered north slope of the San Gabriel Mountains. When the road flattened out I was 2,000 feet higher than when I’d started, riding across the sunbleached landscape of the Mojave Desert.
A trademark wind blew hard from the west as I veered off the pavement and began following waypoints I’d laid down using REVER’s ADVanced Off-Road Planner. I had hoped to traverse faint two-track across the desert to California City, then link up with established OHV routes for the remaining 50 or so miles to Ridgecrest. Unfortunately, Edwards Air Force Base, one of the nation’s largest, busiest, and most important installations, was in my way. True to the acknowledgement box I had to check when first using the REVER Planner, not all roads presented on the map are passable, as evidenced by fences and copious, intimidating signage.
Redirecting on pavement, I looped around the base, peering out across the dry lakebed hoping to see something interesting take off or land. (I was on base doing performance testing on a runway in 2013 when SpaceShipTwo returned from its maiden voyage — I didn’t understand why the gathering crowds and TV news trucks would be that interested in the latest 600’s quarter-mile time.)
Turning west on Highway 58, I tucked in against the headwind, counting the miles to my dirt-road turnoff. With nothing else to do, I figured I’d peer into my gas tank to see how the Honda’s fuel gauge was representing my oversize Acerbis tank’s contents. Just as I unscrewed the cap, an especially strong gust ripped it from my grip. The inspection that might have saved me 20 seconds at a gas station ended up absorbing over an hour as I hunted for and failed to find the cap, then fabricated an alternative using a juice bottle and supplies from my adventure tool kit.
Back on track on my original OHV route, I switched my TechAir Offroad airbag system from Road to Rally mode and ripped across the open desert. I stopped to escort various reptiles across the road and diverted a few times to investigate mine tailings or abandoned structures. It was exactly the kind of exploring I did on my DR100 as a kid while my dad was roadracing at Willow Springs, and 30 years later, it's just as gratifying. The nostalgic echo wasn't lost on me.
By late afternoon I was on Highway 395 and had spotted the Biltwell 100 circus in the desert off to the east. A small city of trucks, RVs, campers, and bikes and riders of every variety met my bloodshot eyes. I felt like I was among my people, and even if I’m always nervous before a race, the scene reassured me that nobody here was taking things too seriously.
Now in its sixth year, the Biltwell 100 is one of the most popular events in SoCal, and draws riders from across the country. After all, how many opportunities are there not only to race a 1968 Triumph TR6, 2025 Zero XE, 1939 Harley WLDR, or Yamaha Zuma, but also hang out with like-minded riders for a weekend of camping, cookouts, and cold beer?
Biltwell is famous for retro-styled helmets and chopper parts, but events are a big part of the brand’s identity, as well. According to Otto Deutsch, Biltwell’s “Good Times Coordinator,” the impetus for this gathering was a comment from a friend who helps manage a lot of desert races. “He said that every time he’s running sweep and cleaning up a race, the last guy off the track is somebody in a Biltwell helmet,” explains Otto. “Now I thought that was the nicest compliment anyone could give us, but his point was that maybe we should consider having our own race.”
“So that’s what we did. We wanted something where kooks like us could ride our old air-cooled XRs.” says Otto. “We’ve got a class for every bike you can imagine, and some classes only have to do one lap, but 25 miles is a long time in the desert if you’re on something that’s hard to ride.”
I saw a lot of bikes that looked absolutely brutal to ride on that second lap. My race, however, was composed of significantly more appropriate equipment, at least by comparison. ADV Lite favors bikes like the Ténéré 700, Tiger 900, CFMOTO Ibex, and the like. My CRF was technically too light for the class, but I wasn’t in it for points. Largely, I was looking forward to seeing how the pressure of competition would elevate my off-road experience. I savor the determination that racing conjures inside me, and I figured I’d need all the motivation I could muster if I was going to keep the pace up for four 25-mile laps.
Lined up for the start, there were 15 or so bikes to either side of me, and about 400 more behind on pregrid. The rubber hose snapped sideways and the dust went up. I restrained my right wrist until the bikes had spread out enough to allow the air to clear, then I tried to settle into a pace. The natural-terrain course was excellent, and included everything from fast two-track to tight turns, whoops, rocky climbs, and deep sand washes. It was the epitome of SoCal desert riding.
When I rolled into the pits at the end of lap one I pulled my buff down off my mouth to take some preemptive ibuprofen, and left it down since the course ahead looked clear. What a mistake. The first few miles of lap two were a yard sale, and now there were hundreds of bikes on course churning up the desert. I could smell many of the machines before I could see them. The sweet aroma of heavy premix from two-stroke stingers; the pungent mixture of burnt 50-weight and sizzling cylinders from antique American iron; the acrid stink of rich mixture coming from poorly carbureted pitbikes. It was an olfactory version of the HS/LS “Guessing Game,” and it added a new dimension to my enjoyment.
I felt strong enough at the end of lap two that I rolled right into lap three without stopping, but then the fatigue started to set in. It was harder to absorb whoops with my aching legs and my arms’ response to front-end twitches had slowed. The sense of urgency I’d felt in the previous laps diminished, and resolve rose up to replace it. I stopped several times to aid a few riders that had tipped over in especially tricky terrain, and once to move a gopher snake out of harm’s way.
Back at the pits for the third time, I downed a Gatorade and more ibuprofen that my very hospitable pitmates offered me, then climbed back on the bike for the final 25 miles. I was knackered, but absolutely loving the challenge. I returned to the pits for the final time a little more than three hours after the start, with another amazing motorcycle experience under my belt.
The evening was filled with food, bonfires, and bench racing. Turns out a cold beer in your palm is a great salve for blisters. Otto and the Biltwell crew have created such a great event and cultivated an amazing vibe and community. I woke up Sunday morning with barely functioning legs and stiff hands, yet I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
Like most of the attendees, I plan on coming back next year, probably on something a little goofier. Because “Good times, not lap times,” is an idea I can get behind.
