No Greater Tribute could be made than the 4th Annual Mark Hahn Memorial 300

Text by Kevin Shaw

Photography by Andrea Wilson

Mike Follmer is to blame for this…

That’s what I’m thinking as I stare at my truck buried half way up its brake dust-caked rims in sand at the beachside Crazy Horse RV resort. The attached trailer too, is equally stuck only a few feet from the lapping waves of the cold, turbulent lake, cockeyed like a limp broken limb. It’s been a grinding, arduous couple of months getting to this year’s Mark Hahn Memorial 300 and so far, nothing has gone right. If there was such thing as a patron saint of watercraft racing, I must have - at sometime or another - really pissed him off.

The world’s longest, continuous endurance race, the Havasu 300 Mark Hahn Memorial, began life as a tribute to its namesake, Mark Hahn, himself an endurance racer who - to many - embodied the true spirit of the sport, encouraging his friends and fellow watercraft enthusiasts to join the racing scene. Wanting to honor the memory of his friend and fellow competitor, veteran 15-year Yamaha racer, Mike Follmer, single-handedly pieced together an enduro event almost five years ago that has since matured into the sport’s most prestigious endurance race.

Like a slow burning brush fire, the Havasu 300 has steadily climbed in popularity and participation during these last few years. Starting off with 30 teams in 2005, this year saw nearly double that number with a few choosing to ride alone, wanting to claim “Ironman” bragging rights despite an official class not being offered.

It was Mike who insisted on me entering, knowing that I wouldn’t need much prodding to begin with. But rushing to meet the upcoming deadline would put me into a spiral of bad luck that I simply couldn’t pull out of…

Ugly weather off of the California coastline spelled trouble for the race’s Saturday morning date. Rain that drenched the Gold Coast earlier that week, drifted over the desert, pouring on Lake Havasu by Thursday. Racers who traveled to the Arizona city for last-minute training were washed in the late winter downpour and bristled by sharp gusts of frigid wind. Cell phones began to ring. Emails filled inboxes. The race was looking to be a rough one…

Specifically tailored for such an event, I thought the Mark Hahn the perfect stage to stretch our “Project Copperhead” Ultra 250X’s legs. With the engine freshly rebuild and installed, I was warned by both Circuit Jet Sports’ Greg Beaver and R&D’s Bill Chapin that the engine would require no less than five to ten hours of break-in to properly seat the rings and seal up the motor. With three days before the event, I had my work cut out for me.

Launching out of near-by Dana Point, Associate Editor Justin Stannard and I set off on our mission to pull off ten hours of break-in in two days. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans. Under a pavilion of charcoal-black clouds spewing waves of stinging rain, Justin and I struggled against rolling five-to-eight-foot swells, offshore winds, and rivers of ochre-red kelp fields. While Copperhead performed flawlessly in the butch conditions, we didn’t fare too well. Sore, weathered, and weary, we limped back deflated and partially defeated, having tallied little less than four hours on the respective watercraft. Strike One.

“Smooth water,” we both pined, choosing to finish our break-in process in Pyramid Lake, California, a little bit north of amusement park Magic Mountain. Checking the lake’s hours and dates online, we drove the two and a half hours north to be met at the park’s gate by a sign reading: “Closed due to brush fire warnings.” Foul Ball. Turning around, we opted for Long Beach as a replacement. By staying within the breakwater, we could accomplish at least a couple of hours of break-in.

Fired up and ready to go, we idle past the No Wake buoys and squeeze the throttles. Aboard a lighter, more nimble RXT-X, I quickly pull away from Justin aboard the Copperhead. In fact, Justin vanished. Turning back around, I see the red Ultra floating unmanned, Justin’s helmeted head bobbing as he paddled towards the drifting Kawasaki. Quickly, I head over and help him back aboard, wondering how an accomplished dirt bike rider could let a Jet Ski get out from underneath him so easily.

“Dude, it just stopped!” he wheezed, trying to regain his breath.

