Deservability
Do you deserve to win?
To my mind, winning in motocross is impossible if you feel you don't deserve it. Every racer wants to be a motocross champion like James Stewart and receive all the benefits of winning: millions of dollars, the adoration of thousands and thousands of people, a private track behind your own mansion, and the rush of winning.
But exciting as this possibility is, 99.9% of us fall short. Why? One reason, I believe, is that we self-sabotage because we feel we don't really deserve it. We put riders like James on a high pedestal, convincing ourselves that "I could never do that." This is a way of taking pressure and responsibility off ourselves to do what it takes and attain what he has. But there are ways to change your mental outlook to combat this syndrome, and unlock that inner potential you know you have. It may be a challenge, but what would motocross be without challenges?
What if we could cast off the chains of non-deservability? Most of us know what it takes to be good in motocross: excellent physical conditioning, top-notch riding skills, good equipment, and courage. But so few of us get out there and pursue these things to the degree it takes to succeed. We get sidetracked and give up so easily. We tell ourselves we are too slow, too out of shape, too old, too fearful, or too lazy. Or we say "I'll do it tomorrow."
One reason for this self-sabotage is that we fear success.
Stated in a more concrete way, here are some of the other things we might fear:
1. Fear of responsibility (responsibility to train, practice and make motocross a priority)
2. Fear of criticism (despite his success, nobody seems to get more criticism than James).
3. Fear of expectations (do it once, and people will expect it again and again).
4. Fear of failure (we might let ourselves and others down).
So we see that knowing what to do is relatively easy-and actually doing it is a million times harder. It makes mediocrity an attractive and easy goal. That's why most people in the world dream and fantasize about achieving success but don't actually attempt it, because there is no work, risk, accountability or responsibility in fantasizing.
Here are a few things that can help you overcome this cycle of failure and shame:
1. Focus on what you could be, not what you were: How fast could you go on the track if you were looking behind you the whole time? The past is done and cannot be changed by any person. If you think about it, the past is an illusion. You can't touch it, see it, buy it, sell it, or trade it. It's really just memories and thus, electrical impulses in your brain with no essential reality.
Yet what has happened in the past can dominate our thoughts, and this is especially true when it comes to motocross (the pain of losing and/or crashing). Meditation is great for confronting the past, forgiving yourself, and moving on. Every black cloud has a silver lining. And the nice thing is-the future is always perfect. The past-- not so much. Which do you choose?
2. Don't listen to the critics: Other people are always more than happy to point out flaws they perceive in you, offer their opinion of what you are doing wrong, or tell you why you can't win or succeed. It's pretty obvious that people do this because they don't feel that they themselves deserve to win, so why should you? Don't listen to them and don't get angry. There will always be somebody to criticize you, no matter how good you are. Just ask James, Ricky Carmichael or Travis Pastrana. Do you think they listened to the haters? Don't be arrogant about it-- just realize you are above it. If you meet your goals, you will prove them wrong, not by shouting them down or fighting them. If you notice, most successful people offer encouragement to those they encounter, not discouragement. That is because they are speaking from a position of power of success, rather than the disappointment of failure.
3. The cycle of Blame and Shame: This is a heavy one. We all have regrets and feelings of inadequacy about certain things we have done, or not done. This is about the self-sabotage I mentioned earlier. We might as well go eat that crappy food, spend our money on beer, pull off the track instead of practicing, and back off the throttle over the big jump. We aren't going to win anyway. The problem is the shame feeds the self-sabotage which feeds the lack of results, which feeds the shame again. That doesn't sound near as fun as the mansion and the private track, does it? Until you clean out the shame from your mind, you will be unable to commit and move forward.
4. One day at a time: Don't tell yourself that tomorrow you will start lifting weights every day, never eat another cheeseburger, or turn your life into a regimen of training. Give yourself a small goal (like going to the gym once) and go from there. Realize that eventually you want to change the bad habits and remove the negative programming, but that gives you room to grow. Keep it fun, because in the end, fun is what we are here for. You have to build it like a house-- foundation first-- and start at the beginning. As the Chinese say "the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Get your mind right first, and the rest will follow. This is a journey we are all taking, and like hiking a trail, we are all in a different place. And no matter what, we all walk the trail-- so why not make the most of it?
