Long before skateboarders began appearing in American Express ads, off-road racing was one of California's original extreme sports.

In the vast inland suburbia surrounding L.A., thrill-seeking automotive buffs created a renegade sport that combined two of the area's defining elements: open space and fast vehicles. The region is still off-road racing's premier playground and laboratory, the place where weekend daredevils test the limits of horsepower and hydraulics.

The rides -- and riders -- in off-road racing come in all shapes and sizes, ranging from motorbikes to 600-pound, four-wheel "sand cars" to souped-up versions of everyday trucks. The ultimate dream is to win the Baja 1000, the legendary off-road competition that takes place in Mexico in every November.

Now, however, after an accident killed eight spectators last weekend at an off-road event in the Mojave Desert, this insular world is in turmoil.

The deaths at the California 200 have sparked condemnations from both within and outside the sport, and raised questions about off-road racing's future. Critics are pointing the finger at everyone from the event's promoter to the Bureau of Land Management, which issued the permit for the race, to the actual victims, who were standing inches off the course when an out-of-control truck tumbled into the crowd.

The tragedy has also sparked an internal debate within the off-road world about the atmosphere at popular grassroots events, where there's often a combustible mix of alcohol, young fans and inexperienced drivers.

"This is an accident that's been waiting to happen," says Greg Krasnow, a self-described "gearhead" and president of Checkers Off Road Racing Team, a 35-year-old amateur club based in Burbank, Calif.

Krasnow told FanHouse his club stopped supporting events organized by Mojave Desert Racing (MDR), the promoter of last Saturday night's competition, in part because of concerns over MDR's safety oversight.

The victims, he said, should never have been allowed to get so close to the course, particularly since most of the drivers were "Johnny Lunchbucket guys, entry-level racers," according to Krasnow. "When you're racing one of these off-road cars, you're not really in control, and your job is to keep it from flipping over," he added. "The whole thing doesn't look good at all."

The accident on Saturday night was particularly awful. Nearly all of the victims were young adults under 30, and two of the deceased, Aaron Farkas, 25, and Anthony Sanchez, 23, were friends of Brett Sloppy, the 28-year-old driver who lost control of his Ford Ranger and crashed into the crowd.

Sloppy survived the crash but has not made any public comments aside from a message of sorrow posted on his Facebook page (a separate "Support Brett Soppy" Facebook group already has 415 members). Messages left by FanHouse at the home of Sloppy's parents in San Marcos, Calif., were not returned.

At Off Road Warehouse, an auto parts store in Escondido, Calif., store manager Wally Palmer is still stunned by the accident. Both Sloppy and Farkas, who lived near his store, were regular customers -- Sloppy had, in fact, bought some supplies from Palmer last Friday before the race. He said Farkas was an avid fan who built and raced his own off-road cars.

"I have a part on my will-call shelf for Aaron right now," recalled Palmer, whose stepfather won his vehicle group in the 1979 Baja 1000.

Alexander Neal, a 23-year-old off-road competitor, attended Saturday's race and has driven the course in the past. Moments before the crash, "We were saying these people gotta stand back," said Neal, who is currently the points leader in the 1600-class truck division of Mojave Off-Road Racing Enthusiasts (M.O.R.E.), a circuit that's a step above MDR is the minor leagues of off-road racing. Given his experience, Neal and his friends parked about 75 feet off the course and watched the action from a distance.

" It was just chaotic. Honestly, I wish I didn't attend because I will never get those sights out of my head, trying to help people get out from dead bodies."
-- Alexander Neal, 23, who attended the race After Sloppy's truck flipped into the crowd, "it was just chaotic," Neal told FanHouse. "Honestly I wish I didn't attend because I will never get those sights out of my head, trying to help people get out from dead bodies."

For decades, the soul of off-road racing has been nourished at local events like last Saturday's competition, where families can camp out, show off their wheels and watch (or enter) races for next to nothing. With names like the "The Balls Out 250" in Barstow, Caif., and "The Rage at the River" in Laughlin, Nev., these desert rendezvous typically feature plenty of booze, gas fumes and the occasional confederate flag. They are also are the lifeblood of a $750 million industry that includes mom-and-pop auto shops, video games and national TV contracts with NBC and CBS.

