Page 34 - Issue_78

ELI TOMAC
450 MX / 1ST
IMAGE / KILPATRICK WORDS / MATTINGLY DESIGN / MOTOPLAYGROUND
>> Deep into the hills of Southern California, numerous walks of wildlife are embedded into this treacherous terrain. Subdued and at rest throughout the cold, lukewarm temperatures, they emerge
as hungry as ever, when the light of springtime appears to be. The bit of frost that lined the earth’s surface, has now been replaced with a morning dew, dripping with a tad bit of humidity that the sun has provided. Awakening with a surge of adrenaline, Eli Tomac rises, gleaming with excitement, and pletho- ra of determination. It was translated into an immediate impact, once the initial qualifying session had commenced. After a sight lap, scoping the track from one boundary to other, the switch was ipped, and it was game-on. A rampant carnivore on the prowl for a feasting of pole-position prominence, he held the throttle of the 450 to the point of no return. Bound to the shrouds by an almighty grip of his knees, he manhandled the bike wherever he desired. Hurling his machine into the left-hander, right within the thick of the crowd, he would carve the two-wheeled steel horse into sands like no one else. The clutch lever, merely making the smoothest of arcs into the sand, would be an indication to just
how low he was willing to take the handlebars. The fans would be attracted to the pure passion and desire he was displaying, and as he crossed the nish line to conclude, all knew whom to pick, once betting odds were placed. The clock would strike twelve so to speak, the horns would sound, and the nal bell would ring; it was time for him to get into the deepest of trances. Zoned in on the checkered ag, a solid start would put him near second on the rst lap. Quickly honing in on the number ninety- four, he wanted to assert a pace that couldn’t be matched by anyone in proximity. Leaping through
the nish line section, he would hop over the last few moguls in a triple like sequence, ducking to the inside; while this rut was still manageable. It was he and Ken Roczen, the two knowing where each other were at all times, as they followed each other in a magnet like state. Nearing the twenty-minute mark, Eli had enough, and would push past Ken on the inside of the midsection. It would be smooth sailing from there, as Tomac would soar to the checkered ag. Moto two was upon them, and again,
he would come through the rst few laps with a very manageable position. Looking to establish his presence early, he soared down the monstrous hills with a full-tank of steam. His attitude, and stake for this championship would be claimed today. Ripping the right-handed, gradual ant-hill before the start, he was absolutely ying down the start straight, ducking into the sweeping rst-turn. Making his way around Weston Peick early, he’d settled into third, leaving the chaos of early behind. It was there, that a wall, seemingly wrapped around he and machine, would prevent any rattling force from staying out- side of his winning mentality. Making his way behind Musquin, a few laps of pursuing, would then push the KTM to the wayside; with Jason Anderson, who had an early lead, still out front, Tomac would stalk him. Waiting until a mere lap thirteen, Tomac would catch and pass the white Husqvarna for the lead. Pressing forward until the nal ag, he would come across the line with st balled up, pumping with all of his might. He’d done it, nishing rst and taking the overall.
34 GRITMOTO • MAY 27, 2018