Paul Byrnes, author of The Lost Boys writes "In the First World War of 1914–1918, thousands of boys across Australia and New Zealand lied about their age, forged a parent’s signature and left to fight on the other side of the world. Though some were as young as thirteen, they soon found they could die as well as any man."
At barely 16 years old, James Oremek didn't need to go to that extent to race the WHES Graham Jarvis Invitational. I don't doubt for second though, that had he needed to, he would have done whatever it took to ensure his place on the start gate alongside the legend himself.
I have to say, when I arrived at the event, the last thing I was expecting to do was sit in the shade of the timing tent, where all I thought I would see was riders running down a fence line and then disappearing up the hillside into a raging mass of black berries, bracken fern and marri.
If I had my time again, I would not have it any other way.
You see, I can watch Jarvis negotiate a rock step on YouTube any time I want. Watching Ibrahim tear the face off a switchback hill is usually only one or two clicks away.
But, what I saw that weekend, I'll not see anywhere else again.
As the interminable minutes ran into painfully long hours, the angst of parents Rob and Petrina Oremek was almost palpable.
There they sat, propped fervently on the edge of their deck chairs, leaning forward with faces pressed into hands, watching riders log laps. The whole time they wondered where their boy was. Was he lost? Was he hurt? All they saw and all they knew was that the riders he should have been in front of were coming through the timing gate.
Their boy? He was still out there. Somewhere.
What I knew, was that James was not alone. Sure, Jarvis and Ibrahim (the front runners) had come and gone a couple of times. But, by the time more than half of the race had elapsed (more than two hours in fact), less than half the field had managed to log a single lap.
Having grabbed a moment with Ceglinski at the end of his second, it was quite obvious that it was quite brutal out there. Even local legends like Neil Price were struggling with navigation.
Relief finally came to Rob and Petrina in the third hour of the race when they flagged down a friend, Jay Branson.
"You seen James out there?".
"Yeah mate, he is parked up at the bottom of the valley switchback."
Relief. Rob and Petrina slumped back to relax in the shade.
James is not new to riding and he is not new to racing. In his early years he raced junior enduro with the Off-Road Riding Club of W.A. Though he had a near 6-year hiatus, whilst Dad (Rob) and Mum (Petrina) took on the responsibility of managing the decadent expanse of Deepdale Farm (Toodyay), James was never off the bike. Those years on Deepdale were spent blasting the back paddocks of the 1558 ha property.
Experience aside though, he obviously made the decision that he wanted to leave a mark on this event. As such, he blasted the detrital layer clean off the hillsides of the prologue track, setting a blistering time that was beaten by only a few. And on a KTM 150 no less.
Unfortunately though, the battle of Bridgetown took its toll on him not long after the start. A broken clutch lever on the first major rock step-up left him overly anxious to make up lost time.
The carnage of this contorted crag was captured in a visual spectacle of footage that has ignited the WHES social media circuit: as stills (Nicolau Barros), in motion (Ben Coffey) and from aboard the weapons of mass destruction (Sam Rogers).
Not long after James finally conquered the wall his apprehension turned to despair.
On the riverside switch back, about 1/3 into the circuit, he slipped a gear and lost traction and balance on an incline. He low-sided off the bike on the downslope side and gravity dealt him a cruel blow.
It dragged him and his bike off the racing line and down off the edge of a river cut terrace. By the grace of the Hard Enduro gods, he managed to avoid being swallowed up in the murky depths of the Blackwood River.
Notwithstanding, James and the bike were stuck; with nowhere to go. Eventually he tore free of the gully's grip by ghosting the bike up and over the bank. Miraculously, it landed on the riding line and fought gravity to holdfast its position.
And so began the climb out of the valley which he, like many other riders, endured for more than an hour. By the time he reached the top he was mentally and physically drained.
"It sucked it out of me!"
"Another rider saved my life. I don't know who he was? He jumped off his bike and onto mine to get it up the last switchback"
The unknown soldier was Craig Hellings who, when asked, simply said " Na, all good mate. Was not easy for some of the fellas out there. Gotta help where you can."
On the battlefield soldiers that were once strangers quickly become comrades.
Comrades: a term inspired initially during the French Revolution it denotes the bond formed on the battlefield that, in the chaos and carnage of a warzone, quickly dismantles any notion of class or society.
Beyond the trenches every man is equal, and soldiers will sacrifice themselves to help a comrade.
I suspect it is much the same out there on a Hard Enduro circuit. It is never as much about winning as it is about just getting each other across the line.
Hard Enduro is not like motocross, natural terrain, or even enduro. With a constant barrage of obstacles, it is a battle of attrition that age and experience alone cannot always overcome.
Out there, all riders suffer equally.
But with age and experience we can only hope that the younger riders will slow down their approach to each event and realise that hard enduro is a war that cannot be won on the first lap.
Hopefully, as the WHES seasons progress young guns, like James (who will move up to Silver Class from Bronze in 2023), will start to look further forward beyond the first corner.
With the strength, skill, tenacity and courage they already possess, one expects they will soon realise that winning the war means winning the season: not winning the battle which is the circuit that lies just beyond their front wheel.
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