In motocross, there can only be one winner. That's what makes motocross different than a team sport. And that is what makes it great. No matter the end result, it's better to look back with pride that you tried, instead of the blame of shame.
And you never know-you might just unlock your inner potential and wake up one day in that mansion, ready to ride that private track.
* * *
Tossing and Turning at Budds Creek
The Hangover MX 2005
Tossing and turning…Waldorf Econo Lodge.
Why is it always so difficult to sleep on the night before a race? It always happens. It's the combination of nerves and adrenaline. It's the knowledge that anything can happen on raceday. It would be great to get some sleep before my race tomorrow.
I run through the mental inventory as I lie in the darkness at the Econo Lodge a few miles from Budds Creek.:
"Did I prepare enough? Is my bike and gear ready? What time is practice?"
The list goes on…"AMA card? Check. District Card? Check Gas and oil? Check. Did I check tire pressure? Yes. Tranny oil? Yup. Tear-offs? I'll borrow some from Don.
"Lubed the chain? Yes. Air filter clean? Well…it'll make it through tomorrow."
Food for raceday? Oh crap…"
This type of stuff can eventually get to you. You end up getting the least sleep when you need it most- the night before you race. So I was chagrined as I squinted at the alarm clock at 1:00 a.m. and counted the hours I had until my 6 a.m. wake-up call.
It was Jan. 2, and I was here to race the Hangover Motocross.
My inner voice pipes up at times of fatigue, like now: "If I get to sleep now, that's about five hours. Just enough to scrape through. I can always nap between motos."
This time I had actually planned things out beforehand. I got to bed at a decent hour after a dinner of hot and spicy Chinese noodles. (That actually turned out to be a bad plan too). Maybe I was too jacked up from the six and-a-half hour drive up Interstate 95, but I couldn't sleep.
Not even an hour straight of Psychic Detectives on the cheapo Econo Lodge TV could put me in la-la land. So after a big sigh and flop, and a re-arrangement of the covers I was staring at the wall again.
2:15 blinked the red eyes of the alarm clock to the dark and silent room. The room was so tranquil in contrast to the pack of screaming motorized beasts and dirt shower I would face in a few hours.
Feverish visions in the night…of past Budds Creek first turns hit my brain. I can practically smell the exhaust and blink the dirt from my eyes as I stare into the darkness of the Econo Lodge room.
Sometimes when I lie awake the night before a race, the ironies of years past pass before my eyes. Like that day back in 1980 when I pushed my yellow RM80 up to the start line at my first race ever, a thousand miles away from Waldorf. Here I was back on a Suzuki. Here I was back at Budds Creek,
Past races at Budds flashed through my mind…first turns, jumps, passes and crashes. "Race fans, hott roddders!!!!" The imaginary cheesy radio announcer's voice danced in my skull.
Of course, the worst-case scenarios enter your mind at these times. The bad memories…hitting the dirt.
I shake my head and the visions slide away into the fog of my mind… I toss and turn some more in my institutional Econo Bed. My carefully-packed gear bag sits nearby in the soft glow of a standard-issue Econo Lamp. It's dark outside, as it will be when I wake up in a few hours to go race.
Morning dirt
There is nothing like morning practice at Budds Creek. The early morning fog rising from the perfectly-groomed track. The cold chill of the Maryland woods in January. The dirt…the earthy smell…the history of Budds Creek. The anxious and expectant faces of my fellow racers at sign-up. Hot chocolate bought from a sleepy-looking teenybopper girl at the concession stand in a Fox Racing sweatshirt.
At the Hangover MX the dirt was perfect at Budds Creek. There was also a palatable good mood in the air. The post-holiday mood and the feeling of shared luckiness for being able to roost in January were abundant. People were on new bikes and talking and laughing in the pits- like every Budds Creek race. There was a minimum of fuss and lots of great racing.
The fast guys
Shenandoah Honda rider Tom Welch was his usual fast self, but same some challenges from ultra fast Yamaha rider Dallas Lusk. Maybe it's his famous last name, but this guy was riding hard and not giving up. Welch has forged a super fast, no-frills style to get around the Budds Creek track. Smooth is a word that comes to mind.
