“This main event felt really long tonight.”
As fantasy games become popular in the sport, fans are becoming much more keen on minimalist details, when looking to make their “picks” for a particular evening. Scoping track layouts, soil composition, and current injury status, (among many other variables), there are many who put hours of reasoning into their choices. So, when surveying and asking many of those in the stands at the event, there was a unanimous decision, that Marvin Musquin would do well at this particular round of competition. A decent starter in his own right, his pure speed on a track that would decay such as this would be truly exceptional. And many would understand that these whoops (multiple sets if I might add), were going to become an act of springing up and down, rather than pure blitzing; which leans again in the favor of the Frenchman. He would look exceptionally fast throughout practice, hoping to carry waves of momentum into the heat race shortly thereafter. He was third off the line, and was in the midst of a serious speed-train, including the likes of Dean Wilson, Ken Roczen, and Eli Tomac. The Husqvarna rider was out front, and wasn’t giving way to any foe who tried to steal this lucrative heat victory from him. Musquin would work his way around Roczen, stalking Wilson for all he was worth. Never leaving an inch, the battle would become unseasonably close on the last lap, with Musquin nearly stealing the win away from Wilson. However, the number twenty-five would take second, eyeing the main event as a platform for victory. He would quickly assert himself as alpha, with Joey Savatgy hot on his heels for this twenty-minute contest. The track was now littered with ruts, the transitions becoming treacherous for all on the track. Musquin would look over his shoulder, seeing that Baggett was inching closer and closer every lap. He couldn’t do anything to stop the assault from the number four, so he would simply buckle down and twist the throttle. Keeping his composure, the fender of Baggett would be pushed nearly into the sub-frame of Marvin, just before the “SX” triple. However, Musquin would regroup, holding off the hard charge of both those competitors, claiming his first overall victory of the season. Beyond stoked with his performance, his selflessness shed new light on just how fortunate he was for an opportunity like this; he feels as now the championship is within his grasp, and is excited to see what the future holds.
“This track was really busy and tight; very few lines in the whoops to choose from.”
With Blake Baggett truly turning the tide for the 2019 season, as far as his Supercross abilities, he’s been touted as true contender for race wins, for any particular round of the series. He’s shown flashes of speed, and the ability to capture a win, doing so earlier in the year at Glendale. Turning his previous weaknesses into strong-points, Baggett looked forward to the tracks that were extremely technical; understanding that he could withstand fatigue and persevere when the going got tough. He relished in the fact that this track would break down by the latter part of the evening, despite a monotonous layout. One of his strongest areas of the track, would come in the whoop section after the finish line; where he could be found both, blitzing the top of the moguls like no other, and jumping through them in sets of three. He seemed to be prepared for whatever was thrown his way, knowing that disaster could strike at any point throughout the nightfall. Holeshotting the heat race, he looked to break away from familiar foe, Cooper Webb. Hitting all rhythm lanes with the utmost precision, he would have a bit of a hiccup on lap four, near the “SX” triple. And at this level of the game, all that’s needed is a slight mistake, in order for a formidable opponent to capitalize. This is where Webb would usher his way around, pushing Baggett to the rearview of his number two machine. It would eat away at Baggett, knowing that the confidence pendulum would swing in favor of the North Carolina resident. Finishing second, the amount of hunger Baggett would possess, was unreal. Fourth place to begin, he would go to work on the top-ranked of the contenders of the field, knowing that time was of the essence. Cooper Webb would be just behind him, pushing him with a forceful tailwind of astonishing capabilities. They would both move around Tomac, putting the crowd of Indiana to their feet. His lines would become more and more secure, with the gap between he and Musquin slimming every round. The pinnacle of the battle, would come when Baggett would run a wheel in just before the step-up over triple. But Musquin would somehow muster the strength to carry on. Staying in second, he would hold off Webb, taking a solid silver medal position. Heading into Seattle, Baggett was coming for victory at all costs.
“I made some critical mistakes, but wanted to charge back as fast as I could.”
