"Collect," calls Jim. Not loud, but loud enough. When Jim says something, everyone listens. 37 bikers stand in the forest and breathe their small, billowing clouds of breath into the cool autumn air. Jim is the course leader. Upright posture, sergeant's voice, helmet pushed deep into his face. If you ask why everyone calls him Jim, they all shrug their shoulders. Even Jim, whose real name is Uwe Kleditzsch, probably doesn't know. But nobody thinks to ask him. Instead, everyone listens to what the route manager has to say about the upcoming special stage. "It's going to be steep, it's better to slow down on the jumps, and if you go through a tunnel, you'd better keep to the right." That's all Jim reveals.
Review: The Miriquidi Drecksau Enduro is considered the mother of all enduro races. At least in Germany. Instead of stages, the stages here are called special stages.
"We're not big on Anglicisms," explains Thomas Frenzel in broad Saxon. It's Sunday morning, just before the race. The breakfast room at Forsthaus Frenzel, which is located on the outskirts of the small village of Lengefeld, is full. While the others sip their coffee in comfort, Frenzel can only sit down for a short time. There is still a lot to do. The rest of the starters are about to arrive. Frenzel is the boss of the organisation team. Together with his girlfriend Mandy, he welcomes new arrivals, organises helpers and cooks goulash soup. His forest inn, which is usually frequented by senior citizens on hikes, is the headquarters of the race. Frenzel doesn't have to worry about the number of participants. The race enjoys cult status. It is an offshoot of the legendary Miriquidi Cup from the nineties, in which local heroes such as Uwe Buchholz, André "der Knecht" Wagenknecht and Frank "Schneidi" Schneider made a name for themselves before becoming famous in the rest of the country.
"Don't forget," it sounds from the speakers: "If the forester or police turn up, we all just met in the forest by chance."
"All 37 starting places were fully booked within 40 minutes," says Frenzel. The format doesn't allow for more participants anyway, as it differs significantly from conventional enduro races. Instead of fluttering tape, branch arrows on the ground show the way. Only occasionally does a helper stand in the forest and show the way. "There's no other way," says Frenzel. After all, the race is not legal. Frenzel once tried the official route, but the bureaucracy wouldn't budge. Now he organises the race in his own way - "the short official route", as he says. As a pub owner, he knows most of the foresters and landowners in the area anyway. "You just have to know how to talk to people," explains Frenzel, smiling mischievously. That didn't always help. One of his illegal downhill races has already landed him with a penalty notice. At the Miriquidi Drecksau Enduro, he has also had encounters with uninitiated tree fellers who were baffled to see around sixty bikers with radio alarm clocks preparing for a special stage in the forest.
Sunday morning, race start at the forester's lodge: techno beats booming from the speakers. Frenzel turns down the noise and announces the key data through the microphone: around 25 kilometres in total. Five special stages. "Don't forget, if the forester or police turn up, we all met in the forest purely by chance," Frenzel rounds off his speech. Then he turns up the techno beat again. The mood must be right. The same beat sounds from the speakers as at the famous Megavalanche race in Alp d'Huez, which inspired Frenzel. A mix of air-raid shelter sirens and snatches of words like "Alaaarmaa!" and "La Bomba".
"The coolest thing about the race is that it's really on sight," Eno reveals while waiting before the first stage. Eno is not far from here and likes to organise such unofficial races himself. By "really on sight", Eno means that nobody knows the routes here. Even the locals don't have a clue. Only route manager Jim knows the descents. Although many people offer to help mark out the stages, lone wolf Jim wants to do his own thing. The forest is his kingdom. Some people joke and have already diagnosed him with "line sickness". He sees potential trails everywhere in the forest that are suitable for racing. The starters appreciate this and are happy about the equal opportunities. The disadvantage is the long waiting times. Only when everyone is through does the column of signposts, starters and timekeepers make their way to the next special stage.
Like many others, Maik has been here before. Three-day beard on his round cheeks, dark blond, curly hair, black frame glasses. Maik's speciality is apparently trail descriptions. He never misses a junction, a fork in the road or a pedalling section. He lets his flat hand glide upwards, sideways or downwards in waves. Depending on how the trail winds its way down into the valley. "I'm not really the racing type," admits Maik. However, he likes the family atmosphere at the Drecksau Enduro so much that he is happy to make an exception.