Reaching behind the boat, he draws up the jet’s nozzle, thankfully still connected to the steering linkage. Protruding from the nozzle was only two of the four bolts, stripped and twisted. Looking at the nozzle, I sigh with relief that the engine hadn’t scattered. With Justin panting and bruised from being bucked over the handlebars at thirty miles per hour, we tow the wounded Copperhead back to Circuit Jet Sports. Strike Two. Greg, seeing that the bolts had mostly backed out before shearing off the last few a few threads, quickly drilled and re-tapped the holes in the pump and reattached our nozzle with ample blue Loc-Tite.

The next morning, Sales Associate Dave Szych, photographer-for-hire Andrea Wilson, Justin, and myself loaded our two trucks with everything we could think of for the race: ten five-gallon gas cans (which we anticipated on refilling half-way during the race), a Kawasaki Mule UTV for a tow vehicle, E-Z Up, chairs, luggage, PWC tow dolly, boxes of magazines, etc. I hitch up the trailer to my Dodge with Copperhead and an auxillary Ultra LX onboard.

It’s near Indio when alarm bells began clanging in mind. Panicked, I realize that I have no idea where the key for the Mule is. Pulled over, I shred through everything imaginable, sickened that I’ve misplaced the key to our tow vehicle. Calls to both Justin and the office come up empty handed. The key is gone. Nauseous, I continue east hoping its location will come to me. Foul Ball. Meanwhile, Mike Follmer, who has been working hand-in-hand with RPM Enterprises’ Ross Wallach and DSM’s Jim Russel, has been scrambling to grate the beach, bringing in sand and using heavy equipment to even it out.

The Mark Hahn Memorial is unlike any other watercraft event. More Le Mans than motocross, racers are expected to pit for refueling on a pre-designated stretch of beach where their team of crew members will load the craft onto a trailer or tow dolly, pull them a minimum of ten feet from the edge of the water, and refuel the boat’s tank. UTV’s such as Kawasaki’s Mule or new Teryx or Yamaha’s class-leading Rhino or ATV’s with trailer hitches were the only vehicles allowed and for good cause. Launching from the beach, tens of trucks quickly become mired in the soft sand including yours truly. Foul Ball.

Surprisingly, Saturday morning’s skies are beautifully clear, the sunrise casting the desert town in purples and oranges. Although briskly cool, the winds have died and the clouds have parted. Mike Follmer would smile, “Looks like Mark gave us some good weather.”

At our camp, Justin, Dave, and I fumble the two Kawasakis from the trailer to the water. Topped off with as much gas as the tank and filler neck could hold, I idled to the hot pits next to Follmer’s twin FX SHOs. Mike with Walt Motorsports’ Tony Beck and Niky Goudreau and Lark Schmitt were the only ones aboard wickedly high-tech WaveRunners which cleared APBA homologation requirements only weeks earlier. Massaged and modified by Bill Chapin, Team Follmer’s Yamaha’s would clock the fastest pit stops and some of the most consistent lap times that day.

At the crack of the gun, we were off and running down the beach. Leaping aboard the Ultra like the Lone Ranger mounting Silver, the newly repainted Hemi Orange 1.5-liter engine roared to life and sent me rocketing into the fray of accelerating racers. Snaking through wash and bow spray, the Copperhead ate up the throttle hungrily. The factory speedo bounced between 67 and 72 mph, assuring me that – in all likeliness - I was streaking across somewhere between 68-69mph.

At such speeds, I’m easily in the high teens. Easing back slightly for the corner, I clench the throttle again and target the next turn a mile or so ahead. Then Copperhead died.

Thinking the nozzle had ripped off again, I lunged backward, assessing the damage. Finding everything in its place, I quickly pulled the seat as my competition soars past me. No water in the hull. No smoke. No spilled fuel. No fire. Nothing. The engine ran, barely. Thankfully there was no rod knock. No metal-on-metal death moans belching from the engine. “It’s gotta be electrical,” I deduce.