With the red plate laying heavy aboard his KTM machine, Cooper Webb had shown tremendous amounts of resiliency through the past rounds, reiterating just how capable he was to win this championship. With veteran like competitors all around him, there were many in the field who were a bit jealous of the Carolina native; an envy cast upon him, as he was a younger rider, stealing the glory from many elders in the division. This would only fuel the number two more, as he looked to carry on his winning ways as the series rolled into Indianapolis. Attacking the track in an aggressive manner for practice, the way he was jumping into some of these sections was absolutely absurd; especially the double-double single, after the “SX” triple. He would launch the initial double, and literally slam the chassis into the some-odd roller that would follow, letting the pure crashing of the frame be the thing to halt his momentum. Piecing together as many laps as he could, he would be satisfied with a result of the entire matter, and be patiently waiting for the gate to fall for the heat race. The field would then merge into the opening left bend, many in the back being forced to slam onto their brakes. Cooper, coming out of the first few sequences in second, would hound Blake Baggett (who’d been nailing starts all day.) Understanding that Baggett was a streak competitor, Cooper understood he would have to nullify the advantage of the KTM counterpart, striking as soon as he could. He looked to make a move just after the aforementioned triple, blitzing by Baggett in a whirlwind of shuffling. Almost catching the number four by surprise, he would look to do damage in the following laps; this is where he would solidify himself as victory, ready for the main event to commence. With the gate then coming to a crash, many of the usual players were in the mix; with the likes of Musquin, Baggett, Tomac, and Webb, congested. They would go into a shuffle of sorts, with Tomac being the trailing member of the group. He would begin to fade, and Webb knew that it was critical to get around this hulk of a machine; but now he would have to face the likes of his comrades in orange. Baggett and Musquin would begin to merge toward each other, and Webb would then throw his way into the mix. Stalking Baggett every lap for a move, Webb would begin to launch the triple, triple combination, just prior to the finish line; one of the only riders to conquer it. And despite the solid effort, it was all he could do to secure the third place ride for the evening.
With the stars of Supercross begin set to race on Sunday, there were certain events that seemed to pack a bit more attendance than others. With Indianapolis already being one of the most sought out venues on the tour, seats were filled to the brim; but not just with ordinary citizens, but that of the “Supercross Future’s”, a new event on the tour that allows amateurs to compete among the same track as professional’s, just on the Sunday following the event. Eli Tomac could sense the curiosity from younger riders throughout the autograph session’s, understanding that he was one of them, just a decade or so ago. And being the kind and giving rider that he is, he hoped to shed positive light on the riders that looked up to him; giving a hint of motivation to those looking for it. But for he, meanwhile, this was a matter of only business. This is where he generated income, fame, and legacy; hoping to provide income for his family, by means of racetrack success. Therefore practice wasn’t a time to goof around, and he looked at the ground in front of him as a canvas of masterful artwork; truly putting his nose to the grindstone, and chipping away at the pole position time of the day. Scrubbing everything in sight, he knew he millisecond was of the highest regard; and any time saved, would be of high reward, when crossing the checkered flag. Pleased with his final effort, he would begin to visualize the heat-race. Rocketing off of the gate, he would blister down the start straight, smoothing rummaging through the gearbox; shifting with such precision, that he wouldn’t ever have to stab the clutch in hopes of grabbing another tier. It would pay off, as he would be positioned in fourth on the green flag lap. Holding tight in this train full of heavily touted suspects, there was simply no room for Eli Tomac to get around the likes of Ken Roczen. Finishing fourth, he looked to improve for the main event. But again, it seemed as though he just couldn’t get this track figured out; as this was much more Arenacross in nature, than previous rounds seen on the course. Getting overtaken by both Marvin Musquin, and Cooper Webb, he did all he good to hang onto the fourth place ride, as the trio of KTM’s would sprint away. Once all was said and done, he would be residing just inside the top five, eyeing the fourth place groove to be cemented in at the checkered flag. With the referee stepping out onto the face of the takeoff, he would cross his path while under the banner, taking fourth for the evening.
With the likes of Monster Energy AMA Supercross, and all of racing in general for that matter, there are certain benchmarks, in which riders can hope to obtain, once all has concluded for a particular event. Making the main event, and top ten’s, are lofty obstacles to grasp, but are something many desire over. However, the lucrative top five, is something that anyone on the board would be happy with, in relative terms. Even a championship contender, on his darkest of days, would feel a top five is sufficient. So, knowing just how tight the championship standing was in this particular time period, Justin Barcia understood just how storied a top five finish would be at this particular round of Indianapolis. Always looking for victory, he would strive throughout the boundaries of practice; leaving his full effort on the track from the moment the clock began to count down. Crossing the finish line lap after lap, he would immediately look to the Monster Energy leaderboard, looking with eagerness to see if his name would be atop it. When exiting the track for the final time, his mechanic would hop aboard the rear end of the machine, uttering his residing position within the shell of his helmet. Nodding in an expression of satisfaction, the two would make their way back to the pit area. He would be refueled with an adequate source of carbohydrate and hydration, knowing that the energy exerted on the track tonight could really cause substantial fatigue to become a problem. Feeling replenished, they would wait patiently within the tunnel for staging, chomping at the bit for the gate to be loaded. Once locked in, the pin would fall, and he would begin to assault the track underneath with ferocious intent, keeping the throttle twisted with absolutely no remorse. Hovering around the seventh place spot, the train within the front of the field was moving forward, and he knew he would have to sustain these efforts to keep up. Putting together bundles of solid laps, his speed would be rewarded with a fifth place finish. The main event had then come to light, with twenty-two of the world’s best Supercross riders interlocked for a good portion of the first lap. It was easy for some of the competitors to get overwhelmed; but he’d been here far too often throughout his career, understanding that this race would be one of attrition. Pulling a tearoff as he launched the “SX” triple, a subtle tapping of the rear brake would through the chassis into a descend, while he held off Joey Savatgy. Hearing the aggravation of the competitor behind him, as he rang the motor to the top of its decibel limit, he knew his wall of defense must stay in tact. It would hold true, keeping the enemy at bay, and scoring the fifth place overall he planned for.
