Imagine if you will, a rider crashing on the first lap of an AMA national and getting up in dead last, then proceeding to pick himself and his motorcycle off the deck and charging all the way through the field to take victory. Now picture this race being held at the rider’s home track and the standing-room only, partisan crowd going nuts, surrounding their hero on the podium, glowing in admiration after the race in one of the most emotional scenes in AMA Grand National history. Go even further and imagine that this was this rider’s first and only national victory.

Too good to be a true you say?

Tell that to Brad Hurst who did exactly what is described above on a magical night at the Castle Rock TT, in Castle Rock, Washington, on July 7, 1979. Or tell it to the 20,000 fans, who, to this day, brag about the night their local hero crashed, picked his bike up off the dirt, and put on perhaps the most dramatic come-from-behind charges in the annals of AMA Grand National racing. Tell it to racing legend Corky Keener who called Hurst’s performance the best ride he’d ever witnessed.

In the Pacific Northwest Hurst’s Castle Rock win is still talked about in almost a reverent manner. Way up in the far reaches of America, the riders in the Pacific Northwest always felt isolated from the rest of the country. The expense of travel from their home made in prohibitive for many of the region’s best riders to try to make a full-time go of it on the national circuit. In spite of the lack of national recognition, the region was still a hotbed of racing, especially in that odd little stepchild of Grand National racing – the TT Steeplechase.

The TT specialists from Washington, Oregon and Northern California were legendary. Riders like Sonny Burres, Chuck Joyner, Randy Skiver, Mickey Fay and Andy Tresser. None of these guys would be considered a major threat on a mile or even a half-mile track, but put them on a TT with its single right-hand turn and even the top factory riders would have trouble keeping pace with the boys from the upper left coast.

Hurst might have been just another Grand National one-hit wonder had it not been for the dramatic, some would say nearly impossible, way he won Castle Rock in ’79.

Brad Hurst came up through the ranks in the normal fashion. Growing up in Eugene, Oregon, he started riding motocross in the early 1970s before racing a flat track event for fun and getting hooked. He became a regional champion as a novice and junior then turned expert in 1978. A sign of just how talented Hurst was came in his rookie expert year in one of his first nationals. He earned a podium finish in the 1978 Castle Rock TT. Most of his racing that year was confined to local regional races.

By 1979 Hurst was totally dialed and nearly unbeatable in regional races in the Northwest. During that season he went on an unbelievable hot streak, winning 32 of 37 regional races. By July of that summer Hurst was brimming with confidence and eager to take on the national stars at the popular Castle Rock event.

Hurst raced a Triumph 750 Bonneville and just happened to have one of the best Triumph tuners in the world in his camp in Jim Messler. Messler built a speedy and reliable motor for Hurst. He totally rebuilt the Triumph’s motor every two weeks and one of the big handling secrets Messler found in testing was using a soft compound Goodyear tire at Castle Rock instead of the normal Carlisle or Pirelli most used.

The Triumph featured a Panther frame that had a strange lower brace on the swingarm that no one could quite figure out. The bike also ran dual disc brakes up front. “It had more braking power than I would ever need,” Hurst admitted. “But the dual disc sure did look neat.”

That night at Castle Rock things came together for Hurst just like he’d planned. He was the fastest qualifier, ran away with his heat race and started from the pole.

Tension was high under the lights that Saturday night as the rowdy Castle Rock crowd came to its feet as the green flag kicked off the 25-lap national. No sooner had the pack entered the first turn when there was trouble. Hurst put his foot down to lean into the turn and it was run over. The next thing he knew he was laying on the ground wondering what the heck had happened (in all these years he never found out who it was that ran over his foot). The perfect night had turned into a nightmare for Hurst.

“I remember thinking, ‘Why did this have to happen to me?’” Hurst said. “I said a few choice words under my helmet, picked up my bike and got going again. Then it came to me, that even though I was way back in last place, I had plenty of time. The race wasn’t over yet.”

The fans groaned that one of their local heroes was out of the hunt practically before the race started. Their attention turned to the battle up front between Steve Eklund (who would eventually win the championship that year), another local up-and-comer Mickey Fay, and Randy Goss.

A couple of laps into the race a few of the more astute fans began to notice the No. 51 Triumph coming from behind and closing fast on the rest of the pack. Soon Hurst was passing two and three riders at a time.

“I was hooked up and in a total zone,” he said. “I’d come up on other riders and just pass them. I didn’t care where I did it. I must have looked like I was riding possessed or something.”

Soon the announcer noticed and started calling Hurst’s charge. About halfway through the race Hurst had already passed all but the top three and he was closing on them too. Fans began to stand up, cheering the 20-year-old local boy on. Then he caught and made a spectacular pass on Goss, then Fay and finally only Eklund loomed in front of him.

“I remember hearing the crowd roar, even over the sound of the bikes,” said Hurst, who still gets goose bumps thinking about it. “I didn’t know what was going on. I thought maybe there was a crash, or a good battle with the leaders. The whole time I was passing all the other riders I knew I was getting up there, but I had no idea I was battling for the lead.”

And then it happened. The floodgates opened. The Castle Rock faithful were going nuts, jumping up and down and waving there arms in encouragement. Hurst made the pass on Eklund in Castle Rock’s dogleg turn, feet up on the pegs, fully leaned over, tapped out in third gear.

It was a thing of beauty.

Hurst had gone from last to first in a hectic, chaotic dash. Six laps later the checkered flag came out. Hurst still either didn’t know, or didn’t want to acknowledge quite yet what had happened. He pulled up to his mechanic, eyes wide, fans waving tee-shirts, towels, whatever they had in seeming slow motion the background.

“Who won it,” Hurst asked Messler. “He said, ‘Get up there and take the checkered flag.’”

Hurst took his victory lap in disbelief. He’d just won his first national, and man what a way to win. Fans gathered around the podium and the party started. “We went into the wee hours,” Hurst admits all these years later.

No one knew it at the time, but Hurst’s victory was not only one of the all-time great comebacks in AMA racing history, it also marked an end of an era. Ten months later the classic old Castle Rock circuit was buried under six feet of volcanic deposits when nearby Mount St. Helens erupted. The track was later rebuilt, but by then TT was changing. The big twins that were so awesome to watch being manhandled on the twisty courses, were being supplanted by more nimble single-cylinder race bikes.

Hurst gave his best in the ’79 Grand National campaign, but at the end of the season was ranked 19th in what was then called the Winston Pro Series. Soon he would give up racing motorcycles to take over a large sporting goods store in Alaska. As of a few years ago Hurst was back in the Eugene area working for Pepsi and racing go-karts with his son.

Hurst and his fans will never forget that magical and glorious July night at Castle Rock when the local hero made them proud.