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ELI TOMAC
450 MX / 1ST
IMAGE / KILPATRICK WORDS / MATTINGLY DESIGN / TILLS
>> The names of Da Vinci, Pacasso, Van Gogh are synonymous with pure poetry on a canvas. Alluring the eyes of all who view, the paintings speak volumes, enough to echo a certain magnitude of complexity for hundreds of years after their original establishment. There are elite artists in the realm of motocross as well. Masters such as the legendary Gene Ritchie, have etched their creation into racing symbolism for ever, via the founding of the Red Bud Motocross National. A perfect blend of soils, snaked through the green plains of Southern Michigan, this stop on the professional circuit is among the highest of pedals around the world; if you win here, your can be categorized in the upper-echelon of two-wheeled history. That’s exactly what Eli Tomac plans to do. After the field dove into the first few corners, an array of chaos ensued; multiple pileup’s and slams wreaked havoc among the field, yet Tomac appeared through the cloud of dust unscathed. Situ- ated just behind the likes of Christian Craig, Marvin Musquin, and Blake Baggett, he knew he had to make his moves quick, in order to accommodate any charges late. He’d worked his around both Craig and Baggett, albeit a small tussle; now he eyed Musquin. Coming into the revamped chicane prior to Larocco’s Leap, Tomac stayed put on the in- side, willing to dive a bit deeper than Musquin. The half-second of extra throttle worked, as he finagled his way around the number 25. He would hold on, slowly building a lead from here, until the final laps. The crowd began to roar, and a subtle look over his shoul- der, saw the number 4 of Baggett appearing; he had to spike his heart rate yet again. Tomac answered, laying down some of his fastest laps of the race, as the track grew grotesque, and he would come away with victory. The second round saw Tomac in third place to begin the moto, trailing both Suzuki and Husky, but ready for the green wave to take the stranglehold of the field. He would surpass everyone on lap eight, as if positions were exchanged with a handshake, and the deal was made. The win seemed to be in the bag, as his bulldog style was plowing through the mounds of sand, and the break- ing bumps were growing each lap. It wasn’t any task for Eli, as he continued to push lap after lap, knowing that the points lead would spread if he could on to victory. That he did, taking the win, his hands pumping in the air, waving the flag for all of America to see.
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GRITMOTO • JULY 2, 2017