With the owners of Lucas Oil in attendance, the aura in which surrounded the campus was that of intrigue and interest, as they looked to be consumed with this particular genre of motorsports racing. Involved heavily in the automotive and off-road racing world, many within the respective industry are curious to see just how spectacular and death-defying the athletes of Monster Energy Supercross are. Enter Joey Savatgy, a competitor who’s willing to risk it all, for the sake of pride, and to call himself the best in his class. Although monetarily, this is his way of providing income for his family, at the end of the day, it’s a fire burning deep within his soul that keeps him hungry for gold. To be solidified as one of the greatest ever, competing as a true warrior, is what it’s all about at the end of the day; and he wanted to show everyone, from the richest of the rich, to those in the nose-bleeds, just how well he could perform on a stage like this. Practice was a matter of staking his claim as one of the best in the field, as he would absolutely throw down serious heat from the inception of the initial flag. Scanning the track from left to ride, he looked to scope every line in particular, that was on his immediate radar. With heat sensors acting throughout his goggles, he could locate any imminent threat; choosing to follow behind them shortly thereafter. Chomping at the rear wheel like a dog off the leash, he looked to chew the opposition’s tire throughout the course of the evening. His antics would continue into the heat race, as the packed funneled into the initial rhythm lanes, swarming for the lead like bees on a hive. Preparing to attack, he didn’t want to reveal all of his weaponry just yet, especially with Blake Baggett on his tail. Making his rounds quick, he would keep the 450 chugging along, blipping the throttle while at his highest point of summiting through the air. Immediately landing with the throttle on, he would power out, all the way to the finish line; taking a noteworthy second. The main event would have fans and team members alike biting their nails and tapping their toes, as the field dive-bombed into the opening corner, with Savatgy coming out second. A clashing of foot-pegs would ensue, and sparks would continue to fly as friction melted the titanium against one another. All seemed to be well, running the pace of the leaders, until a crucial mistake would place him on the ground; falling to sixth. Lingering near sixth as the laps began to accumulate, he would notice that a portion of the field would taper off; but he mustn’t, otherwise Zach Osborne would make his way around. Keeping the momentum forward until the finish, he would garner a solid sixth overall.
Not too far from Lucas Oil Stadium, resides Bankers Life Fieldhouse, home of the Indiana Pacers. And if you know anything about the history of the storied NBA team, then you know just how closely it’s acquainted with the “Malice in the Palace”; when Ron Artest and crew rushed into the crowd of the Detroit Pistons, and an all-out brawl would ensue with both players fans alike. Although times have changed, that fiery energy still runs deep within the DNA of many Indianapolis fans, much of whom were in attendance for this particular round of Supercross. Zach Osborne could sense the vibe immediately, and knew if he brought a spectacular showing to the fans, that he would be well received with applause of all kinds. Running riders wide in practice, the aggression was truly turned to one hundred and twenty percent, as he ventured around the raceway. Cutting off bowl turns, slashing over ruts as he slid underneath respective foe, he was showing no mercy to anyone within his proximity. Launching rhythm sections two and three wide, a simple revving of the throttle seemed to deter any opposition, who tried to fly beside him. He would carry the same mindset into the heat race, understanding that the tone had to be set early. Pushing forward in the early laps, this particular round of racing was rather short; meaning any miscues in the beginning, would lead to an overall disengagement of a positive finish. Doing his best to string together positive laps of totality, he would launch the particular step-on, step off’s, with serious effort and speed; almost picking up the chassis once leaving the top of the mound in the middle. It would pay dividends, as he would keep Kyle Chisholm at bay; he would finish eighth. The main event would then come to life, and within the first few laps, the pace had been sat. With Marvin Musquin out front, he would simply use his peripheral vision as an indicator, of just how much he was lacking, in regards to lap time. Zig-zagging across the start in multiple occurrences, there were times when he would nearly click fourth gear, which was a rarity in Supercross on these modern day 450’s. He had very few laps dipping far off the median, which was a key to a solid top ten overall finish. The checkered flag would be waving in the distance, and he knew if he could just hold on for a more ninety-degree turns, seventh place would be his. His performance would hold together, claiming the overall for the evening.