In my own first moto, Vet C, I got a decent start and held my position to finish third. I was pretty happy with that. In the second moto I experienced a bizarre phenomenon. In the first turn I got roosted so hard my goggles filled with dirt. Henceforth on every jump throughout the race I had dirt bouncing around in my goggles and flying into my eyes as I launched. It was distracting and I had to blink out the dirt. The roost had also blasted off a little chip of paint from my goggles, stinging my eyes the whole moto with what I would later identify as a small flake of metalflake blue paint sitting on my eyeball.
I ended up in third place in moto two when two guys took each other out. Third overall was decent considering the vision problems.
All in all, the Hangover race was a typical Budds event: great racing, an incredible track, and a top-notch crew for announcing (Mike MacMillan), track preparation, sign-up, and even concessions.
Don't miss Budds Creek this year, because it's never been better.
Just let me know, and I'll meet you there. Well rested of course.
* * *
The best race of my life started miserably.
I was on a borrowed bike (Misfit's YZF250) and wasn't used to it. So when I went to launch up the start hill at Mountaineer with 16 other Vet Intermediate riders, the motor bogged.
Not only did I not launch, it wasn't even close. The bike was emitting a putrid, mournful moan from the engine that took me a couple seconds to distinguish from the pack of bikes screaming off the start line.
Realizing the problem, I clicked down two gears and took off up the hill, chasing the pack that was already gone and around the first turn.
I was a little ticked off. I hate stupid mistakes like that. A good start is hard enough to get without screwing it up by starting in third gear!
In the hustle of getting to the line, getting goggles adjusted, checking my gas valve six times to make sure it was on, scoping out the starter, and getting the bike in gear, I had clicked one or two gears up too high.
I had one advantage over the pack on this burning hot and dusty day at Mountaineer- I knew the track. I had spent afternoon after afternoon here hitting the corners, jumps and ruts, and I had my lines worked out. I hit the back of the pack and starting making passes. Thanks to the generosity of the Mountaineer track owners and my awesome friend Chris Snider, I had gotten a lot of time on this track since Misfit and I pulled off the Interstate here two years before. I could see Chris walking around the track too.
Halfway through the third lap I was cutting past some guys in the S turns. I was just riding and making passes, and none of the other riders seemed all that confident. Down through the S's, and up the hill, and over the double, and I was in fifth place. Then I dug in to make a charge and see how many of these dudes I could pass.
The laps went by in a blur. I just wanted to make it to the front. After we jetted up over the step up jump and then the twin double jumps to take us along the woods, I came skidding into a hairpin and noticed there were only two guys in front of me.
After we blew over the tabletop, down the steep hill to the "downside" part of the track, and hit the doubles, I was in second.
Coming
into the S's I knew I had this guy on the Kawasaki that had been leading
the race. But now I had come out of nowhere and was on his back fender.
He was riding a little stiff and I knew he was wondering where this
bike had come from behind him. (Anytime someone catches you from far
behind on the track, you figure they are going to pass you, just like
that car on the freeway. How often does someone come up from behind
on the freeway and not pass you?)
The weird thing was how easy it seemed to cut past him and take the lead. It was like I could finally breathe easy.
Up the hill and around the start, I gave a quick look over to Misfit, who was sitting up on top of the Caterpillar filming the whole deal.
This whole race felt kind of absurd. What had happened? How could I go from last place to first in two laps in a new, faster class, on a borrowed bike and not even feeling well?…I got inspired and gave old Misfit a point with my non-throttle hand as I burned out of a corner.
Trust me, pointing at the people on the side of the track is not something I have ever done. I was winning, and it was pretty amazing.
What's more, is this race was five laps on the arm-sapping Mountaineer course. Usually after four I am starting to feel it in my arms, legs, and lungs. But as the laps ticked away I just kept a consistent speed.
I won.
