Being the rookie flagger of the group, Mars didn't assign me to a particular spot, but rather he had me float around and help as needed. During a track prep break between motos, I was able to walk around and talk to some of the other workers in the crew, who comprised of some of the most genuine people at the races. In addition to Dirt Diggers members, the local Polka Dot MC was in attendance to help out, as were several people who simply came to lend a hand and enjoy the races. A lot of the folks have been flagging at Hangtown for more than 15 years! The flag crew was super-diverse as well, with young kids, old men, married couples, racers and hard-core fans all doing their jobs with pride.
Once practice and qualifying ended, we were ready to start flagging the big show, beginning with the first 125 (not Lites!) moto. But as the national anthem was playing, the sky opened up with a hefty spring rainstorm. Heading to one of the downhill doubles on the course, I had a bad feeling that I might have to use my flag. And I was right. Once the moto started, riders were sliding out and tipping over a lot more than they would have liked, but we were able to hop out onto the track and control the traffic. One tip that some of the other flaggers told me is to make eye contact with the rider as he approaches your waving flag, because this tells you that he acknowledges the incident. I did this, and the experienced pro racers (notably the oft-booed Mike Alessi, who led both motos) were all super-careful around the caution areas.
As the day wore on and the mud kept flying, I had ample opportunities to learn the ropes of flagging, and believe me, it is not as easy as it looks. By the time the second motos rolled around, I thought I had seen it all, but an incident in the Lites moto really caught my eye. On one of the slick-faced jumps on the big downhill, Kelly Smith slid out up the face and went down hard. As he was getting back to his feet and grabbing his bike, a nearby flagger ran over to help, knowing that the area was already protected by my and another's waving flags. With the exhausted Smith trying to relight his four-stroke, the flagger shouted a few words of encouragement and gave the bike a huge push on the rear fender, allowing Smith to bump-start and continue, but not until after giving the poor flagman an unintentional face full of mud. With Smith on his way, the flagger darted onto the track and retrieved Smith's goggles, which he had forsaken after the fall. What happened next amazed me: The flagger took the muddy goggles, walked over to the spectator fence, past a pack of screaming drunks, and handed the goggles to a grinning kid. He then spun around, trotted back to his position, grabbed his flag and continued to stand at attention, soaking wet under his trash-bag-turned-poncho, with a look of sober contentment on his face.
I'll be damned if that wasn't the most glorious thing I've seen in a while. Be a flagger some day. It's for real.