Arriving at the entrance of the stadium, there was no shortage of excitement throughout the masses of competitors who would race later that evening. With this particular round of Supercross being played out within the storied Lucas Oil Coliseum, the magnitude to which this fortress was build, was purely phenomenal in regards to sheer size and intricacies. Looking at those walls from the outside, it was easy for many to feel belittled or inadequate; however, Ken Roczen looked at it as a time to relish, understanding that his true abilities could be praised by all, on a stage such as this. He looked to captivate the crowd throughout practice, throwing the chassis to the wind on the first lap, soaring over the three-pieced triple jump, with a takeoff higher than that of a regulation NBA rim. It was truly astonishing to view just how comfortable he was, that far off the ground; the way his limbs were hanging on to a thread of the handlebars. His mechanic knew this was a sign that the “flow” of sorts was beginning to kick in; and that positive finishes were going to be of fruition as the night hours began to fall. Landing off the final finish line attempt, he would coast into the pit area, looking assess what had just occurred. After making some quick mental tabs on where he could improve, he looked to make a statement within the first few laps of the main event. Pushing forward, he was in a heated dual with that of Dean Wilson and Marvin Musquin; the three would point their pistols at one another, and begin to fire, with the losers leaving town for good. He would continue to fire off rounds, and as the smoke would clear, the enemy would be nowhere to be found; third place was his. He had a one-way ticket to success, to begin the likes of the main event, pushing as hard as he could throughout the first few laps. The green flag of old would quickly vanish, and he would find himself deep into the waters of the murky main event. Being careful to tread, swimming against the current, he did his best to stay afloat; never using the lifejacket of assistance to propel him. Beginning to hop through the whoops, the tops of the moguls were beginning to break down, but his riding style would endure. It was all he could do to keep eighth place in tact, but he would do so; penciled in within the slot, as the black and white flag waved in the wind.
For Dean Wilson, the stop in Indianapolis was one of embodying the culture of the city. With racing legends of all facets passing through here on a yearly basis, decades of insurmountable talent of rang through the likes of particular stadiums, and the famed motor speedway. Understanding what type of buzz he could generate with a spectacular performance this weekend, he hoped to set sail into the skies of Indy, knowing that he left it all on the line. There was little hesitation within his throttle twisting antics of practice, being one of the first to leap into the array of rhythm sections that littered the track. Making sure to smoothly land into each transition, once his tires would hit the ground, he would immediately be on the throttle and spring to life for another period of bounding. Keeping his excitement contained, he knew his time would be amongst the best in the field, and would take the remaining portion of practice to cruise. He was confident in what he was able to do, once behind the gate. The card would then go sideways for the heat race, and he would eye the first corner with attraction. Keeping his throttle arm perpendicular to the ground below him, he would be one of the last to jab at the front brake, keeping the rims of both wheels in constant locomotion. He would absolutely fly into the sand section, letting the pure depth of this additional soil be thing to slow him down; there wasn’t any dragging of the brakes as he kept the momentum flying through the deepest portion of the berm. He would be heralded with momentum as he rounded the track each lap, the mechanic ushering him through with a clockwise waving of the towel. It was what he needed to make his way to the checkered flag, finishing spectacularly in first! This was one of the best rides of his career thus far! He wanted to keep the rest of the field honest for the main event, and would do his best to make his way to the front of the pack. Starting near ninth, he knew he had roughly twenty minutes to work. Digging through this nearly perfect composition, his tread would assault the turf below; and it would be accompanied with an ease of the throttle, rolling the power on when necessary at the base of the jump. Using the spring of the shock for all it had, he would leap out onto the start straightaway as far as he could; hoping to pull away from Justin Brayton. He would do so, claiming ninth overall for the finale.
Coming off last weeks distinctive outlier of a race, Justin Brayton aspired to surge forward throughout the fields of the Midwest. Landing in Indianapolis, the series has decided to stop here yet again, bringing fans of the Hoosier state to life for yet another year of racing action. He enjoyed the vibe of the town from the moment he touched down at the airport, hoping to soar to new heights while on the racetrack as well. Looking to scope the track from one perimeter to the next, he would eye the fastest riders on the track early, memorizing their lines to the fullest capacity. Looking at respective prospects, he would head out of the stadium with his head held high, knowing that he could contend within the top ten. He would dash off of the line for the heat race, shifting immediately through the transmission. Stabbing the clutch in corresponding fashion, it was an all out draw to see who would come out of the first turn ahead. Lingering near the seventh place ride, he was using all in his arsenal to keep the 450 ahead of Justin Hill. His antics would work, as he would couple both offensive and defensive mechanisms together, in a tactical plan to defeat the rest of the field. Holding through and through, his mechanic would give him the cue for one final go around; and although sweating bullets, he knew he could sustain this pace for twenty minutes if need be. He would finish the race in fifth. The main event would then come to life, as the attendee’s of Indianapolis would get upon their feet. As the applause would accumulate and the cameras would flash, he would hover near tenth. Fighting for his life inside the top ten, he would wedge himself within these grotesque ruts; leaning the chassis to nearly a full tilt of degree. Keeping the inside foot off the ground, his heel would barely scrape the surface, all the while adjusting the play of the clutch when necessary. Hitting the “SX” triple before dashing into the straightaway, you could see his left foot manually adjust, in order to conquer the next section. Checking into an absurd speed at third gear, he showed no sign fear as he would scurry around the roughest portion of track. The white flag was finally here, and with tenth place within his grasp, he would hold the bars with an absolutely strangling grip. Tenth place once all had finished, he was pleased with the end result.