He is currently waiting at the first stage for his start number to be called and is puzzling with other drivers about how long the special stage might take. Go full throttle straight away and hope for a short distance? Or pace yourself? The others shrug their shoulders helplessly. They don't know what to expect either. Instead, they look after the starting riders to at least get a rough idea of the trail, which initially winds around the spruce trees and is difficult to recognise. "Once ten riders have started, it's easier to recognise the trail in the forest floor," says helper Martin with a stopwatch in his hand. Sometimes riders get lost and end up alone in the forest. "That's also part of the enduro somehow. You have to ride with foresight," says Maik as his start number is called out. Then everything happens quickly. Timekeeper Dana counts down, scans the transponder, calls "go" and Maik disappears into the dark forest. He reaches the finish line after just 1:37 minutes. Many have gambled away. They were expecting a longer special stage. Instead of going full throttle, they conserved their energy. At the bottom of a small forest clearing, everyone stands and watches as the last starters make their way to the finish. Then the column of race participants, organisers and signposts moves on to the next stage.
Special stage number 2: Timekeeper Dana receives information on the radio from below that still none of the first five starters have arrived. And then the radio breaks down. It's time to wait again. Despite the sizzling five degrees, the riders are relaxed. Some stand in the sun's rays that sparkle sparingly through the forest, others tread water to stay warm. It is difficult to categorise the race participants. Quite different from ordinary enduro races. For example, there is Flo in a cross-country outfit with a touring bike, who is also happy about the odd pedalling section. Favourite Max Hartenstern and his buddy Berti, both experienced downhill racers, on the other hand, are hoping for downhill sections. And then there are guys like Kevin Dewinski, who like to take part in larger enduro series.
Dana has now reached for her smartphone. Apparently the first five starters got lost.
Too bad! Minutes later you can see them pushing their bikes back to the start, panting. Then things move quickly. The race starts at 30-second intervals. Nobody expected what awaited the starters here in the second special stage. Course director Jim has built in a tough uphill section. "When I turned into the downhill at the top, I was already completely blue," Eno yelps a little later, exhausted at the finish. Blue means "totally exhausted". Downhiller Max Hartenstern is also swearing about the nasty ramp. His two cross-country colleagues Flo and Lutz, on the other hand, grin slyly. They have probably cut the best figure here.
It's getting late in the afternoon. The drivers are waiting for the start of the fifth and final special stage. "If there are a lot of people in one place, you'd better watch out!" warns Maik. Sometimes track manager Jim builds in tricky spots where helpers and a few spectators gather in the hope of spectacular interludes, he chats. Just like the special stage before, when the trail suddenly ran through a dark tunnel. Only those who lifted their front wheel in time and jumped to the right got away with wet feet. But nobody was interested in that now. Favourite Max Hartenstern nervously rolls into the final special stage. Dana counts down the time again: "And off you go!" Max accelerates his Specialized to the first obstacle and skilfully bends over it with his bike. The trail then descends steeply. Steep descents on the slippery foliage require more precise line choice and controlled braking than strong calves. Max is still out of breath at the finish. "This is what an enduro trail should look like," Max says enthusiastically.
At around five o'clock, the column rolls back to the forester's lodge, where organiser Frenzel is already waiting for his starters. Frenzel asks each individual how it went. Good feedback makes his eyes light up. When asked why he takes on all the work even though he doesn't even get to ride himself, Frenzel doesn't know the answer straight away. After a moment's thought, he says: "Because it's a great event."
"Enduro sport and the scene thrive on doing and taking part." Interview with Uwe Buchholz, Enduro veteran
Uwe, they say that the enduro idea comes from France. Is that true?
The discipline originally comes from motorbike racing. It's difficult to say who adopted it for mountain biking. I think many people started it in different places. The French were certainly at the forefront, and the Eastern scene was also early on from 2001. Back in the 80s, guys were already racing for time on converted touring bikes with moped suspension forks.
Why is the enduro scene so strong in the east?
Long before there were mountain bikes, everyone in the GDR was familiar with the word enduro. The GDR usually did well in motorbike off-road world championships such as the SixDays. Quite in contrast to other disciplines in motorsport. The good thing was that it wasn't about the best material, but about perseverance and versatility. Two things that are also in demand in the MTB discipline.
Enduro is now all the rage with many different series. A curse or a blessing?
Certainly not a curse. The series cater to different tastes, but are all for the same bikes. The Specialized Enduro Series made the racing discipline known in German-speaking countries (2012). This was followed a year later by the Enduro World Series, a kind of Champions League in enduro sport. At the same time, heaps of new series emerged.
Is the enduro hype already dying down?
The media hype perhaps. However, the sport and the scene thrive on doing and taking part. There will always be bikers who want to compete. Incidentally, downhill racing was also declared dead around 2000.
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Laurin Lehner
Editor
