Many years ago in a country far far away there existed a desert club called “The Racing Banana Slugs.” Their club members did what every club since the inception of clubs have done. Fought over who was gonna be forced to be President next term, argued over who did NOT send the paperwork in to the AMA on time and gossiped over who had put a big bore kit in their 250 and was a “cheatin’ sumbitch.”

As with all clubs, you had a core group of masochistic shmucks who did all the work, complained about it but didn’t walk away from it because they thrived on it, and the ‘fringe’ group who showed up on race days only. As the fringe group is absolutely essential on race day, the core group couldn’t live without them and therefore did not beat or revile them but instead welcomed them with brotherly love and strong drink.

Yeah, in between races and all this brotherly love were monthly Slug club meetings where everyone argued over the All Powerful and Holy State Sanctioning Body’s organizational peccadilloes. The acronym for the sanctioning body was known amongst almost everyone (except the sanctioning body) as the Good Ol’ Boys or GOBS.

And behold, as the leadership of the GOBS strayed farther and farther away from anything resembling consistent rules on how to make rules, and as more and more rules became concerned with how to make sure that 99.9% of the racing community got a trophy whose size was mandated, or how to make sure that their friends, children and wives could win a year end award by creating new and creative classes (The O/20 with pierced tongues and riding an XR100 No Jump Class), the Racing Banana Slugs Club turned into the Fighting Banana Slugs Club. Ugly. Meetings became concerned, not with riding and racing and fellowship – but with pettiness and silliness and people jumping around on the table with underwear on their heads. Or so it seemed.

Verily, attempts by the Slugs to talk to the GOBS about their concerns turned into rumors within three days of the Slugs attempting to take over the AMA by force and turn the tide of the next U.S. Presidential election. The GOBS insinuated that there were vile instigators within the Slugs organization that secretly had at heart the overthrow of Western Democracy. And indeed, it did appear that there were Three Little Zealot Bears within the Slugs who had raised the war cry against the GOBS.

And one little Zealot Bear wrote an article entitled “Excoriation” which totally pissed off the GOBS who made copies of the article and handed it out at their meeting. And the one Little Zealot Bear heard whisperings of rumors that she was on the #%!! List with the GOBS for daring to make public her frustration. And the little Zealot Bear ate her porridge and it was juuuust right and she cared not for she had spoken the truth.

And it came to pass that the Fighting Banana Slugs eventually had enough of GOB politics and withdrew from the GOBS and harmony was reinstilled in the club. The Slugs got down to the business of putting on races and having parties to foster comradery. While there were still episodes of people jumping around on tables with underwear on their heads (as a result of the strong drink meant for the ‘fringe’ group), it was done with all clothes on, and in the purest form of fun and not as a result of psychotic breaks from dealing with the GOBS.

But it came to pass that all good things must come to an end, and eventually the Slugs re-upped with the GOBS so that their races would be sanctioned.

However ... verily it was that at heart, the Slugs were a politically active group. They were concerned that environmental radicals might indeed pose a significant threat to future racing and petitioned the GOBS to prepare for future disaster in the way of land closings, limitations on race course and female hikers who didn’t shave their armpits.

The GOBS felt that they, the Holy Sanctioning Body, should stick with the business of racing and stay out of the political arena lest someone get mad at them. The Slugs tried to convince the GOBS that there was a bit of an issue with that mentality. Namely, without land there would be no races except in someone’s back yard. And the Slugs tried in vain to explain that you can’t win a battle without offending someone. History has consistently demonstrated that wars usually offend someone.

However, this argument fell on deaf ears and the GOBS worried not, and had their meetings and discussed important subjects such as whether or not mini bikes should run standard color combinations and whether or not a nitro-methane fuel could conceivably give a novice a significant advantage to beat Destry Abbott, thereby toppling the desert racing hierarchy.

And behold, an outside group called the BLM came into the fold of the GOBS, declaring themselves to be caretakers of federal lands and declared that all species of fowl, nasty badgers, weeds and cryptogamic soil should hereby be protected. And despite the fact that motorcycle racing had gone on in the area for 40 years, it should henceforth be contained in a box the size of a cereal package on trails resembling whooped out freeways through areas already contaminated by nuclear waste.

