Some time ago, I had a messy job to do, but one that turned out to be more pleasant than I had figured. I had to go through a bunch of old file cabinets, separate the junk from the good stuff and put the good stuff in the shiny new file cabinets.

The banner drops and a herd of Huskys, Bultacos, Triumphs, Beezers and assorted ancient iron head for the smoke bomb.

A few of those old file cabinets had a thick layer of dust on the surface, silent testimony to the fact that they hadn't even been opened in years.

Members of the famed Checkers Motorcycle Club-the winningest club in the history of the desert-blast across a secondary road on a pair of double-knocker 650 Triumphs.

Some things never change In the desert, like the campfire gatherings - the night before the race.

The first few contained nothing exciting, unless you call old manuals for Gileras and Lambrettas pulse-raising material. But the third musty old cabinet held a treasury of photos from decades ago.

Starting line of a decade ago: a pair of Honda Hawks, a Hodie 90 and not one full coverage helmet in sight.

Even the old style fast courses had plenty of rocks to snare the unwary rider. It takes a healthy hit to cave in a steel rim shod with a 4.00x19 Goodyear Grasshopper tire up front. If you didn't have something this stout on your 441 Victor, the thing wouldn't work at high speeds in the soft sand.

I sat down and went through the collection. Gad; There were shots of funny looking movies stars riding Harleys, glossy photos of Royal Enfields. Vincents and other oldies, prints of ancient Hondas with giant humpbacked tanks, grizzled dudes on touring bikes smiling tight-lipped at the camera, 8 x l0s of various step through econo bikes and lo! ... what's this!!! A giant thick section of desert racing shots just bristling with photos of big 650 Triumphs and Grand Old Singles.

Hole shot of a lifetime; while everyone else is still kicking over their machines, a Checker gets off the line early by reading the drop of the banner just right.

I spread the photos out, and nearly did a double-take. A few people walked over and peeked at the photos, and could not hold back the ooooohs and aaaaahs.

The start! Wide open desert in front and a hundred miles to go.

"Hey! Lookee that. It's an old Greeves MX3 Challenger. And right next to it, a 441 BSA Victor!"

Desert riders learn very early not to run into (or over) the deadly Joshua tree. It ranges in size from a basketball-sized unit, to a tree-tall people eater. Here, a rider picks a delicate path between two samples of the spiked greenery.

The legendary Malcolm Smith at work on one of the very early Husqvarnas. Malcolm never rode all that many desert races, but if he finished, he usually won.

"Hooeee!" went another voice, "That old sled must've weighed in at over 400 pounds. You had to be a regular iron - man back in those days just to ride one of those suckers."

"Hit it! That way!" You'd find spectators in the strangest places giving directions as to where the lime marks and ribbon could be found. Often, in an attempt to "smooth" out the course, riders would "lose" the lime.

As it turned out, I spent most of the day sitting back there gazing at those great old photos.

Trail bikers and powder puffers often didn't have enough beans in their under-l00cc bikes to make some of the longer hills. It was no shame to get a tad of help from the checkers at the top of the hill. Nowadays, most trail bikes are strong enough to low-gear-it to the top, no matter how long the hill is.

Yep, those were the days when things were a lot tougher. But they were a lot simpler, too. Nobody thought much about magnesium this, or aluminum that. Just take your old street bike, strip the thing down, put on some wide bars and dirt tires and go racin'.

Al Baker-of Baja fame-was one of the youngest desert winners ever to hit the scene. Eddie Mulder was THE youngest.

Nowadays, the winning desert machines are running 12-plus inches of travel in the rear, a foot up front, have five and six speed gearboxes, and still weigh under 240 full of gas, with tools and spares in place.

Stop check! Here, two riders blitz in for a crayon mark on their helmet cards. Usually, in a normal hundred mile Hare and Hound, the riders had to make a check every 10 to 15 miles. If you showed up at the finish line without the right number (and color) of marks, you got disqualified. Some enterprising riders used to carry their own crayons and felt markers with them, just in case they... ah, got lost.

Back in the old days, a winning desert bike had maybe three inches in the back, four and a half in the front (some of it side to side play), a four speed, street ratio gearbox and weighed in around 395 dry and 435 ready to race.

If you think your present bike doesn't handle downhill, try taking one of these old pressed-frame Honda 90s down your least favorite grade.

Trick Triumph: wrap-on fork covers, flat aluminum fender and Bates desert bars. If you wonder why you keep seeing so many of those checkered jumpers, it's like we told you: the Checkers M.C. dominated the desert in those days to the point of nausea from everyone else concerned.

Trick, back then, was an overlay sprocket, a padded seat, sidecar springs in the forks and a thick aluminum fork brace.

G-forces at work, as the oldie-Gold Star uses all of its archaic suspension up. They worked exceptionally well in the desert years ago because they were so light compared to the Triumphs: about 340 pounds stripped.

When the rider completed one loop, they'd gas up, get some encouragement from family or friends, then boogie out for another fifty miles of torture. At least that much hasn't changed. Check out the shirt on the little kid: it says, 'MY DADDY RIDES A BSA." When have you seen one of those lately in the pits?

The days of the great desert sleds are long gone, but even now, when riders see an old fashioned desert 650 on the starting line, they look at it with big eyes and wonderment.

Right around '64-'65, the lightweights started making their permanent dent in the results column. One of the forerunners was the Bultaco Metisse, a bullet, and very light at 220 pounds ready to go. Of course, they were very fragile at that time and didn't have the reliability of the Big Twins. Much scorn was heaped on them by the four stroke riders.

This is what it all boiled down to: the end of the race and a cold beer.

Yes. That's when bikes were made of iron and the riders were, too. So, take a trip back with us and enjoy.

A 750 Norton and a two-digit number plate were signs of a savvy rider back then.

A Shamrock member churns through the Mojave sand on his near-stock Triumph.