The sport's biggest star, motocross and rally car champion Travis Pastrana, has become the 21st century's Evel Knievel through his series of high-profile driving stunts. (Last New Year's Eve, in an ESPN special sponsored by energy-drink giant Red Bull, Pastrana propelled his car more than 250 feet through the air, jumping from a pier onto a barge in the Long Beach, Calif., harbor.)

But off-road racing remains a largely amateur -- and un-lucrative -- pastime. It also retains a healthy amount of the outlaw, do-it-yourself spirit that has defined the scene since its inception. Off-road racing has no central sanctioning body or trade organization, multiple racing circuits have debuted and collapsed and competition rules often vary from state to state.

MDR, which has been organizing off-road events since 1997, did not return phone calls from FanHouse and has not made its executives available to the media. The South El Monte, Calif.-based company has put two press releases on its website since the accident, including a short condolence note posted Tuesday.

"MDR wishes to emphasize again that we were shocked and saddened by the tragedy at our race in Johnson Valley," the note read. "We grieve over the fact that those who perished or were injured were part of our off-road community and family. A number of the victims were our friends and we all feel a great loss."

The Bureau of Land Management, which oversees many of the barren, federally-owned territories where off-road events take place, said it is launching an "official national review" of its safety requirements. The BLM issued 103 "special recreation" permits for motorsports events last year, and that number is estimated to be roughly the same in 2010.

The BLM permit issued to MDR for last weekend was for an event of 200-300 spectators and required vehicles to slow down to 15 MPH when they came within 50 feet of fans.

But as fan accounts and video footage from the event show, far more than 300 fans came to the event, and a throng of attendees lined the "rock pile" section of the 50-mile course, where vehicles often launch in the air -- and where spectators have long congregated to get a better look. There were no visible guard rails or fences to keep fans at a distance, and few -- if any -- MDR employees or volunteers in the area to rein in the crowd, according to several fans in attendance.

Last weekend's accident occurred at a particularly sensitive time, with several longstanding off-road events scheduled over the next month. Among them: a 500-mile, Vegas-to-Reno competition that's scheduled to begin Friday and include about 1,000 racers from 250 teams, as well as another MDR event on Sept. 25, the Lucerne 250, slated to take place at the Johnson Valley Off-Highway Vehicle Area, close to the site of last weekend's accident.

BLM officials told the Los Angeles Times that the bureau is unlikely to pull the permits for either event. Casey Folks, president of Best in the Desert, the Nevada-based organizer of the Vegas-Reno race, said the accident will be "a rude awakening" for racing organizations that have been too lax on safety.

His circuit, which organizes nine races a year and is considered the second-highest rung of off-road racing, has regulations that require fans to stay in designated areas on the course. The organization also has introduced strict speed and passing rules for drivers in areas near spectators. "We have a controlled atmosphere," said Folks. "I don't know how much more we could [be] doing."

Jim Clements, president of M.O.R.E, told FanHouse that BLM permits are now "on hold" for two of his circuit's upcoming events: a Sept. 11 competition in Lucerne, Calif., as well as an October charitable event in Barstow. The charity function is an all-female race that raises money for cancer research at Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles, and over the last four years, M.O.R.E. has donated $360,000 to the hospital through donations from the event, according to Clements.

For this year's event, "our goal is to raise $200,000, which I believe we will make if it is allowed to go on," he wrote in an e-mail.

Other racing organizations are nervous about potential backlash in the aftermath of last weekend's tragedy. One veteran executive at a prominent off-road racing circuit, who declined to be identified, said pressure to shut down races after last week's accident could permanently cripple the sport.

"You close one race down, it's outta control," he said, rolling off a list of prominent automotive companies -- including BF Goodrich, Yamaha, Suzuki and auto parts chains such as Kartek and McKenzie's -- that would be affected. "All of a sudden, they're not going to have an industry."