From Whence Came these Wizards of the Rocks?

From Whence Came these Wizards of the Rocks?
by Jud Leslie
Is it possible for a rock crawling team to take home trophies 94% of the time it
competes? Can a team gain the first place podium more than half the time it puts a rock
crawler in competition? How can a team win two major all-star events, finish second in
three more and win five series championships in five seasons in two such distinctly
demanding off-road activities as rock crawling and rock racing? And how in the world
does a pair of wheeling dirt-eaters get to be selected by Dirt Sports as a finalist in its
prestigious competition for Driver of the Year?
Some might consider the foregoing to be the fanciful fabrications of a daydreamer, but
they would be wrong. Those accomplishments and others shown in this article* are the
documented five-year history of Colorado Springs natives, Roger and Brad Lovell, or, as
they were poetically identified by one of their competitors last year during the rock
crawling championship in Hannibal, MO, the Wizards of the Rocks.
The Lovellsʼ winning ways began in April 2004, their rookie year, when Roger guided
Brad and their home-built Ranger onto the UROC-sanctioned rocks in St. George, Utah.
They went on to sweep that four-event series, then cap the year with a second place
finish in UROCʼs premier all-star event, SuperCrawl III. Shortly after the SuperCrawl
dust had settled on Salt Lake City, the legendary Ice Man of rockcrawling, Dean
Bulloch, recommended that the Lovells move up to the Pro Modified ranks because they
were “far too talented” to stay in the Extreme class. They did.
Since then the boys have built three more pro modified class rigs and have expanded
their interests to rock racing, rock cross, desert racing and hill climbing. And their
hardware collection expands with their interests, giving them a five-year total of 44
trophies. These physical symbols of dominance represent 23 wins, 13 seconds and 8
third place finishes. Moreover, when all other forms of professional off-roading are
added to the mix, the trophy count translate as six trips to the podium out of every ten
outings.
In April of this year, the Lovells opened their sixth rock crawling season with a first place
finish in Tucson in WE Rockʼs first event. From there, they went rock racing in Moab and
took second and tenth in XRRAʼs opener. Thatʼs where they stand now, but where did it
really begin? From whence came these wizards of the rocks? The answer to this walkbefore-
you-run question involves a loving father and the Rocky Mountains.
Before sponsors, before the decision to put a rig on the professional rocks, before legal
street driving, before the first knuckle was cracked on their first off-roader, before their
school years, there were the family camping trips to the high country. They were the
beginning.
Rogerʼs first trip to the high country was beyond the reach of his memory. He was just a
few months old when his mom changed his diaper in the thin, biting air of Tin Cup Pass
on the road to Taylor Park, Colorado. It was later, though, when Roger and Brad were
about six and four that the family outings meant anything. Roger says those trips were
like opening the covers to exotic books. There were so many marvelous things to do
and see. Among their favorites were the remote areas, places that were difficult to gain,
places that most people found too difficult to attempt.
It wasnʼt long before their doting dad found it necessary to modify the family Bronco to
be more capable. I remember dad letting us take turns, sitting in his lap, steering the
Bronco along forest trails. It was pretty tame, but it was magic. The magic didnʼt last
long. Very soon that wasnʼt enough. I wanted to drive, and I bugged dad to let me. Dad
told me he would let me drive when I could reach the pedals and see through the
windshield at the same time. Talk about the misery of waiting for a distant Christmas; it
was agony. Then one day, the agony gave way to ecstasy. Dad tossed me a set of keys
and told me to take the Bronco for a spin on my own. Dad was no longer under me.
Hell, he wasnʼt even in the car, and I was driving a four-speed manual all by myself. I
was king, and Brad, well, Brad was knotted up with envy, and somehow that made it
even better.
The family camping/wheeling trips continued, and as the boys got older, their dad got
more generous with his wheels. But, says Brad, dad wasnʼt foolish. He taught us
caution. He didnʼt want us tearing up his Bronco or ourselves. Still, the more competent
we got, the more latitude he gave us. He encouraged us to go farther and faster.
Eventually the boys were allowed to scratch some of their independence itches by
staging buddy trips with Mark, their older cousin, and some of their other pals. Roger
was 17 and pilot of a ʼ86 Bronco II. Brad was 15 and had just acquired a “fairly decent”
1988 Ranger. They would romp the mountains, and drive and spot for each other. Brad
was willing to push his truck harder than I, but I could pick a better line. Slowly it
evolved. We all did well and had fun, but Brad and I proved to be the best team when
he drove and I spotted.
With the parental reins absent, their youthful competitions took on some of the
exhilarating character of the mountains on which they wheeled. The mountains were
always fun, but when mom and dad were not with us, the mountains became grand
adventure. Brad, the guys and I could push just that much harder, and we did. We
goaded each other to try things that we truly thought were and were not doable. We
marveled at ourselves when we succeeded and cringed when we bombed. With each
new challenge, the adrenalin levels and fear soared in tandem. On one outing, I was so
twanged I was convinced I was not the only thing in my underwear. Man, it was fun! The
mountains are life and life is great!
