So last week I headed to Bike Week with the plan to race both the GNCC and the Alligator Enduro. I have worked out a deal with KTM where on top of doing the WMX nationals this year I will also do at least one of every other form of racing KTM participates in. KTM is trying to broaden my horizons and introduce me to what they call the wonderful world of off-road. For me, I just love riding my bike, and any new challenge is exciting. I saw it as a great physical test and had fun training for a two-hour race instead of just a 15-minute sprint.

Both practice day and race day, I kept getting strange looks from everyone who recognized me and a lot of “what are you doing here?” questions. I usually answered with something like “I’m not really sure what I’m doing, but I hope I figure it out once I’m on the bike.” With only a few WORCS races under my belt and one hare scramble, I honestly didn’t know what I was in for, and I think the mystery of the unknown got me most anxious. And as I’m sure any veteran off-roader will tell you, while riding anxious might work for a short motocross race, you can’t ride at that intensity for two hours straight.

Of course I didn’t even make it through the first turn before my anxiety took hold of me. In a nutshell, my race went like this: I was not the fastest at starting my bike on the line, but to make up for it I just held it on longer than anyone else going into the first turn … only to slide out in the slick cow-manure-like mud. I then watched my teammate and possibly the sweetest girl on two wheels, Maria Forsberg, run over my arm as she skidded to the ground trying to avoid hitting me. I felt bad for two reasons: because I knew my team would not be happy to see their two riders lying in a heap on the ground, and because I like Maria so much that if I’m unable win, I want her to. It turned out to be no real biggie, though, because within five minutes I was leading and Maria was in second. I led for a while until a bobble and a crash, breaking my bark buster, put me back to second.

Not too much longer, I had taken over the lead again until going into the woods section, where I ended up playing Plinko with a couple of trees. As a kid I used to watch The Price Is Right and always wanted to play that game. Only now do I realize what the puck actually feels like when it bounces off all those pegs. I actually caught my toe on a tree, snapping my foot backward between the tree and my bike, spraining my ankle. I slowed down and let Maria by, just trying to be calm and make a pass later in the race.

I knew the smart thing was to remain calm, but it was kind of like the devil and the angel fighting on my shoulders, one side telling me to just be consistent and the other telling me to go for it. Well, the moto in me took hold, and half a lap later I got stuck, which put me over two minutes down when I stopped for gas and water. I had to just be smooth, conserve energy, and be practically flawless, and I set out for the second half of the race.

And I felt awesome. I made it through the stupid palm meadows without crashing for the first time, was doubling through all the sand whoops instead of taking the impact of each one, and all around just felt the best I had all day. Even as I swept wide down this straightaway to open up the track and dive to the inside, I felt smooth, until at the last second I saw a deep rut that I remembered from the lap before. Since I had squared up the turn, I was coming at it at a 90-degree angle, still in fourth gear carrying my momentum from the straightaway before. “Oh crap I hope I don’t crash” flashed through my mind and I tried pulling up, but I guess it didn’t really work. The next thing I remember was being flat on my back.

I couldn’t see them (because I was in a huge bush) but I guess a couple of guys had stopped to check on me and I heard the one saying “I think she’s hurt bad.” He told me to just lie down for a while, and soon I felt bad that this nice man was missing his race. I told him to go, and when he asked if I was sure, I said yes. But when he started to leave, I thought, If he leaves now I’ll be laying here until the clean-up crew comes! So I called him back over, he helped me up, and when he went to pick up my bike I noticed the blood coming from my face.

Now, I love scars. I think they tell a lot about how a person lives their life. But no girl wants a scar on her face. I couldn’t tell what was wrong (too bad my off-road bike didn’t come with a rearview mirror on it) and that long trip back to the finish was torture. That’s one thing about motocross: if you get hurt, you can just lay there until the EMTs come to check on you. In off-road, the only way out is the same for everyone. Off-road also gives you a lot of time to think while you’re riding. The first thought that came to my mind was my younger brother. We tend to go to “war” with each other a lot. Though we have never been in a real fight, we constantly pick on one another. My favorite ammo at the moment was to make fun of his extremely full lips. Even though I couldn’t tell what was wrong, I could feel that my lip was already swollen. Karma had bitten me, and I might think twice about teasing Ben next time. Not saying it will stop me, but I will at least think twice.

The next thought going through my mind was this blog. I have been known as Sarah Smile for years now. What if I’m so ugly now, my smile so disfigured, that I’m stripped of that title? And this is the difference between males and females: instead of worrying about how to get back to the truck in my dizzy condition, I was worried about my face. While looks aren’t that important to me, I don’t want to get any uglier!

When I finally made it back to my pit crew, I stopped even though there was one lap left. I could see the concern on their faces and told them if they absolutely wanted me to, I would finish, but I didn’t think it would be such a great idea. The next question was “What’s wrong with my face? Am I so hideous no one will ever kiss me again?”

