Back Issue | Why So Serious? – The Emerald Enduro
I had never seen anything like it – the race tape was bowing under the pressure of the rowdy fans, and the noise was ridiculous. Sandwich boards and banners were everywhere: “Greg for President,” “Pedal Bro,” and “Go Big Or Go Jer(home)”. One by one riders dropped into the technical rock section at the top of Stage 7 and were confronted with a tunnel of riotous noise, enthusiasm, and goodhumoured abuse. From top to bottom there were no quiet corners, and nowhere to ease off the gas! It was like a DH World Cup, like a freaky carnival… it was amazing!
What the hell was happening? This was an important elite level race, but I was standing between a man dressed as a banana and his buddy an Oompa Loompa, and everyone was having a trackside party. Should the EWS not be more serious than this? If we look back at the media from the last few rounds we would be forgiven for thinking so, as words like “battle, exhausting, hard, disappointing performance, too technical, too hot, and downright dangerous” have filled the column inches. Pictures of broken and exhausted riders, slumped over their bikes and staring at the ticking clock, have spread like a virus around the web. But wasn’t this meant to be the series for the normal rider? When did it get so bloody serious?
New Zealand was amazing for sure, as the volcanic landscape and dense jungle canopy added drama and an exotic canvas to the racing action…but under the shadow of the mighty Crankworx festival, it smacked a little of elitism. Of course, the Enduro World Series has evolved to be far more than a grass roots race, and perhaps it needs to be. Contracts and careers are being forged – and for teams to commit huge finances to a season’s racing, they need to know it will be a fair and tough playing field. So, it needs to be serious, right? Then why did Ireland feel so good?
Back In Carrick, as I watched from the other side of the tape, amateur riders were receiving just as much applause as the top elites – and if a rider went down they would be mocked mercilessly, no matter how many logos they had on their jersey. Perhaps this crazy atmosphere was unique to the Irish fans, a country where humour is endemic and good natured banter is exchanged as freely as oxygen. Even the B&B owner we were staying with had a wonderful way of speaking in ten minute sentences and had a tale for every occasion. This is a land of rapscallions and raconteurs, where there is no such thing as a brief chat.
This was like being back in a grass roots downhill race from the late 90’s. The stages were short and fun, with cheeky lines and gap jumps for those who wanted to rack up some airtime. There were no ten minute pedal fests, no long uphill sections to make up stage time, and each and every turn had been shaped and perfected to be fun to ride. Seven stages in a day was going to be hard for sure, but each stage had been chosen because it was awesome – not to push the elite field to breaking point. Spectators were herded round the hill, and walkways and maps had been provided to ensure there would be a carnival atmosphere on every challenging section.
As each rider manualled down the finishing straight, high fiving the baying crowd, it was all smiles and fun. Crossing the finish line to rapturous applause, many declared that it had been one of the most enjoyable races that they had taken part in. When the distinctive blue jersey of local legend Greg Callaghan emerged at the top of the hill, the last man to finish, the crowd went silent for a second – then it all went mental! Barriers were cast aside and the fans surged forward, beer fizzling through the air as Greg was borne to the finish by an army of fans. He disappeared under a mass of bodies until, like a rock star, he was lifted high, punching the air in triumph. Those who had not been victorious were swept up in the camaraderie, joining the jubilant fans. Ireland had blown up the Enduro World Series, taking it to a new level, and had been rewarded with a fairytale ending.
So what had changed? International level enduro needs to be professional for sure, it needs to challenge the world’s best, but above all it needs to be fun. Ireland showed that to be successful an EWS does not need to push fitness and skill to the very brink of human endeavour, and it does not need to dance with the devil when it comes to danger. Ireland showed that if we give the racers short, fun trails they will still race to the limit – and have a great time doing it.
If the Enduro World Series was getting too serious, Ireland just threw a custard pie in its face, pulled its pants down, and kicked it in the nuts.
Words & Photos: Trevor Worsey
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