Time and money were always a constraint for these peripatetic trail pounders, but when
they had enough of both, they went wheeling. They traveled farther and climbed higher,
visiting such places as Ram Off Road Park, Divide, Hackett Gulch, Carnage Canyon,
Choke Cherry Canyon, Independence Trail, Patriot Trail, Mount Blanca, Long Water,
Holy Cross, Wheeler Lake, Montrose, Farmington, Moab, and Hole In The Rock. They
visited other places, but their main wheeling grounds were in Colorado, New Mexico
and Utah.
The boys didnʼt know it at the time, but they were not just having fun, they were also
forging some really strong teamwork skills and learning how to handle trucks in
precarious places and to make repairs on the fly. On one of our early adventures–our
outings were always adventures–Brad and I decided to tackle the trek to Grizzly Lake
near St. Elmo. Brad was on a scary off-camber line near the top of a crest when the
front axle housing broke. Working on that unstable truck in that shaky spot, where doing
something dumb could send the rig and maybe us tumbling down the mountain, we
assessed the problem, considered our options and came up with what seemed to be a
reasonable fix. Using a come-along jack, we strapped the axle to the truck, and nursed
that gimpy rig not only on up to the lake, but also all the way back down the mountain to
Colorado Springs and home. We took a little heat from dad for what we did, but I could
tell he was prouder than he was mad.
By the time the boys were in their late 20s, the years of wheeling and rocking had filled
them with skills and dreams. There wasnʼt anything that Roger didnʼt like about
wheeling. He lived for the times he and the rest of the crowd could get to the mountains.
Brad shared Rogerʼs love of wheeling, but he had other dreams, too. For years Brad
nursed the notion of getting into off-road competition. As a little kid, he would watch
racing on TV. If it had wheels and raced, he watched it. I remember thinking that I could
never do that, but, man, what I wouldnʼt give to try. It was totally different from what we
did. They ran the Baja. They raced in the desert. They played on dirt and hard surface
ovals. We played on the rocks and trails of the mountains. Brad dreamed a lot, but what
he didnʼt know was that his dreams were about to become reality.
It was at the end of the 2003 off-roading season, when Mark, himself a long-time
wheeler and one of their anything-car mentors, took them to SuperCrawl in Farmington,
NM. What an outing! The roaring engines, the crowd, all of the sights, sounds and
smells that make up a day at a professional rock crawling event filled them with awe.
Here Roger and I were, so close we could almost reach out and touch the heroes we
had only read about in off-road magazines. There were Walker Evans, Shannon
Campbell, Dean Bulloch, Jason Paule and others. It was great! These guys were doing
amazing stuff, but, you know, we also saw them doing something else, something
completely sobering. We saw them make the same mistakes we made. Roger was
stoked, completely beside himself. He kept saying, “weʼve got to give this shot,” and,
“we can do this.” I realized he was right. We could do it and probably do it well.
The conversation on the trip back to Colorado Springs that day was electric. Everything
they talked about was wrapped around their decision “to go pro.” They would convert
Bradʼs Ranger and enter it next year. Then amongst the din of the chatter on that trip
home, Roger remembers hearing something weird. Okay, it could have been Brad, it
could have been Mark, but I swear it sounded like dad, saying, “right on, boys, right on!”
That trip changed how they allocated their time. They spent many nights and weekends
converting Bradʼs old Ranger into a rock crawler. They applied their engineering
degrees, their shade-tree-mechanicʼs knowledge, trial and error and large chunks of
love to their work. They put the truck together, took it apart and put it back together.
They experienced the requisite knuckle dings, hot-engine burns and setbacks, and they
did an amount of cussing, but they never faltered, and come time for the event, they
were in St. George, and the rig was ready. With each note of the Star Spangled Banner,
anticipation tied their guts tighter and tighter. Then when it felt as though their guts were
utterly clogged with chunks of concrete, they were given the start sign. Roger
remembers that first event: It was a disaster. It was windy. The rigs were kicking up
lung-coating clouds of dust. The courses were much too difficult for almost every team,
and most teams foundered, but we foundered less. It was gut-wrenching. It was
exciting. It was wheeling at a level we never dreamed possible. And we won!
Sadly, the boysʼ father was not alive to see that event. Gordon died in 2000. When
asked how they thought their dad would react to that first event and their ensuing
success, hereʼs how they responded.
Roger rubbed his bearded chin and said, I think he would be very proud. He loved to
watch us do things, be involved as a supporter. But more than that, I think if he were
around today, he would be pushing Brad and me to take this farther than we have. I can
see him finding a way to buy the biggest, best transporter for the team and make it to
every event. This was right down his alley.
Similarly, after a moment of reflection, Brad said, If dad were alive today, I think he
would be right in the middle of the racing. He always loved to watch Roger and me
work. He would supply us with parts and tools just so he could watch us put something
together. He would have loved watching us race. I have no doubt that we are what we
are today because of him, and I also believe if he were still here, we would be an even
better team.
Even though their dad is not here physically, he is still here. Every time these bestfriends
brothers mount the ceremonial podium to accept another trophy, they remember
their dad and thank him, for such is the character that Gordon and his wife, Rennie,
imparted to their sons, these wizards of the rocks.
*See the detailed statistics listed on the Lovell website at www.lovellrockracing.com
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