For around 10 days each year, motorsport fans descend on Johnson Valley in such numbers that this little corner of the California desert gains its own zip code. Its residents set up camp in roughshod campers and tents, build enclaves with names like Lasertown or Hammertown, and traverse the sand behind the wheel of their ATVs, UTVs, and stunning off-road builds. This is King of the Hammers, a racing event that challenges its competitors to battle wide swaths of sand, desert scrub, and intimidating rocky obstacles to the delight of the hardcore fans that turn up each year.
Full disclosure: Can-Am invited me to King of the Hammers for the UTV Off-Road race; it flew me out, put me up for a few nights, and drove me off to the course.
As we neared Johnson Valley, you could see it: A plume of dust lingering over the 80,000-odd fans who had gathered for the event. The racing hadn’t started yet, but for those assembled, the day had already begun. Thousands of people were already wide awake and staking their claim at iconic obstacles like Chocolate Thunder or Turkey Claw. As I followed the Can-Am crew to the garages and the start line, I could hear countless people strategizing: They’d watch the first few UTVs fly off the start line. Then they’d hop into whatever off-road rig they’ve brought with them and check out one or two obstacles; hopefully, they’d arrive with plenty of time to see the leaders fly through.
I’ve been to plenty of racing events in my day, but I don’t think I’ve ever attended anything quite like King of the Hammers. When I hear the words “desert race,” I imagine an event that I can’t quite access — not in the way I’m used to. I imagine one or two access points where I can watch the race. If I were to chase the cars, I imagine that it would just be me out there, alone in the desert with whatever supplies I thought to bring. I imagine a frankly solitary endeavor.
And I think that’s what most blew me away about King of the Hammers: No matter where Can-Am shuttled me to watch the event, I felt like I was standing next to a more standard race course. There were coffee vendors and food trucks slinging breakfast. There were groups of people who had staked their claim on this particular section of course, prepared to catch the best possible view. There were massive screens and public address systems, so you could easily follow along with the action well before the cars even came close. And everywhere you looked, you could spot some of the most ridiculous custom-built off-road rigs imaginable. It was humbling and fascinating and perplexing — and before we’d even watched a car careen through tour second obstacle of the day, I already knew that this was an event I’d need to experience in full.
It was at Chocolate Thunder, though, that I truly came to understand the beautiful chaos of this event. The King of the Hammers course changes every year, and for 2024, the UTVs would climb up this obstacle — a rocky channel carved into the side of a mountain — rather than descend it. We arrived early enough that I was able to scale some boulders to secure an unimpeded view.
It was here that the true nature of the event hit home. The undisputed leader of the Can-Am UTV Championship for the duration of the race had been Kyle Chaney behind the wheel of a Can-Am Maverick R; he’d established a multi-minute lead over the competition from the very start and had even managed to change a flat tire so quickly that he hadn’t lost any significant amount of time. As we watched him carve through the sand on the run-up to Chocolate Thunder, he looked unstoppable — and he was. Chaney carved his way up the obstacle like it was nothing.
Several minutes later, Chaney’s competition cruised in: C. J. Greaves, Philip Blurton, and Brock Heger. Each racer attempted to ascend Chocolate Thunder, and each failed. They lost multiple minutes trying to winch themselves out of trouble — all while Chaney continued flying through the course.
It was by no means smooth sailing to the end for the undisputed leader of the event; Chaney blew another tire and opted against replacing it, meaning his pace to the finish was hindered. On top of that, he’d racked up a ton of penalties; when he crossed the finish line, it took several tense minutes before the officials could tabulate the penalties of the competition and ultimately rule Chaney the victor.
As I headed off after the podium ceremony, I was actually quite sad. I felt as if I’d just stumbled across a motherlode and instead of staying to mine all that gold, I had to pack up and leave knowing there was so much left for me to discover. All day long, I’d heard tales of wild parties studding the obstacles I’d just watched UTVs conquer. I’d heard about of camaraderie I’ve never really experienced at an event before. I felt like I was about to walk away before I’d actually absorbed the full experience.
Well, I told myself; I’ll just have to come back next year to the full taste.