When in most other races I had struggled… Life is a strange thing. And I like it…
* * *
Through the
fog to Budds
Budds Creek: 9/09/06
3:45 a.m- Wakeup time Sunday morning (raceday),
The alarm pierces my brain through the darkness of sleep. For a second I collect my senses as to what’s going on- I’ve only been asleep two hours, after spending all day Friday getting my bike ready for the Fall Pro-AM at Budds Creek. This is a two day race that I have planned for weeks. In fact, Don Smith (the Moto Misfit) and myself have been talking up this race for awhile. He had changed up his training to get ready, and I had been getting time on my bike at Mountaineer to try and prepare (we both race the amateur vet class).
The weather is changing and getting cooler, and the fall race season is here.
4:40 a.m.
I dash out of the house in the early morning blackness and throw some clothes in my truck, which is already packed with my RM250, tons of gear, oil, gas, and all the supplies. I spent a full day packing gear and equipment for the race, and only about five minutes packing the clothes and stuff I will need. This might explain my fashion sense that gets displayed at the track!
I burst out of town on through the pastoral farmland of Route 33 out of Harrisonburg, Va. This takes me over the great ? mountains, and soon the road gets steep and twisty. These are serious mountain roads, and the fog is incredibly thick, hindering my speed. I begin my three hour journey barely able to see the road, as a mask of impenetrable fog wraps around my hood. It is a tad stressful trying to make time driving through pea soup on steep mountain roads in the dark. I can’t see a thing.
Some lunatic comes up on my rear bumper
through the mist, and passes through the muck. Just as he pulls out
into the left lane, headlights appear coming from the other way. He
sweeps past my front bumper, with a few feet to spare. I flash my
lights, angry that some idiot will risk all our lives to get where
he is going two minutes earlier. Psycho.
I take a breath and remember to stay relaxed. Let the stress drip
away and keep the mind clear and focused on the tasks at hand.
Outside my window the mountains are dark blue against the lighter blue sky. It’s a cool crisp morning, somewhere between summer and fall. The mountains are incredible, and I reminded that life is risky even without motocross. Some idiot can kill you any day with stupid driving.
So you gotta do what you love while you are here…
6:00 a.m.
The phone rings and I fumble for it while driving- it’s Misfit. “The McDonalds near the track is closed, so don’t try and get breakfast there.” One thing about Misfit is he likes to look out for people. He knows that I tend to plan things like breakfast at the last minute.
I know, I know, it’s unhealthy food, but how can you beat a breakfast stop that provides a hot sandwich and coffee at six in the morning, in the time it takes to sit through your average traffic light? Seeing a well-lit McDonald’s that doesn’t look to busy, I whip off Route 29. The drive-thru equals utter convenience when you are getting to the track.
It was still dark, but the fog had lifted. I was making better time through the mountainous woods of Virginia and into Maryland. Eventually the sky begins to lighten and more cars appear on the road. I press the gas and keep going, the coffee and food stirring the blood in my veins.
7:45 a.m.
I stand in line at the window at the Budds Creek sign in. Practice was due to start at 8, and as usual I had cut things a little close. I still had to unload my bike, get dressed, and get ready to hit the track in 15 minutes time.
I see Budds Creek owner John Beasley briefly while standing on line, and I congratulate on some amazing news. Budds Creek will be the site for the 2007 Motocross Des Nations. This once a year race brings together the biggest factory teams in the world…it’s big, real big.
“I’m excited,” says Jon.
He means it. The motocross is a lifelong dream for Beasley, who has
always held international GP motocross as equal to US motocross. We
commend that. I sign up for Vet C and walk back to the track, trying
to think of ways to mess with Don and pass the time.
8 a.m.: Practice has been rescheduled to 8:30, so I have some extra
time. Don is helping me with some odd and end bolts on my bike. I
had been doing some work to my bike recently, like replacing some
parts lost from a recent crash. (This would turn out to have more
significance during the race day).
8:30 a.m.
I head to the track and join in a huge pack of bikes, in bunches we get the wave out from a track worker, and roost into fresh Budds Creek dirt. I crack the throttle as the RM’s engine sings and the back tire digs in. In motocross, you do a lot of preparing, so being able to finally unleash the bike on the track helps calm the nerves.