“I plan to start riding a bit of outdoors after this, taking just a bit of a break from Supercross testing.”
Coming into Indianapolis, many in the industry asked if Austin Forkner would show any sort of blemish, throughout the entirety of this particular series. Seemingly flawless in his rounds so far, he’s won nearly event entered, and become a guarantee when lining behind the gate, for a top three finish. Being the true competitor that he is, he would come to the land of Lucas Oil, honestly desiring to run the table yet again. His practice times were noteworthy, segmenting and running faster circuit scores than many of the top riders in the 450 class, despite being on the smaller machine. A true competitor at heart, however, he wanted to be the best, regardless of what piece of locomotive he was currently on. He took that attitude to the heat race, where the aggressiveness would come back to haunt him, in the form of a first turn pile-up. The crowd would then rush to their feet, as Forkner was frantic in searching for the clutch lever. Getting up and rolling rather quickly, Austin was now under a circumstance that he’d yet to encounter this season. Could he fight through traffic without making a mistake? Or would he succumb to the pressure from the outside, feeling as though the walls would collapse, if he didn’t obtain victory. It was here where the number twenty-four would show heaps of maturity, making every pass calculated and collected, on his way to the front. Cracking a transfer spot, he would lunge for more, doing everything in his power to ascend as high as possible. Managing his way around Brandon Hartranft in the final moments, Forkner would score fifth; his worst finish of the year thus far. Displeased with himself, he looked to the main for a ballot of redemption; hoping to cast his name amongst the greatest performances of Lucas Oil Stadium, once all would conclude. A holeshot would be his “kissing of goodbye” so to speak, to the rest of the field; as he would honestly never be contested throughout the entirety of the event. Attempting to best his previous times, he never had any trouble from a fellow competitor, with Chase Sexton drifting back further and further with each lap, a pure afterthought once all had settled. The boys at Kawasaki were beyond ecstatic, understanding that if he could come from this, the title just very well may be his for the 2019 season.
“The first four laps of the main event, I felt really slow in the whoop sections.”
Although a native of Illinois, Chase Sexton had been reiterating in the week prior to the event, that the round of Indianapolis, was considered his home race; especially due to the fact that St. Louis was terminated from the tour. Therefore, Sexton had numerous fans, family, and friends in attendance, putting just a tad bit more pressure on himself, then previously had been bestowed. Sporting a sleek looking, white, Shift uniform, his stealth like character would roll into the gates for practice, hoping to set the tone early. He would carry tremendous amounts of speed in the corner after the finish line, railing the inside portion of the turn and absolutely obliterating the moguls that followed. Looking at his mechanic for a relay of sorts, the reassurance provided by his crew chief would provide a boost of morale. This, would propel him into the heat race with a serious sense of confidence. Third off the line, he would be just behind that of Alex Martin and Mitchell Oldenburg to begin, as the three musketeers looked to differentiate themselves, on this tight and narrow course. With little room for error possible, Sexton would capitalize on the mistake of Martin, getting into second by lap four. It wouldn’t be long after, that Sexton would take the lead, hoping that Austin Forkner was watching from the sidelines. Looking to cast a bit of fear into the head of the number twenty-four Kawasaki, Sexton would take the win with a fist in the air, understanding that this could be the start to a great night. The main event was then about to be underway, and Sexton was able to muster just a bit of hope, as Forkner’s bad luck in the heat race, put him in a less than optimal gate position. However, it would be the Kawasaki getting out front early, and never looking back. Sexton, the bridesmaid yet again, was doing all in his power to catch his amateur foe. Whether it was tripling the step-up over jump before the “SX” triple, launching back onto the straightaway that was perpendicular to the start, Sexton was wearing the chassis of the bike completely out. Pulling away from Justin Cooper behind, there was a substantial gap that remained constant between the Honda and Kawasaki pilot, after sometime. Sexton take the silver medal at the stripe, crediting Forkner as always.
“I knew the track would be tough for the main event.”
