The Friday night before any big ride has a certain magic to it. It’s not just the excitement; it’s the camaraderie, the build-up and the anticipation of what lies ahead. This particular Friday for the last VIP Experience of 2024 had an extra edge to it, though, because our fearless leader, Ben “Grabbo” Grabham, had just come back from racing the Baja 1000. Fifth place. Let that sink in. Fifth in one of the gnarliest races on the planet, against some of the world’s best riders.
Of course, the moment the beers came out, so did the questions.
“So, what’s it like hammering through the desert for hours on end?” one of the boys asked, leaning forward like a kid at story time.
“It’s like riding in the toughest conditions with sand being blasted in your face,” Grabbo said, laughing. “And that’s just the easy bit.”
The stories flowed as freely as the beers, and by the time we hit the hotel beds, we’d laughed, swapped tales and built up a healthy dose of nerves. The forecast loomed large in everyone’s mind. Rain. Not the drizzle you can laugh off, but full-on, biblical rain. The kind that turns trails into rivers and rivers into something you’d need a boat to cross.
Saturday morning: the downpour begins
By the time we were shovelling down bacon and egg rolls, the first drops were already hitting the ground. The clouds hung heavy and the mood was a mix of excitement and trepidation. The bikes, lined up in the carpark, gleamed with a pristine freshness that we all knew wouldn’t last.
“Let’s see who’s still smiling in an hour,” someone joked, zipping up their jacket as the rain began to intensify.
Grabbo, unbothered as ever, gave us a quick rundown of the day’s plan. “We’ll stick to the singletrack this morning,” he said, eyeing the group. “And yeah, it’s going to be wet. Just keep the bikes upright and follow my line.”
Easier said than done.
Into the storm
Within minutes of hitting the VIP Experience trail, the heavens opened. It wasn’t just rain – it was an all-out assault. Water sheeted off our helmets, goggles fogged up and the trails turned into something out of an enduro rider’s nightmare. Mud sprayed in every direction, clinging to bikes, boots and everything in between.
The first casualty came quickly. Adam Riley hit a puddle – or what looked like a puddle but turned out to be more of a swamp – and his bike drowned in an instant. The engine sputtered to silence, leaving him knee-deep in muck with a look that screamed, “Why did I sign up for this?”
It took a few blokes to wrestle the bike free, tipping it on its side to drain the water and coaxing it back to life. By the time it sputtered back into action, everyone was soaked and covered in mud, laughing at the absurdity of it all.
“Only another 100 kays to go!” the sweep shouted, earning a round of groans and grins.
Mud, crashes, and carnage
What should have been a relatively easy one-hour loop turned into a four-hour VIP Experience slog. The rain kept coming, turning the trails into rivers and the rivers into impassable torrents. At one point, the puddles were so deep they reached the seat of one our VIP Experience GASGAS bikes, and progress became a matter of sheer willpower.
Everywhere you looked, there was chaos. Bikes tipped over in the mud, riders sprawled on the ground and water crossings that required a team effort to navigate. Grabbo, as always, was unflappable, guiding us through the carnage with a mix of humour and pure skill.
At one particularly nasty climb, three riders were stuck, their bikes spinning helplessly as they slid backwards. Grabbo, naturally, cruised up the middle like it was nothing, calling down, “C’mon, boys, it’s not that hard!”
The group wasn’t without its casualties. One rider, sporting a haematoma on his leg the size of a cricket ball, called it a day, limping back to the hotel. Another, struggling with heart complications, wisely decided to sit the rest of the ride out.
The rest of us soldiered on, drenched to the bone but determined.
A warm pub lunch
By midday, we were soaked, exhausted and ready for a break. Normally, lunch would be a bush spread with Grabbo’s VIP Experience van appearing like a mirage but today we needed something warmer. A pub was the answer.
Walking into the pub was like stepping into paradise. The smell of hot chips and the blessed relief of peeling off wet gloves and jackets. Steam rose off our gear as we tucked into burgers and beers, swapping stories of the morning’s chaos.
The laughter was a reminder of why we do this – because even when it’s miserable, riding dirtbikes is still bloody good fun.
The afternoon push
The rain didn’t let up… and neither did we. The afternoon was a blur of mud, water and grit. By now, the group was running on sheer determination. Every hillclimb felt steeper, every descent slipperier and every puddle a potential trap.
But somehow we kept going. Grabbo led the charge, his skill and experience a lifeline for the rest of us. Every so often, he’d stop to offer a tip or tweak someone’s suspension, his calm confidence keeping the group motivated.
When we finally rolled back into the hotel carpark, it felt like we’d survived a war. We were soaked, muddy and absolutely knackered – but the grins on everyone’s faces said it all.
Saturday night: stories and five-star feasting
That night, the beers flowed as freely as the stories. There were stories of cartwheels up hills and down hills, low sides, high sides and even bike drownings. “Yeah, but at least you didn’t bog your bike in a puddle the size of a backyard pool!”
Grabbo, ever the legend, held court, sharing tales of Baja and offering advice to anyone willing to listen. By the time dinner rolled around – a proper five-star spread – we were all feeling like kings.
Sunday: sunshine and redemption
Sunday morning couldn’t have been more different. The sun was out, the trails had dried just enough to be perfect and the mood was electric.
After another round of bacon and egg rolls, we hit the trails and it was like a different world. The rain had soaked into the dirt, leaving behind hero traction that begged for throttle. The singletrack was fast, flowing and just the right mix of challenging and fun.
One hillclimb became the highlight of the day. Three riders were sprawled across it, bikes lying in every direction, mud flying as they tried to get traction. Grabbo, of course, rode right up the middle, barely breaking a sweat. “You blokes need a hand, or are you just making mud angels for fun?”
The afternoon was pure bliss. We carved through loamy corners, tackled rocky climbs and blitzed through tight pine sections. By now, everyone had their favourite bike, with the smaller-capacity GASGAS machines once again proving to be the crowd favourites.
That’s a wrap
By the time we returned to the hotel, the group was buzzing. We’d survived the carnage of Saturday, conquered the trails on Sunday and had a blast doing it. Over beers, we toasted to the weekend, to Grabbo’s unflinching leadership and to the simple joy of riding dirtbikes.
Prizes were handed out and gear packed away. It had been a weekend of highs and lows, of mud and sunshine, of challenges and triumphs. While the rain wreaked havoc on the Saturday, that just added to the excitement and brought a resilience some blokes thought they didn’t have. With most of our riders admitting they would have left the bike in the shed on the Saturday, they were all glad Grabbo dragged them out, even if it was more like jet ski testing than dirtbike riding.