The bike is fast, pulling wheelies up the steep hills, and feeling well-balanced underneath me as I launch off the big dropaway jumps at Budds.
It feels sandy underneath my tires, the
hills are huge, and I can smell the earth. Dirt and rocks get thrown
against my goggles and facemask with regularity. It’s amazing
the roost thrown up by a 450 back tire. Welcome to Budds Creek. This
is the best wake up call in the world, my friend. There is nothing
like roosting Budds Creak loam on a crisp fall morning. The bikes
seem to run great in cool morning air, and it’s an awesome way
to start a Sunday.
9:00 a.m.: I sit in my lawn chair and try to relax. There are always
some butterflies on race morning. But my bike is ready, I am ready,
and all that’s left to do is ride.
9:14 a.m.: to 4 p.m.: I wait to race. My race was last on the schedule,
so I had 17 motos to wait through until our turn to race. Misfit and
I broke out the cameras shot a lot of good footage you can see at
www.motoeastmag.com, like the 250F pro motos.
I checked out some awesome racers hitting the Budds Creek jumps with amazing aggression and skill: Zach Miller, Steven Stella, Randall Everett, Gregg Duffy, Kyle Keylon, Tom Welch…it’s fun watching these guys duke it out.
4:15 p.m.
Finally it was time to race. I lined up about four inside the starting box, aiming for the first turn. I bogged my motor off the line. By trying not to spin my tire on the concrete starting pad, I had applied the throttle too gingerly and found myself mired mid-pack as we flew down the hill.
Funny enough, Misfit is right in front of me as he was in practice. I make some passes, (sorry Misfit) and am feeling good as I roost the red Budds clay.
The something hateful happens. Halfway around the first lap, my motor dies very suddenly and very completely. I kick it once or twice but it was one of those things where I knew it was not going to start. There was nothing there, including any compression. I could press down the kickstarter easily by hand, the lack of resistance meaning that a piston or ring was likely wasted. Misfit and the rest of the pack ride by, leaving me sitting in silence at the top of a Budds Creek hill. I push my bike off the track.
I sit and watch the pack circle around. I am feeling pissed, tired, and frustrated. All that preparation and hoopla, and I had made it less than half a lap before my bike died. As I waited a few minutes for the ATV that would tow me back to my truck, I cursed my situation for a minute. My bike never, ever breaks down, and after half a lap it just cuts out.
I decide to laugh it off and not get pissed about it. This is racing. Maybe there was a better reason I wasn’t meant to continue farther in this race.
4:25 p.m. I get towed by an ATV back to the truck. Looking my bike over, I notice something funny. The sparkplug has disappeared! The good news is it’s an easy fix, the bad news is that I had suffered a DNF due to a spark plug that backed out and dropped away, sending my bike into silent mode.
I walk back to my chair, sit down, and wait for my next moto. I had waited all day for my first moto (all month, really). I could certainly wait a few more hours for the second one.
7 p.m.: The Sun, which had been quite a burning orb throughout the day, has retreated behind some clouds. It’s hazy, a little cooler, and the grass and trees of Budds look as fresh as ever.
It’s late in the day and I take to the track for moto two. The track is filled with big, sandy bumps that pound my body and sap the strength from my arms and legs. I try to ride consistent but struggled, and finished around 10th I think.
9 p.m. After catching up with some friends I haven’t seen in awhile, I go to Safeway and buy some sushi, a six-pack of beer, and some water. It is definitely time to chill.
11 p.m. Plug in the camera at the Bell Alton, start downloading. Eyes are burning a little, and I am feeling tired.
There’s not much TV I can take. After watching Up a Creek, I settle for storm stories on the weather channel. Love the weather channel!
11:59 a.m.: I’ve had two hours sleep in the last two days, so I jump from the desk chair to the bed. Redskins Report blares on the TV, and I am not watching. Day One is over. I am so tired I don’t even turn off the light before I am asleep
7:00 a.m. Sunday
Six hours laer the alarm shakes me back awake. It’s time for day two…and practice starts in an hour.
Hope that Micky D’s is open!
