Goodbye, Carson
by Robert Beaupre
Photo courtesy of Mike Torres at www.tagnmx.com

“If one more person tells me that Carson closing is 'just the way development goes,’ I’m not sure what I’ll do to them.”

--Steve Marty

“My question is: where do we go now?”

--Adam Portue

I avoid using cliches in writing, but when I sat down to write a column on the closure of Carson, there was one cliche I couldn’t escape: you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

The rumors of the closure of Champion Speedway (formerly Silver State Raceway and T-Car before that) had circulated for so long that when I heard the announcement of the final race, it was hard to believe. And the full reality of the situation didn’t hit me until I was there on the final day, after all the races were over, thinking of the 12 years of memories I have from that track.

I glanced at the concrete parking pads near the trailer and remembered the barrel-boxing matches of the Friday-night races of the late ‘90s, and Shaun Palmer pitting out of a Cadillac for the annual “snowboard night” races. I looked at the old starting line and remembered the bikini contests of each summer, which were almost always won by peroxide-blonde ringers who'd never set foot on a motocross track before that. I looked at the fence near the finish-line tabletop where ancient bleachers once stood, and from which I watched hundreds of motos and thousands of laps unfold. I looked at the space near the old sign-up shack, where everyone would gather after the races before going to El Charro Avitia for beer for the dads and nachos for the kids.

I looked out at the track, many parts of which have remained similar for years. I remembered watching Tyler Evans (yes, that Tyler Evans,) Brett Racine and Jesse Ketcham clash on 80s at CMC Golden State National and Trans-Cal races. I remembered watching Justin Tiearney, the former national #87, battle the out-of-town pros, while his younger brother Nate cleaned up in the mini classes. I remembered watching Dustin Miller, Mike Mason and Matt Buyten begin learning elementary freestyle tricks like nac-nacs and can-cans on their 80s. I remembered watching to see which pros would attempt the crazy triple-step-down leap that used to sit just west of the finish line. I also remembered watching a young Dustin Miller somehow jumping it on a CR80.

But most of all I remembered my own laps. I remembered winning races on 80s, 125s and 250s. I remembered the dozens of Wednesday-night practices gone past. I remembered racing Nathan Tiearney, Mike Mason, Drake McElroy, Freddy Wiechers, Matt Buyten, Kenny Bell, Justin Scullen, Matt Knesek, Brian Foster, Tommy Jean, Tony Evans, Nick Jarret, Jimmy Hazel, Nick Baugh, Josh Peterson, J.L. Bitz, Kenny Lash, the Manha brothers, Steve Marty, Adam Portue, and literally hundreds of others whom I could recall on a moment’s notice. I remembered narrowly winning the Dealer Challenge title for the 80cc Junior class, taking my first 125cc Intermediate win, and, lastly, getting knocked unconscious while pushing toward the front in my last 250cc Pro moto at the final race.

And what hurt me most about these memories was maybe a failure of my own imagination: I couldn’t imagine how another track could ever fill the void that the closure of Carson created. As much as I love many of the other tracks around here, there was no way that any of them could take the place of Carson--and not just because of Carson’s epic, loamy soil. Because Carson was so close to home, so close to civilization, and so intimate a space, no track I could think of could ever emulate the social experiences I had there. It was unique. And now it is gone.

My only hope now is that someone will prove me wrong. While the void that the closure of Carson leaves in me will never really be filled, there remains a chance that someone will be able to build a track that rekindles some of the magic that always lived at Carson. I’m not sure how they’ll do it, but I’m extending my hopes.

Goodbye, Carson, and thank you to everyone who helped make the races there possible over the years.


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