Serving Lincoln County for more than a century!
Serving Lincoln County for more than a century!
It was a day for walking, running, hiking, and, most importantly, dirt-flying fun. I arrived at the Odessa Grand Prix just in time to catch the tail end of the riders’ meeting on Saturday. The moment I stepped onto the course, I was immediately greeted by the roar of engines, racers from across the state, and the warm Eastern Washington sun.
Enter Randy Niles—the man, the myth, the legend—who organizes the weekend’s chaos. Without hesitation, we hopped into what can only be described as a golf cart on steroids. Technically, it’s a side-by-side, built for off-road adventure. We sped off to the start line, where rows of riders waited anxiously for the green flag. When Randy gave the signal, I witnessed a scene straight out of Mad Max—dust flying, engines screaming, and competitors disappearing into the vast wilderness.
Maybe someday, I’ll quit with the movie references in my column, but let’s be real: What else do you expect from your local editor who majored in filmmaking and photography?
With the racers off on their grueling 2.5-hour, 13-mile loop, my own odyssey began—a journey through the great Odessa wilderness.
I’d love to tell you I channeled my inner Crocodile Dundee, fearlessly trekking through rugged terrain. In reality, I was just a journalist trying not to trip over my own feet.
By the end of the day, I had walked a grand total of 16,362 steps—an impressive feat compared to my usual, well, significantly lower count.
The real highlight? The infamous Enduro course, where only the long-course riders dare to tread. Here, bikes launched over massive tires and logs, zigzagged through rock-strewn paths, and occasionally sent their riders soaring over the handlebars.
Stuck bikes, toppled riders, and sheer grit were the themes of the day, but nothing stopped them from pushing through.
Watching the chaos unfold, I had a sudden realization: As a Kawasaki Ninja 500 rider, would I enjoy a dirt bike more? The thought lingered all day, even as I mourned missing next weekend’s infamous Desert 100 for National Guard duty. Maybe there’s a dirt bike in my future after all.
As the long-course riders rolled through their final laps, bruised, sore, and absolutely spent, they made a beeline for ice-cold beers and water before collapsing into well-earned rest.
Meanwhile, the short-course racers—whose race lasted only 1.5 hours—lined up, easily twice the number of riders. Once again, I joined Randy at the start, watching as they thundered off into the dust. Then it was back in the side-by-side to check out the other half of the course.
Randy, if you’re reading this, thanks for the ride—saved me some steps.
The day got warmer, the dust got dustier, and I got sweatier.
I watched riders slide across a small bridge, conquer a grueling hill climb, and tear through straightaways faster than I expected.
When Randy had other duties to attend to, I insisted I’d find my way back on foot. In hindsight, this was a bold move, considering I’d absolutely destroyed my legs the day before at BFit gym. Every step felt like a personal attack.
All in all, the Odessa Grand Prix was an unforgettable experience, filled with speed, skill, and enough dust to make my lungs reconsider their life choices.
If you’ve never been, I highly encourage you to check out next weekend’s Desert 100 (and let me live vicariously through you).
If you do, let me know about your experience—I promise I’ll read it, probably while icing my legs.
— Olivia Harnack is the editor at the Lincoln County Record-Times and is learning the ropes of rural life, one hay bale and farm dog at a time. You can reach her at 509-725-0101.
Olivia Harnack is the award-winning managing editor/photographer/videographer/columnist at the Lincoln County Record-Times, with offices in both Davenport and Odessa, Wash. She is a University of Idaho graduate and a U.S. Army National Guardsman.
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