* * *
Summer
2005
Drivin’ all night…to Rolling
Hills, NC
“I've been drivin' all night,
my hand's wet on the wheel
There's a voice in my head that drives my heel
It's my baby callin', says I need you here
And it's half past four and I'm shifting gears”
- from the song “Radar Love” by Golden Earring
The middle of the night, somewhere on I-40…
As I cruised north on Interstate 40 through North Carolina I had to smile as I tapped out the drum solo from “Radar Love” on the steering wheel along with the radio. It was literally “half past four” in the morning and I was literally “shifting gears”.
There are three songs I always seem to hear on the radio as I make the long drives up and down the east coast as I go to races: “Radar Love” by Golden Earring, “Sympathy for the Devil” by The Rolling Stones, and “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin.
Okay, I admit it, the sound system in my truck is lame. There is no cd player, just classic rock radio stations…but I have come to enjoy this. I am becoming reunited with all the songs I heard on the radio in my youth. As a result of constant trips up and down the east coast, I am now intimately familiar with all the radio stations you can pick up driving north from Wilmington. Like ROCK105 in Jacksonville, WRDU in the Raleigh, Durham area of North Carolina and DC101 in Washington DC.
But my destination was different than the distant female lover pursued by the lead singer of Golden Earring in Radar Love. It was another passion I was pursuing on this ribbon of road under the moonlight in the middle of the night- a motocross race. Rolling Hills, NC was my destination, a track well know among the mid-East racing clan.
I had left Wilmington under cover of darkness, late at night. My schedule dictated that I couldn’t leave home until after 1 a.m. That meant I had about eight hours until the start of practice, at Rolling Hills, some 300 miles away. I had just enough time to get to the track by practice if I set a good pace up Interstate 40 past Raleigh and to the track near Greensboro, NC. The drive looked to be about five hours on mapquest.
No sleep till…Rolling Hills
I changed the radio station somewhere around Raleigh and four a.m. It was the Beastie Boys playing:
“No sleep till - Brooklyn !
Foot on the pedal
never ever false metal
Engine running hotter than a boiling kettle
My iob ain't a job
it's a damn good time”
As the miles ticked away and the trees on either side of the road slid past me in the silent darkness, I considered my options. I could get to the track between five and six am and grab a couple hours sleep parked somewhere with my trailer. Or I could pull off at a rest stop and grab a couple hours on the Interstate, an option definitely to choose if I got too tired. But I had to stay on schedule, because time was getting tight.
I pulled off once for some supplies at a latenight Exxon. When I walked up to the building, it was locked. Weird. When I went back to my truck and got in, I saw a guy walk up and unlock the door. After I went back he let me in and I bought some peanut butter and jelly, bread, water, powerbars, and and a cheapo Styrofoam cooler. There were no gas pumps here, and after another stop for gas, time was moving on.
“Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name”
- Sympathy for the Devil, the Rolling Stones
Yup, there it was on the radio as always: “Sympathy for the Devil.”
After passing through the tighter traffic constraints of Raleigh I found myself on open road again. Flipping on the truck’s light I consulted the directions. I considered dropping off at a Waffle House or Denny’s for a real breakfast but was worried I would be late if I stopped and took the time for a sit-down meal. Soon I saw the exit and took it, blowing off my dreams of hot coffee, pancakes, and fine conversation.
A few minutes later I found myself at the Rolling Hills gate. It was about 8 a.m. and I had about an hour to sign up and get ready for practice. No time for sleep. So I would be racing after driving all night. Oh well, all I needed was some water, peanuts and a power bar…and some adrenaline.
After finding a spot in the pits, which
were rapidly filling up, I went down to the sign up building. Grabbing
the forms off the card table outside the place, I walked in the double
doors.
I ended up signing up for the 30+B class (even though I was a C rider)
and 250C
“Hey, number 204!” yelled the girl behind the sign-up booth. “You’re going to have to slash your number.” This meant a strip of duct tape across my number, since my 204 is a Maryland District 7 number, and I was racing North Carolina District 29 number.
When I got back to the truck I realized I had locked the keys inside, but luckily my sliding rear window was open a crack and I was able to get in the truck.
I had to shake my head — such a fine
line between success and disaster. Time to get my head in the game.