While many riders in the field would take a day or so off this week, due to the combination of travel, fatigue, and callused hands, Justin Cooper was working overtime in the sweatshop, putting in as much effort as possible. He believed deep into his core, that the ability to endure wouldn’t just accumulate to an abundance of physical preparedness, but a mental edge as well. Knowing that he could fight through almost any outside variable, placed him in a category of elite competition. When the going got tough, especially on a track as rutty and grotesque as Indianapolis, he would be able to outlast his counterparts, no matter what their underlying ability level. His efforts in practice were a pure showdown of sprint characteristics, as he wanted to bundle these series of circuits together, to reflect a trial run of a heat race. It would provide him with reassurance like no other, heading back to the semi gleaming with positivity and serious belief within himself. He would carry this boost of esteem into the heat race, where he would be just behind Kyle Peters and Martin Davalos. The Suzuki rider looked strong in the early portion of the race, but you could tell a bit of fatigue would begin to accumulate; and Davalos, along with Justin Cooper would begin to attack. They would eventually make the move in the latter portion of the moto, pushing the Suzuki to the back of the train. Cooper was now eager to catch Davalos, but time was running out; but he would see an opening, that of the left-hander just before the rhythmic whoop section. In the narrowest of edges, he would barrel into the peripheral view of the Kawasaki rider, taking the lead away, resulting in victory. He would then have a disastrous start for the main event, where the astounding gate position would actually force him off the track into the concrete. Fourteenth on lap number one, he would begin to chip away with an axe in the hand; hoping to slay the “tree-top” of a podium, walking away on a respective branch. Passing these riders in bundles, his lines through these rhythm sections were amazing; the way he could double, triple, double, in the far corner of raceway, would cause many fans in attendance to just drop their jaw. His last of the battles, would be found with teammate Mitchell Oldenburg; where the two would tussle for a few laps, but he would walk away with the final spot in third place.
Off-season trade talks are huge, especially in this neck of the woods, as the Indianapolis Colts have a bit of cap space to sign a few “studs” in the National Football League. With fans and managers alike wishfully thinking that the brightest of talent would choose their team as a landing spot, many of the prospects are in a bit of a conundrum as to just which way to go. But, there are those who remain faithful to the team as is; showing respect, loyalty, and effort, to the guys that have brought them on. Just as Mitchell Oldenburg has for team Yamaha, he looked to continue his heartfelt tenacity towards his supporters, as the city of Indianapolis played host to the Supercross series. Shaking the hands of sponsors and fans alike during autograph sessions prior to, he would greet competitors with a nod of respect as well, before mounting the bike for practice. Running exceptional times through and through, he made sure to operate his machine as courteously as possible; believing that karma would play into his favor, and that everyone on the track should be esteemed in their own right. But all bets were off, once the gate would fall for the heat race; as the blitzkrieg of the 250 class would hound at one another. As these rabid dogs of machines seemingly chomped, lunged, and howled at one another, he would circle the parameters in the first place position. But he couldn’t withstand the pressure that was amounting from teammate Justin Cooper; as the number thirty-two was giving the sixty-six absolutely no space to breathe, throughout this notion of a short sprint. Losing the ability to sustain, he would relinquish the lead on lap four. He would still look to put together solid laps, understanding that time was of the essence. Once all was said and done, he would claim second. He looked to quickly gap the field early on in the main event, as many in the back began to assume a clustered formation, log jamming of sorts. With riders bumping into one another like bowling balls in the alley, pins at the rear of the field would begin to fall. He would remain standing, storming down the lane, and leaving no questions unanswered, plowing ahead with momentum. Sixth through the opening few laps, he would begin to pick apart the field, throwing name value and past accomplishments to the wayside. Looking rather fast in the far whoop section, he had a line of blitzing the entire pad, on the inside, looking to hug the outside before the following step-on, step-off. It was a valuable move, that would hurl him to the fourth position on the leaderboard. With the totality of the fifteen minutes now ceased, he would walk away with fourth place, ready to improve for the next round.
As the round of Daytona concluded, teams had to complete rebuild their machines, in hopes of clearing away as many sand particles as possible. With grain getting between every bearing and piece of linkage there was, mechanics would have to detox the chassis, in order to come into the round of Indianapolis with a conscience of assurance. Martin Davalos had faith in his team, understanding that he had the best support in the business behind him, and could tackle the soils of the Hoosier state, with absolutely zero hesitation. Taking on the track throughout practice, the track would begin to be chiseled with breaking bumps and potholes alike; and he would purposely hit a few of them. The suspension wouldn’t budge, the chassis riding a balance beam of sorts, and the forks riding as though they were the highest-tuned Cadillac. It gave him a sense of confidence, along with a bit of efficacy, as he was able to save heaps of energy; rather than attempting to man-handle the machine like it were a bucking bronco. The tire tread would the be interlocked with the foam pad of the starting gate, with the heat race beginning to get away shortly thereafter. Immediately getting off the line, he would lean the chassis a bit to the left, his torso hanging just to the side of the shifter. With his elbows high and wide, he would finagle his way to the first place position, passing Kyle Peters in a desperate attempt. Grooving with the track, every move would be calculated and analyzed, as he attempted to conquer the course like a chess match. Capturing all but a few opponents, the referee would signify the end of this twenty-two man war; he would walk away with second, after being past by Justin Cooper on the last lap! The main event would bring the best riders together, acting as a stirring pot of riding styles and personalities. With many of the newcomers and lesser known riders choosing to back off the throttle just a tad bit, it was he who was one to poke the front wheel in, as the pack circled the opening sequences. Head first into the sand, he would drive the front spokes deep into these lush berms, hoping it could take the enormous amount of speed, and couple it with a bracing of inertia. Never one to use the brakes, he would keep the wheels moving, residing around the fifth place spot as the laps were coming to a close. If he could only keep Kyle Peters in his rearview, fifth place would be where his name would conclude; and that’s exactly how the story would play out, as the recipient of fifth overall.