I went back to the truck and got washed up; I still had sticks and leaves in my helmet and stuck to the dried blood on my lip. I saw it wasn’t as bad as I had imagined, just scrapes and no actual deep cuts that would need stitches. But I was told to take a ride to the hospital anyway, just to check my neck and head, and came back with the diagnosis of a broken nose and concussion.

Obviously, racing the Alligator two days later was out of the question, and I spent the next few days sleeping as much as possible and again getting weird looks, only for a different reason, with only the bravest actually asking, and I quote “What the heck happened to your face?” Being that it was Bike Week, I wanted to come up with a good story and tried telling people I had won a wet T-shirt contest and second place got pissed and pushed me off stage. But I was told that was a totally unbelievable story. So I just stuck with “This is what happens when a motocrosser tries off-road.”

When I was younger, I went away one summer to a church camp like a lot of kids do. I had a great time and made a lot of good friends. But I can remember it fell only a couple of weeks before Loretta’s and it was a big decision for my parents and I, missing out on a full week’s worth of training and preparing for the biggest race of the year. Luckily, taking a week off didn’t affect me and I was still able to win, but even more lucky are the kids (and adults) of this generation.

For the last four years, I have been volunteering at FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) motocross camp. You may have heard me talk about these camps before, but I just can’t say enough about them. Above and beyond any other sort of camps out there today, it is a full week of riding and training with some of the best pros in the sport. Riders like Kevin Windham, Andrew Short, Nathan Ramsey, Ryan Sipes, and Tim Ferry (and so many more) have all shown up and dedicated their time to coaching these kids.

A typical day at camp starts with an early-morning wake-up call and straight to a workout, followed by a group bible study. Then, after breakfast, we get our gear on and head out to the track. It’s all organized very well with the track divided into sections and a different instructor at each one, then usually a free ride at the end of the day. After-dinner chapel is led by Steve Hudson, who is the same Pastor who goes to all of the supercrosses and outdoors. Steve has a wonderful ability to capture everyone’s attention, from the little four-year-old kids to the adults, and everyone walks away with something. He’s absolutely amazing!


With over a hundred kids, the FCA staff has activities planned so there is never any down time for kids to get bored, right down to a karaoke competition every night before bed. And they sleep well at night because of it. And here is where I need to make my plea: We need more girls! Every year, the girls always go all out with costumes and make up our own dances and pretty much give 100 percent into winning at karaoke. And I know what you’re thinking: “Sarah, this is a church camp, it’s not all about winning.” Which is true, but it’s also motocross camp and motocrossers want to win at everything! The problem is, there are always more boys at camp than girls and the winning team is always decided by the crowd. Well, of course the girls never get any cheers because, well, we have cooties. So I am requesting all of you girls out there to come check out a camp, strengthen your faith, improve your riding skills, have a ton of fun, and help me fulfill my dream of winning karaoke!
All joking aside, it really is a great time. It’s wonderful to be surrounded by people who share the love of God and motocross. I have gone to seven camps in four years and plan on attending as many of the 10 camps this summer as my schedule will allow. Now, instead of losing valuable seat time while away at camp, you can actually go to camp and become a better rider, which I think is very cool. You can check out the website at fcamx.com

If you are looking for something until summer comes, I will be giving private lessons here in the southern California area if anyone is interested. And as for the other side of things, check out panicrev.org and join us for Thursday night bible studies. It’s a very low-key study of mostly riders that get together and is always a great time.

As a female in one of the most male-dominated sports out there, I have put up with a lot of crap over the years. If I had a dollar for every time I got turned down for sponsorship because I was a girl or heard a sexist remark, I could fund my own race team. At times, being a member of the so-called weaker sex in this sport seems unbearable. But the one thing that makes me different—the thing that makes life harder for me—can also be my saving grace. And in the spirit of the New Year, I would like to focus on the positive side of things.

How does being a female have its advantages? I like to call it playing the “girl card,” and it doesn’t just work in the sport of motocross. I have been pulled over numerous times, for running a red light, driving 70 in a 55 while pulling a trailer in the fast lane, and racing down winding roads along the coast of France on a 500cc scooter with my friend on the back, both of us wearing sundresses and flip-flops. I have never received a ticket. This pisses off every male I know, except of course for the ones who let me off.