My practice was the first of the day, so ten minutes later I found
myself suited up and on my RM250, waiting at the gate to attack the
track. It was moist, like clay, and there were no lines or ruts cut
through it (this would change dramatically as the day wore on). Ironically,
this is the time I start to relax on raceday — when I get on
the bike and start it up. Nothing to worry about now but riding.
I noticed that I would be one of the first few bikes on the track. As we blasted off the start, I expected it would be slick and I was right, as the front end wandered through the slightly mucky dirt while we carved the first lines of the day. It was slippery and very muddy.
I took my time as I made my way around the track and hit some of the first doubles of the day. I felt pretty good. I didn’t really pump up through practice and didn’t get passed, even making a few passes. I had gotten a lot of the jumps down on our first outing to this track back in March.
After I got back to my trailer I walked up to the building again to check out the race order. Turned out my 30+ amateur (30+B) moto was first! I went out still wearing my mismatched practice outfit of red Simpson jersey and yellow pants.
30+ Amateur
On the start I spun really badly and found myself mid-pack through the first turn and over the downhill jump. This jump is a rush when you are flying in a pack of bikes. Around the rutted hairpin we pinned it up the little step up and down to a left hander. I had a clean start and settled in somewhere around 9th place. I could see the leaders pulling away down into the infield and over the big triple.
The competition has been stiff on my visits to Rolling Hills, and I found myself fending off charges from behind as I heard bikes coming up on me. I tried to pass a RM125 going into a small step-up, but the presence of a tree close to the track had me chopping the throttle. A turn later he wrecked right in front of me. I’ll take a pass anyway I can get it.
Then I saw a bunch of yellow flags through
the whoop section. There was a rider down on a Yamaha on the left
side of the track. He was there for a few laps, looked to be hurt
pretty bad.
Later I would learn that the rider was Kevin Walker and he had suffered
a concussion. He was back at the track later that day cheering on
other riders.
I held my position and rode the race okay,
but as I slowed after the checkered flag the heat hit me. My lungs
sucked dry and hot air. My head hurt and my skin screamed. It was
unreasonably hot in the direct sun with no airflow to cool me. I wasn’t
even off the bike before I shed helmet, jersey, chest protector and
gloves. It was hot as Hades on this summer day in North Carolina.
My skin stewed in the heat as I stared at the track for a full five
minutes before getting off my bike. Every stitch of my jersey, pants,
gloves, and socks were soaked with sweat.
250C class
I tried dropping tire pressure on my new tires for the second 250C start but spun again on the concrete. Bummer!
Coming out of the hairpin I shot up the inside line to try and make some passes. Traffic was thick. Suddenly out of the dust I saw a gnarly square edge bump jutting across the track and couldn’t avoid it.
A second before impact I braced with my knees, but tried to relax for the kick I knew was coming. My back end kicked 90 degrees to the right as the bars tried to rip out of my hands and my feet came off the pegs, Somehow I held on and regained control before the step up, fighting to get back in a rhythm. Must have been a shock for the guys right behind me, because trust me…I almost ate it.
30+ B second moto
Found myself running fifth place in the
second moto. The track was now brutally rough. The corners had big
ruts, with rock-hard square edge bumps through them. On the third
lap, coming into a downhill left-hander with a huge rut, I fell. My
back wheel missed the rut, causing my front wheel to slide out. It
took a few angry kicks for my bike to start again. I finished in eighth
place and ended up seventh overall for the day. This was a decent
finish considering it was I was racing faster racers in a new class
race on a new track.
250C
I found myself letting out a whoop of joy as I launched over the first jump in the pack of bikes sailing down the first hill. Sometimes I yell to myself in my helmet. Wakes me up and calms me down. Reminds me I’m here to have fun.
I rode okay in the C class, but got passed
by a few fast guys. I was really impressed by the level of talent
at Rolling Hills. I ended up finishing out of the top ten in C class,
meaning I had finished farther back in C compared to B. Odd to think
B is supposed to be faster than C. Maybe I just got tired.
I’ll admit it, I was dead after every moto on this track in
the burning North Carolina sun. I would come in from a moto, throw
off my gear and start dumping ice water from the cooler on my head.
