A large dust cloud hovers over the otherwise clear Johnson Valley in Southern California.
Just past the town of Lucerne Valley, a plot of public land is filled with all manner of off-road vehicles: dirt bikes, first-gen Toyota trucks with welded roll cages, brand-new Broncos , tiny four-wheelers piloted by children, and UTVs.
RV campsites sprawl into the desert on either side, a temporary structure houses a bar and restaurant, and the road ends at a vendor village that could rival a small county fair.
As King of the Hammers enters its third decade, it’s clear how far off-roading has come from the days of “shit-box” trucks covered in dents and stickers to logo-emblazoned purpose-built rigs easily costing into the hundreds of thousands.
Ultra4 races occur internationally, and the off-road vehicle market is valued at more than $22 billion, according to Grand View Research.
Beyond the sponsor banners and factory-backed rigs, many vehicles double as political statements.
They have custom vinyl wraps, antenna-mounted flags, and stickered tailgates.
While the Stars and Stripes are displayed most prominently, Gadsden flags are common; “1776,” “We the People,” and Second Amendment slogans also appear regularly.
Trump flags are present, though far fewer than one might expect given the setting.
One says “Guns, Beer, Titties, Freedom.” The personalization of vehicles points to a recurring theme—a preoccupation with autonomy—set against one of the largest open off-highway vehicle areas in the country.
King of the Hammers isn't just about who crosses the finish line first, it's about a community that returns each winter to break things, fix them, and break them again.
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Source: This article was originally published by Wired
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