Conongrail / Part 3 / Scrutineering

Hooter's piece

I know I was excited to get to the campsite and I knew I couldn't wait to have a go at this racing thing....but when it actually came time to ride, reality hit me like a falling brick. I think my nerves got the better of me and I got even worse when we went up near the track and watched the bikes go past at what seemed a very fast speed. Like, Flash speed. Like Flash on speed kinda speed. "Shit," I thought in panic. "What have I got myself into with this? I wanna do it and prove myself but I don't know if I can - it really does look like they're doing 200kmh! This is crazy - No WAY can I keep up!"

My guts were starting to take a turn for the worse and the rest of my body was following it. This is way too much for me! I feel sick! I know Dazza wants me to race but I tell him that I don't think I can. He was not very supportive of my weak stomach.

"It's a bloody waste of money to do all this and not go in a event," Dazza scolded, "plus it's not a race as much as it is an experience. Nobody cares how good you are. Just go at your own pace!"

"I know," I protested in my best helpless whiny voice, "but I feel siiiiick!"

He still wasn't buying it, the heartless bastard.

Let's see what tomorrow holds for me, fingers X'd.

As the call goes out for scrutineering, it becomes apparent that this will be the moment of truth - will our bikes pass? Looking at the other bikes we had seen earlier that morning, "Yes, siree, Bob," but that wasn't our call to make. As we went to get our machines and push them over for the yes or no, a sudden sobering thought hit us! If our bikes don't pass, it will give us a bum nut feeling and totally suck balls. Getting excited, preparing the bikes, organising the family and accommodation, driving all this way for a blast around Conondale, then getting knocked back over some stupid little thing on the bike that isn't up to scratch would be rather crap, crap crappy to say the least. Dazza went first; they checked this and that, also that and this then gave it a thumbs up. It doesn't surprise me though, considering how anal Dazza is with the PE. He loves it so much, he'd probably marry it if he could.

I pushed my mighty XT up and it went through the inspection without a hitch. Well, that's a big +. "We'll have to see your helmet as well," they instructed. "Ok," I said and pushed my bike back to the camp area to grab my head protection. After I grabbed my helmet Dazza said they had to see his as well, so this must be pretty standard, safety thing I guess? I went back to the scrutineers. "That helmet doesn't pass!" they announced like Gandalf the Grey standing on the bridge against the fiery Balrog of Moria (in the Lord of the Rings). It does not pass? What the hell is that?? I spent over $300 on this thing so it has to! The scrutineers chatted about and asked the head guru who said they cannot allow the helmet to be used in the race as there is no official safety sticker on it. Shit, I remember that I had scratched it off a while ago! They did look to reference books for the helmet type but there was nothing for the model, so I was stuffed unless I could come up with something else, quick!

What to do? I went back to base camp and said to Dazza that they won't pass the helmet. He shot up there and gave it a second go, to no avail. Then he suggested that I get my wife and in-laws to see if they can get a helmet in Maleny, as there was a bike shop up there. So, the calls happened and I told my wife the problem. I had then left it up to her to get a helmet with a sticker on it before they came down.

They arrived a little later with one brand new spanking white helmet, nice looking piece. But at a cost of $190 to already be added to the growing cost of the trip here. I was in deep shit, I could tell by the look of death from my wife. It was an expense we did not need. I explained how the old helmet didn't pass and I scratched the sticker off cause it didn't look good at the time when it was new and how it looks now it wouldn't have mattered. She didn't see the funny side. Oh well, lesson learned. After all that I was feeling worse for it as well, guts getting crook and my head was hurting. I was feeling the need for not riding at all.

I stayed in my tent and hid... I mean, slept. Dazza was kinda mad at me. He had to race by himself. He doesn't like doing things by himself. I'm lucky he didn't go all Hulk on my ass and kick it clear over the racetrack because we couldn't have afforded a hospital bill on top of the cost of the unused new helmet. I know deep down that I did disappoint many with my slack effort, but being this low I can come back next time (after much practise) and show them my new & improved awesome riding skills and then I will be loved and adored by all!!!

Hooter's wife (Caz):

So you think that was a pretty crappy and expensive ordeal... the worst is still to come!! After returning home from Conondale with the new helmet on board still in its original box, we packed it away in the shed for safe keeping. Well, that was what I thought.

One day Hooter, my forgetful husband, failed to close the shed door, he tottled off to work and thought nothing more. On his arrival home he discovered the dog had ventured into the shed and had tore through it like a tornado - there was christmas lights, fertiliser and chewed up boxes all over the backyard, then, uh oh, there it was... the brand spanking new helmet box in pieces, followed by the brand new helmet with the entire foam lining ripped out and shredded. He blamed the dog, I blame karma.