With the NFL Combine being hosted here in Lucas Oil Stadium, the aura of the complex is immersed with up and coming talent. Each year, team owners and coaches alike come to these particular seats, all in hopes of scouting and landing the newest superstar in the world of football. But for this particular weekend in March, select industry members of Monster Energy Supercross, look to do the same thing; seeing just who’s going to blossom throughout the midst of their professional careers. For present day matters, look no further than that of Kyle Peters. Although aboard the 250 machine for quite sometime, he’s begun to come into his own in the last few rounds, and looked to damage in the round of Indianapolis. All throughout practice, he could be seen doing just a tad bit of rhythm in comparison to everyone else, looking to harness a bit of a trick up his sleeve. Using a few of the outside lines to disintegrate the walls of the bowl turns, he could be seen hitting the accompanying rhythm section in with full-fledged fearlessness. He looked to carry the momentum into the heat race, where many of his former foes would align. He would begin to bang bars immediately for the opening laps, trying to show his fellow combatants that he wasn’t scared of their fear-provoking antics. Hitting the whoops to the best of his ability, he would do his best to keep the chassis afloat, never letting the forks or front tire sink into these death-defying moguls. Sprinting across the series of straightaways, each portion of up-shifting would be meshed with a brief flick on the jump face that came right after; all in hopes of pulling away from both, Martin Davalos and Justin Cooper, as he stormed away with the lead. Holding onto the front position for what seemed like an eternity, it would all come unraveled in the final moments of the moto; as a lead would be bypassed, and third would be inherited. The main event was now upon him, and with one distinct exhale of breath, he would load the gate ready to move forward. The field would slam into the first couple turns, and many were curious to see just where he would emerge. Taking the first portion of timing and scoring in fifth, he was in dyer need of asserting a presence of certainty. He would cement his bike in these plethora of ruts, keeping the bike in the “meat” of the power, as the silencer decibels echoed off the stadium walls. Floating throughout the stratosphere, he could here Kyle Cunningham knocking at his door in the latter laps, but wouldn’t budge. He would hold strong in sixth, always eager to do more.
With a multitude of weather changes in the air across the Midwest, tornado warnings had been hounding the likes of southern and middle Indiana all week, causing a sea of destruction across the state. With many in the area looking to seek shelter, it was Kyle Cunningham who wanted to cause a bit of destruction in his own right. He looked to absolutely obliterate the track below him, creating a path that would mimic that of an F5 destruction wave. Throughout practice, he was the loudest rider on the track, panic revving and getting the crowd to direct their attention toward him, every time he passed. Letting the 250f bark, he would hold the throttle completely wide open, while pulling in the clutch and exiting the corner; sounding a siren so to speak, letting all know that he was within striking distance. It would continue in the heat race, as he was the first to start his bike, behind the respective starting gate. Nodding his head in agreement as the Monster Energy Girl scanned the start straight away, he would thoroughly await her pointing of the finger; when his vision would be directed toward the pin below. He would push forward with a serious pace, charging the referee at the stripe like a matador. Seeing only red, the fury would begin to trickle out of the shell of his helmet; his racing efforts being congested with the exhaust fume pouring out of the bike. Doing his best to keep Chase Marquier at bay, he was in an all out blitzing of this course, attempting to clip each mogul at the top of its peak. Shifting thoroughly as he rounded the track in consecutive circuits, he would dash to the finish line in hopes of securing a solid spot. He would finish fourth. The longer main event, in comparison to the heat race, would cause him to pace himself in just a brief manner; he knew he couldn’t over exert himself, as the likes of Josh Osby would overtake him. Looking at his mechanic each lap for a bit of reassurance, he would enjoy the enthusiasm his crew chief would display, when leaning over the rail of the paddock. Hitting these marks inside the sand section with every passing round, he could tell the gap between he and Josh Osby was lengthening. It would give him enough energy, to push him over that ever so steep finish line edge; seventh place would be where he would reside.
