Her first rally race: How one woman got off the sidelines and won a trophy

The nerves had been easy to ignore the entire day before, through all the rally preparations. But as the clock drew nearer to my official start time, I was forced to address the facts: I had no idea what I was doing here at the Sandblast Rally.

Ready to ride instead of making sandwiches

Throughout 2017, I was the go-to support truck driver and crew chief for various friends competing in NASA Rally Sport events. In this capacity I attended the 2017 Sandblast Rally in North Carolina and witnessed their cocky grins as they realized the speeds they were capable of at their very first rally race. In June, I travelled up to the wilds of Ontario to run crew for two riders competing in Rally Saguenay, and valiantly fought off swarms of mosquitoes while each of them attempted to fix giant dents in their rims mid-race. Last September, I was already starting to eye up 2018’s Sandblast Rally when I was asked to fetch tools and assemble peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at Black River Stages in New York.

So when January rolled around and the Sandblast Rally entry opened, I refused to think too hard about my decision. I was sick of making sandwiches and fetching tools; I wanted in on the action.

NASA Rally Sport is a North American organization that operates rally stage races for cars and motorcycles that are aimed at the ambitious weekend warrior rather than professional racers. The Sandblast Rally runs in a typical format. Competitors complete a series of seven timed stages on dirt roads that are closed to traffic and in between these stages they transit on open, paved roads to the next stage, stopping at a “service area” a few times throughout the day to repair the inevitable damage.

I chose the Sandblast Rally in South Carolina as my first attempt at rally racing for a variety of reasons. Strategically, I reasoned that the Sandblast Rally took place mostly on sand, which was both more forgiving than gravel if I did crash (a high enough likelihood that I weighed this reason heavily) and similar terrain is common enough in New Jersey that I could train for the event. I also knew that if I didn’t sign up to race, I’d be attending the race in Crew Chief capacity, so competing was the only way I could legitimately avoid sandwich duty.

NASA requires a half-day training session that teaches navigation, timing, and emergency response, but to prepare myself for the actual riding, I went to South Carolina a few days early to take a training clinic with Bill Conger of BC MotoAdventures. Bill is rally legend at Sandblast, having won eight or so of these races. The stories tell that if Bill is participating in Sandblast, he’ll have one of two results: winning or blowing up his Aprilia RXV550. Bill has taught various moto and auto clinics around the country and finished Dakar in 2018. His clinic not only gave me a feel for the terrain, but also ran me through exercises that encouraged a prompt transition from braking to throttle, a skill I sorely lacked. And while I didn’t miraculously become fast, I did continuously gain speed throughout the day. Bill’s teaching built confidence.

Race day, not sandwich day

Race day dawned crisp and sunny, with the sweet smell of race fuel in the air and the rumble of engines, both bike and car, as they warmed up. The parking lot crawled with competitors suiting up for battle, fire suits and driving shoes for the drivers and full moto gear for the riders... which included me, fumbling with my boots and trying to calm my nerves.

At this rally, motorcycle competitors are released onto the stage at 30-second intervals in a lineup that is loosely based on their previous racing times or, as in my case, assumptions by the organizers on what our times would be. I was to start the day in 40th position. There were 41 racers.

That didn’t bother me. I’m not the type of rider who is “in it to win it” on everyday rides with friends. Up to this point, I didn’t seem to have a competitive bone in my body.

With the clock ticking down to my starting time, I considered my two options. I could play it safe, not put anything on the line and merrily come in last. Or, I could try my hardest and go down kicking and screaming, so to speak, knowing that I lost having nothing left to give. While I didn’t feel the need to prove anything at my first rally race, I did realize I had an opportunity to see how fast I really was. As the seconds clicked into place, I resolved to try my hardest not to come in last.

I gritted my teeth and took off the line on Main Street, using the first 10 miles or so of transit time on paved streets to try to quell my shaky stomach. As the stage starter counted down from 10 to signal my start of the first timed stage, I took a deep breath at second two, rolled on my throttle and at precisely the right time, released the clutch and took off from the starting line. I can’t claim my start was pretty. No one’s was. Fighting loose traction and fistfuls of adrenaline, I wiggled my tire through the first 20 feet of chewed-up sand and tried to find the apex of the very first turn.

Before I realized it, I passed a rider who was down, but gave me the thumbs up sign to indicate he was OK. Seeing a dust cloud ahead, I picked up my pace, feeling the bike dance under me as I plowed through deep sections of sand, and found fifth and sixth gear in the longer straightaways. Another few turns and I had caught up to the rider ahead, but I struggled to pass. Passing isn’t a skill I’ve had many chances to refine. Finally, seizing on Bill Conger’s advice to brake into the turn where I wanted to, rather than following the other rider’s pattern, I accelerated and passed him, eyes already looking into the next turn and another faint dust cloud.

It was that point, while mid-pass on a BMW HP2, that the training really kicked in and my adrenaline started working for me, not against me. My brain wasn’t thinking about crashing or spectators or going “too fast.” I was focused on the next turn, on carrying speed up to the very point where I needed to brake, and then rolling right back on the throttle to build speed again. I was so focused on my own riding, I didn’t have a minute to register that I was passing people. A lot of them.

At the first service, I was reshuffled in the start order, jumping through half of the pack to end up just behind one of my “fast friends” I was sure I had no chance of catching. Only I ended up passing him, in each stage... until he asked me to start in front of him. I remember looking down at my speedo to see 85 on a straightaway and looking up to see a hairpin stocked with spectators cheering. I also remember some ugly turns that Conger would be disappointed in, some “Oh sh!t” braking, and a few wild helmet giggle sessions (captured in this video created by my husband, Steve Kamrad) as I realized mid-race that I had never, ever ridden this hard before.

No longer worried about finishing last

Just after that mid-race reshuffle, when I got over the hilarity of being able to catch my “fast friend,” I was shocked to consider that I was no longer fighting my way out of last place. I realized that, if I could finish the day without a crash or a mechanical issue, I had a good chance of being middle of the pack — a result I could actually boast about to everyone who considers me the “slow friend.”

When I pulled up to the finish line exhausted, coated in sand particles, high on life I immediately mentally signed myself up for next year’s Sandblast Rally. Not knowing the finish results (rally isn’t only based on stage times; riders can accrue timing penalties from a variety of rulebook violations), I was elated to have finished in what I assumed to be the middle of the pack.

So it was to my surprise that, hours later when the official results were published, I had clawed my way to a third-place finish in my class (Dakar Class, 351 cc – 450 cc) and got to take home a trophy (a sculpture made of old moto tools and pieces, built by a fellow rider). Turns out a little Bill Conger mojo and a lot of determined riding can go a long way. Needless to say, I carried that trophy around with me for the next few days. Waking up to it sitting on my nightstand was a great way to start a Monday morning.

I know that when I get to the starting line in 2019 I’ll still have the jitters. I’ll doubt my mental sanity, knowing I have to get through this ride and make it into work in one piece on Monday. But I also know that my starting position will be a little further up and my throttle will get its annual workout.

You don’t have to be a speed demon or a super competitive person to take part and have fun in these events. You don’t need a specially equipped bike; a dual-sport or an ADV bike equipped with knobbies will do. You don’t have to be “in it to win it” to sign up for a NASA Rally Sport race. But by the time you’ve completed a few stages, I’m willing to bet you will be.