It takes nearly twenty minutes for me to idle back to camp. I’m met by my wife Heather, who half expects me to pull the drain plugs fifty feet from shore. Running across the pebbled shoreline in flip flops, Greg Beaver says little but immediately begins tearing into the boat, asking me short, concise questions: “What did it do?” “What did it sound like?” “What code did it show?” Chasing wires, checking plugs, and scouring the engine compartment for any sign of fault, Greg dives in ravenously.

Like phantoms, Glenn Dickenson and Bill Chapin from R&D Performance materialize from thin air. With the help of Justin’s father Joe and Sam McCutcheon, owner of Helm-Mitts, we heave the Ultra onto the dolly. Bill, Glenn and Greg peel the seats from the boat and begin diagnosing the problem. In minutes, Bill has Minuro Kanamori on the phone trying to identify the problem. Looking at the scene, I realize that some of the best minds in watercraft tunning are working on my boat; pretty impressive.

Hanging up the phone, Bill turns to me and tells me the prognosis: tripping a sensor somewhere deep within the engine’s management hardware, the ECU initiated a safety protocol or “limp mode” which limits the engine’s speed to five miles per hour; which was just enough to limp me back to safety. Strike Three. I’m out.

A field comprised of nearly 120 racers accounts for some serious competition, but from the minute the starting gun thundered, a spirit of camaraderie, sportsmanship, and mutual respect prevailed. Knowing how soft the beach was, nearly everyone on hand happily assisted teams trying to drag their boats ashore. Extra gasoline was shared to those who were quickly running out. Tools and spare parts were borrowed and returned. Watercraft World’s Johnson would give up a place to veer out of his way to tow felled Nick Vanis back to his tweaked RXP-X.

The Mark Hahn Memorial is unique in the sense that anyone can participate. This was no more evident than the presence of Skiwi Rentals from Henderson, Nevada, which provided nine Yamaha VX WaveRunners for use in the event. The course, a ten-mile-long lap, was mercifully simple, four turn boats in a square, with a short chicane around the scoring boat where racers needed to weave through a couple of turns before crossing the checkered buoys.

It would be in the 27th lap when the steering linkage on Craig Kelling’s GP1300R would snap, sending him careening into the stern of the scoring boat, knocking scorekeeper Monica Jackson off her seat and out cold. Rushed immediately to the hospital, Monica was diagnosed with a minor concussion. Craig, amazingly, was unharmed, his Yamaha having sustained most of the damage. As per APBA rules, the race was immediately called right then. Tallying the score, Noble Racing’s Andy Wise and Bobby Hall were declared the winners.

While the scores were tabulated, Team Personal Watercraft Illustrated struggled to dislodge my 2WD truck from the sand. Once dug free and able to pull out, we hitched Joe Stannard’s F-350 Powerstroke 4x4 to the trailer, backed into the water, loaded up the two skis, and tried to pull out. But alas, our streak of bad luck had yet to ebb. For the first time ever, Joe’s Ford refused to engage the four-wheel drive. Digging out the massive diesel, the transfercase finally locked and began turning the front wheels. Spewing out a plume of inky black exhaust and roosts of beachfront property, we finally pulled onto solid ground. Hit the showers, pal. You’re outta here!

That night’s banquet was something to behold. Refusing to allow anyone to leave empty-handed, everybody received a medallion, copies of both watercraft publications, stickers and a hearty meal provided by the London Bridge Resort. Easily double the size of last year’s World Finals awards ceremony; everybody was touched by the heartfelt thanks given by those involved, including the mayor of Lake Havasu City, Mark S. Nexsen. But, it would be a tearful thanks and embrace from Sandy Hahn as I was trying to sneak out that evening which would bring home the message of the Mark Hahn Memorial. It’s not the race, but the spirit of it that makes this event so special.

And Mike Follmer is to thank for this…