With the crew at Dirt Wurx being challenged each and every week to create a layout that addresses all area of competition, they were a bit riddled when attempting to sculpt this particular track in Indianapolis. With dirt that could seemingly be shaped and glued together in every particular fashion, they wondered just how treacherous this track would become by night’s end. It was also a thought running through many competitors of the 250 class, with some attempting to hide away in a bit of fear; yet Josh Osby would relish. He understood the magnitude this track would reach, just by walking the track on press-day; where the imprint of his foot would begin to immediately sink into the respective faces. Seeing the mere surface area of his shoe on the ground, he forecasted a true, combed-racetrack, once all would settle for Saturday evening. It was within minutes, that the track would begin to accumulate grooves. Every facet of the track would be covered, from one end of the stadium floor to the other. It put many in the field on a bit of a hiatus; yet he would relish, throwing down consecutive fast laps, as if he were on a joy-ride. He would push into the heat race, where the field would be split into two. He knew he had to take advantage, understanding that a solid gate-pick was imminent on a track like this. Pushing forward, he knew he had to keep Freddie Noren behind him. This race, albeit short, was a game of inches, and every portion of throttle hoisting he could portray, would reap dividends once the final bell would ring. Jumping through these particular rhythm sections, he would do as much as he could in order to keep the momentum flowing to a positive spectrum. Keeping the front end light, as he barreled down the last straight away, he would storm across the finish, landing in the eighth place ride. The field would then take off for the main event, and he would be absolutely covered in sand, while blasting into this white-speckled composition. Keeping the visor looking down, his right hand would never cease to keep the waffle grip twisted. Fuel was beginning to seep out of the exhaust, and his body was starting to wilt ever so slowly. He knew he would have to dig deep, within his canister of ability, in order to find a succession in the closing moments. Never tapering in speed, his desire of eighth place would come to fruition.
With riders like Austin Forkner absolutely crushing the series week after week, it’s easy for other performances throughout the field to become overshadowed. As one of the most storied riders in recent history prepares to quest, and run the table of the East Coast series, competitors like Alex Martin have slowly been putting stronger results week after week. Although always blessed with pure speed, and the ability to overcome negative circumstances, his level over the past few seasons has truly began to rise. His quest and aspirations of vigilant professionalism have never ceased, and he looked to continue his ways of success throughout the round of Indianapolis. Leaping on the step-on, step-off, section, you could see that he was stabbing the clutch and forcefully lifting up the chassis with sheer will. Moving with the bike as one particular unit, the way he was harmonious with the machine was a pure spectacle; crouching down on the plethora of straightaways, and truly leaning the bike in a horizontal tilt, as he etched through the ruts on the inside. He had to go through an array of shifting points as he vaulted toward the finish line, but he knew he had more to give for the night festivities. The heat race would be next, and he looked to push forward early. Registering second across timing and scoring in the early going, within the realm of his mind; there was only one way to go, and that was up. Fighting and clawing with the best in the business, there was an “X” factor that he possessed that many others didn’t have. Despite making mistakes here and there, including a slight washing of the front end, and a dabbling of the inside boot; he could erase the negative occurrences quickly moving forward in immediate fashion. He would push forward until the checkered flag was thrown, taking third. The main event was then here, and he would attempt to cease the moment. Armed with ammunition throughout the bars of control, he would shoot his best efforts toward the lead pack. With a series of undercutting, blitzing, and rhythmic hopping, he would attempt to blitz away from the field behind, all the while chasing the red plate leader out front. Throwing in a dash of charisma over the “SX” triple, you could see his inside leg dangle with a hint of “leg swag”, making sure to show the competition behind that he was comfortable sustaining this pace. He would hold strong, doing so until the time had ran out; ninth place would be captured.
With the woes of Daytona now finally behind us, many in the field looked to Indianapolis with a breath of relaxation; understanding that they had just conquered one of the toughest tracks of the year, while in Central Florida. Although they couldn’t sell the layout of Indianapolis short, as the composition in this region of the country allowed for some heavy ruts to be entrenched, making this tracking an active tightrope; anxiously waiting to reach up and grab any pilot on two wheels. Jordan Bailey understood what he would be up against, and welcomed it with a positive mindset. He’d ridden courses like this many-a-time on the practice track, carving up walls, whoops, and takeoff’s with ruts from one portion of the face, to the other. Feeling acclimated since his inception on the track, he would display a contrast of speeds throughout practice; running a few sprint laps, and then taking a minute or so to cruise. His deception, to the rest of the field, was something noteworthy; as those within his respective tier of speed, couldn’t seem to get a true grasp on just how fast he was going. It would pay off, as he would come into the heat race, just a bit under the radar. Wheeling over the starting gate, the holeshot device would disengage, and he would scurry around the track for the green flag lap. Being listed around the eighth place mark, he hoped to look forward, but had to deal with Mitchell Falk in the meantime. The LCQ was a place he wanted to stay far, far away from; and anything near the tenth place position, he began to mask with an ever so potent repellant. Extinguish the flame of the competition behind, he would absolutely burn rubber until the final flag, finishing sixth. The main event would then be at his fingertips, and he would sprint in the early-going to the best of his ability. With the body beginning to become overwhelmed with bursts of adrenaline, when hitting some of these absolutely gigantic jumps, he had to remind himself to breathe, otherwise he could be overtaken by the moment at hand. The likes of Henry Miller were near him, but there wasn’t any way he could afford to be deterred; otherwise he could kiss the tenth place overall position goodbye. Hitting the bowl turns on the last few laps, he would begin to gravitate more toward the inside line; understanding that it was a matter of defense mode now. Placing him in tenth overall, he was satisfied with the outcome.