Page 58 - ISSUE-47

CHRISTIAN CRAIG
450 SX / 11TH
IMAGE / MPG WORDS / MATTINGLY DESIGN / WILSON
>> Las Vegas, Nevada. Sin City, a place where dreams are made, checks are cashed, and good times come in droves. However, there’s another side of the spectrum. Devastation, money blown, and losses like no other also weigh the other side of the spectrum, all in the name of taking a gamble on yourself, willing to put it all on the line. That’s exactly what Christian Craig plans to do. Hope for pocket aces, glance to both sides of the table, the dealer included, shove his chips to the middle of the board, and go all in. His riding mim- icked that attitude, as he flipped the tented goggles (replicating his shades at the table) on to his helmet, and took off with assertion to find the best lines of the Las Vegas SX course. Finessing his way around the flat left-hander outside of the stadium, the bike’s rear end was skidding right, yet his adequate throttle control allowed the 450 to trek smoothly. He was catching the eyes of all with his smooth style, almost nurtured to the Las Vegas soil, running near the 1:10 minute mark consistently. Pushing into the night show with a 14th qualifying position, he solidified his spot into the main event after solid qualifying efforts. The lights were now time to come on, and all of the prior events were wiped away, it was now time to show on or show out. He quickly spun off of the metal bracket, shifting to third with his left metatarsals as fast as possible, crouching, the right elbow perpendicular to the ground, he jolted into the first left. Acting as a bag of popcorn, the rider was a kernel being flipped and shot through the air, roost flying every which way. Hitting the green flag ruffled amongst the best in the world, he was having to focus on his backside as went wide in the bowl turns, all the while chasing the next man up in front of him; talk about a sea of chaos looming. He continued to fight, gracing the finish line table top with a slight flick to the right, almost a table-top bmx maneuver, as he would power drive the bottom end of his machine too the moon, leaping into the next rhythm section. He would pass, and then be passed, a fender always in his rear view everywhere he went. It was difficult for him to rally forward, when he had to worry about blocking his insides, otherwise his machine could be driven over the tuff-blocks, like we’d seen earlier in the day. The breathing began to ramp up, but his mechanic would etch across the pitboard “hold on”; and that he did, the arms fatiguing with lactic acid, his fingers losing their strength, but the end was in sight. He shot down
the final straight away, hugging the inside hay bale, and cresting across timing and scoring one last time, he would bring home an eleventh place.