And the GOBS were aghast for they had not set aside money to fight the BLM, but had instead put it in all manner of trappings and adornment for winners and idolatrous trophies worshiping the desert god “KickedYerAss.”

And the Slugs had a hard time not saying “Nyah nyah nyah told you so,” nevertheless, the Slugs remained mute, bloodied their tongues and said it not.

And despite the battle looming ahead, there was great joy because finally the GOBS, the Slugs and all manner of racing clubs joined together in a seemingly united front to make reasonable accord with the BLM over use of the land. And there was much rejoicing.

BUT ... while the BLM is a group plagued with multiple concerns, not the least of which are hostile hikers with armpit hair, there emerged yet another problem. While so many of these harried workers are simply trying to do the best they can in a veritable quagmire of regulation and opposing groups, yeah verily, a handful of government employees decided that “there was a New Sheriff in Town” and that racing clubs would do as they were told, or not be allowed to race.

And the Slugs took offense at being threatened, unlawfully shut out of viable trails, and with the direct lies issuing forth from the mouths of a few rotten apples in the BLM.

And the the Zealot Bears proposed that it was not possible to keep everyone happy, and that without calling the rotten apples in the BLM on the carpet and fighting for their rights, all rights would be lost and we all might as well turn into motocrossers.

And the desert racers were sorely vexed at the thought of going in circles and doing endless jumps without benefit of running into trees or hitting rocks.

But alas, the GOBS disagreed with the Slugs ... again. Yeah, the GOBS felt that if they made the BLM mad, the BLM would exact all manner of retribution on them, including but not limited to torture by Magumbo, and the GOBS proceeded to adamantly and vociferously run down the Slugs for daring to stand up to the BLM.

And as the GOBS strayed farther and farther from brave warriors and instead became sheep -- making all manner of sacrifices to appease the BLM rotten apples -- the Banana Slugs once again found dissent in their own ranks over how to handle the GOBS. And verily, the jumping on tables in underwear became standard procedure, along with outraged e-mails.

And the harmony in the stars of the Slugs was jeopardized.

And this little Zealot Bear finally decided that if those of the same sport, can’t present a united front, can’t see past their pettiness, and can’t stand up and fight the good fight, she would have nothing whatsoever to do with the GOBS, and stand back from the Slugs until all concerned realized that the hikers with armpit hair and the New Sheriff in Town were the threat, not each other.

Kim Orndorff

P.S. Do not let this article fool you. While the motto may appear to be “Join a club, become an alcoholic,” there is tongue and cheek involved in all of my articles. I cannot stress enough how important it is to be involved, to join a club, and to support land use organizations fighting for your rights to ride.

I have witnessed first hand the people out there, whether in internet forums or at races, who consistently criticize races or the race point system (the system that awards points to those who put on a race). I have witnessed racers whining because the course wasn’t ‘good enough’ or the race wasn’t organized enough - not realizing that the clubs are fighting battles behind the scenes that are both monetarily, and psychologically draining, as well as extremely time consuming -- to provide trails that ARE good enough. These complainers do not contribute in either time or money to the organizations that keep their trails open, or to the clubs that put on races, but openly complain about the inadequacies they perceive.

I witnessed dialogue on one forum complaining about racers actually getting ‘points’ for putting on a race and how ‘unfair’ that is. To those people, I say “GROW UP.” Without club members spending time, money and effort to put on your races, you wouldn’t HAVE races. How dare you criticize a system that allows you the privilege of racing without lifting a finger to put on a race yourself, yet allows a racer to spend his time putting on a race for you, but does not penalize him in his racing season for doing so?

And while I am critical in this article of our local organizations, I do so having served faithfully as a member and an officer in a club since 1993 and have only recently taken a step back to allow others to ‘figure it out.’

Look, if you can’t or don’t put into the sport, I don’t have any desire to hear your complaints. And despite my frustration at the current situation here in my own neck of the woods, I thank each and every person in these organizations -- whether Slug or GOB, whether I agree with you or not -- for the time and effort put into the dying sport of desert racing.