But the girl card goes beyond speeding tickets if you know how to use it properly. My dad spoiled me when I was growing up by always doing everything for me as far as my bike was concerned. When it came time for me to go out on my own, he taught me how to take care of myself. He made sure I knew how to change my oil and air filter and what to do to properly maintain my bikes. But I have no patience and soon found I have no desire to work on my bikes. Some people have it and others don’t. As a teenager, staying with my best friend in my motor home during the winter, we made a deal. She would wash the bikes and change the air filters if I would dump the septic tank. I honestly thought I got the good end of the deal! I prefer septic waste over bike work—who says that? But knowing that I get easily frustrated (sometimes brought to tears if I can’t loosen a bolt), I just can’t trust the work I’ve done, and therefore second-guess myself while I’m riding. The last thing you want to be thinking while you’re riding is if your front wheel is going to fall off or not. (And this is not just hypothetical—this was a real thought going through my head once, and for good reason, because it really was about to fall off!)

Luckily, contrary to popular belief, not all motocrossers are jerks (as long as you don’t try to date them). They always look out for each other and lend a hand if you look pathetic enough, which I guess I always do. The first time I noticed this was when my mother and I went to a local race while my dad took my brother to a regional qualifier. I returned to our truck after sign-up and my bike was unloaded and on the stand. I never put gas in my bike all day, even though I rode three classes, and when I picked up my trophy at the end of the day, my bike miraculously loaded itself in my truck. This was the beginning of the end for me.

Since that day, I have always had someone willing to help me out with anything bike-related. I don’t remember the last time I changed a filter, and that makes me smile. Those darn seat bolts always give me so much trouble, which should be an indication of the timeline right there, since KTMs don’t require removal of the seat to change a filter and I’ve been on them almost a year.

Here is a great example of how to properly play the girl card. After a long day at Glen Helen last winter, I had to take the bike to KTM to be prepped for the WORCS race that weekend, but the mechanic, Cody, knowing me all too well, told me I had to wash it beforehand. So I simply asked my friend and manager of Team Faith up in Canada, “Sinder”, if he had a power washer. After getting it out and setting it up for me, he insisted on washing the bike for me. Sinder does the ministry at the Canadian Nationals and was just being a good Christian gentleman. Who am I to argue with a man of God?

But my older brother, who is wise to my ways, snapped this photo of me looking on and jokingly titled it “Sarah Washing Her Bike.” Terry teases me the most about my ability to get things done, yet he is the reason I barely know how to prep my own goggles, because growing up, he always did it for me.

A while back, I went trail riding with a group of friends. The only time I touched my bike all weekend was to ride it. But when we stopped for lunch, it was filled with gas, locked up that night, refueled the next day, and loaded up into my truck at the end of the day while I changed out of my gear. I realized that while sometimes it may not be fair being a girl, there are some major advantages that come with it too. And chivalry isn’t completely dead. I might not get flowers or a guy playing guitar under my bedroom window, but I have hundreds of friends at the track who look out for me. Whether it’s right or wrong to be able to flash a smile or the puppy-dog eyes (depending on the circumstance) to get what I want, I’m not sure. But I believe it brings the balance I need to still be glad I’m a girl in this sport.

Whitmore. What’s in a name? Like most people I am proud of my family and our name, and I have always liked it. But you would be surprised how many different nicknames you can get from a last name and how easy a target I have been most of my life.

It started when I was younger and people would call me “WHITEmore.” At first I think people just mispronounced it, but now I think they say it because of my non-interest in tanning. Besides the one man who likes to call me “witless” most everyone else just puts any old word in front of the word “more” and voila, instant nickname for me. I have heard Wantmore, Getmore, Winmore (my personal favorite) and most recently Skidmore. They don’t even really have to make sense.

Then there’s the game that kids play where they switch around the first letters of your first and last names, go ahead and try it, it’s pretty funny. Unless you’re me and your name is Warah Shitmore! Almost every brand I have ever ridden for has threatened to make that misprint on my jerseys.

Speaking of jerseys, they haven’t always been my friend either. A long time ago before I was cool enough to have pre-printed name and numbers on my jersey, I had every letter ironed on separately. As they sometimes do, the letters started coming off one at a time every time it went through the dryer. One jersey in particular lost the W, O and the R leaving only H, I, T, M, and E. Hit me, that’s just what you want on your back when you are racing!

This year though I made a new discovery about my name with the help of my Leatt brace. I never noticed it before because I always wore a chest protector, but when I raced my first GP this year they wouldn’t let me wear it over my jersey, but underneath. After the race I was looking at pictures and saw one of me jumping from behind. My eyes immediately went to my name. The I, T, and M were being covered by my brace, leaving W H on one side and O R E on the other! Now, this is only funny because it’s not true. Besides, it’s important to have a sense of humor about yourself, and nobody makes fun of me better than I do. I think it’s so funny that I wanted to share it with everyone; maybe I just like being teased?

Even after all of the trouble it has given me I still love my name and wouldn’t change it for anything…Well, except to that of the lucky man who gets to marry me someday. I’m just hoping that whoever he is he has an easier name, like maybe Emig or Depp… Hahaha, okay, I am really hoping here!