It was that hot. As rivulets of dirty water ran down my face and my
eyes stung from the sweat, all I could think was “This is a
blast.”
I passed out a bunch of magazines and talked to some people at the track that said nice things about Moto East. It is awesome to watch the awareness of our magazine spread through the east coast racing community. Around 6 p.m. it was time to drive home, and I had not had a wink of sleep since two nights before.
Driving home proved to be a challenge after driving all night and racing all day, with no sleep at all. After 40 miles and some dinner from Subway I was feeling very sleepy. The rhythm of the road would lull me to sleep, until the patches of sky and cloud above the trees would start to morph into faces and scenes from a dream…
“Whoah!” I snapped out of the urge to sleep and gripped the wheel tighter. Time to pull over before I destroyed my rig on the Interstate.
So a couple hours into my trip home, I had a hot and sweaty sleep in the cab of truck parked in a Home Depot parking lot on the side of Interstate 70, in broad daylight. As I stretched across the bench seat and tried to keep the seatbelt bracket from poking my back, a familiar melody came on the radio again and I had to laugh.
There was that song again. With the music
carrying me off to slumber, the words rang in my head:
“The radio's playing some forgotten song
Brenda Lee's "Coming on Strong"
The road's got me hypnotized
And I'm speeding into a new sunrise”
We got a thing that's called radar love
We got a line in the sky
Radar Love…”
See you at the track!
* * *
Alessi
vs. Everett
Mountaineer, 6/14/2006
On a recent Tuesday night, close to midnight, my cell phone rang. On the other end was Don aka “the Moto Misfit.” Since I was just watching a James Bond movie and getting ready to crash out, I decided to answer.
Brzzzkk…crackle….ksszhzhh….our modern communications system had given us the dreaded garbled cell phone conversation. I could barely hear Don’s squawking on the other end of the line.
“Jason”… “go to Mountaineer”…. “8 a.m.”... “Mike Alessi”...”Randall... ”stopwatch”…then a dial tone.
Hmmmm….Don did not answer when I tried to call back. All I could glean from his cryptic message was that Mike Alessi was going to be at Mountaineer the next morning. In typical Misfit style, that is the only information I would hear from him about it.
That sounded really interesting. The current leader of the AMA Pro National Lites class at our hometown track. And it looked like Randall, of Nokesville, Virginia, was going to do some riding with Team Alessi.
You have heard of Mike Alessi, who is currently one of the fastest 250 four-stroke riders in the world, and is decimating the competition in AMA pro motocross. (check your local Outdoor Life Network listing to watch). But you might not have heard of young Randall, who graduated high school the day this video was shot, and will be attempting to qualify for the Lites class at Budds Creek. Best of luck to Randall, a very focused rider who has a bright future in motocross.
I set my alarm, and drifted off the la-la land with visions of Bond girls in my head. When six a.m. rolled around a handful of hours later, I was up and in my truck, coffee in hand. It looked like a perfect morning, so I threw my gear bag and boots in the back. I would end up being glad I did.
At the track
Pulling
into Mountaineer, I could hear a few bikes, and made my way to track’s
edge. Sure enough, the orange #800 KTM of Alessi flew into view, then
Randall on his Honda, track owner Chris Snider on his RC replica RM250,
Brad Presgraves on the YZF250, Kelly Snider (Chris’s son) on
his RM80, Steve Simpson on his Yamaha Thumper, and a few other fast
guys. The track looked perfect and everybody was ripping it up. Notably
absent is Mike’s brother Jeff, who is suffering with some foot
injuries and did not come out to Mountaineer.
The Mountaineer crew was hanging out, like
Karla Cain of Mountaineer and Larry Presgraves of Martinsburg Motorsports.
When I walked up, Chris had a big grin…”it’s getting
good out there, dude.”
Then everybody lined up for a “moto” with a real start
off the gate.
Mike holeshot with Randall on his tail, no surprise since they were by far the fastest two out there. You don’t win multiple Loretta Lynn’s championships by being timid, and Mike roosted out front. Funny enough, Randall was holding his own and keeping up for the first few laps. But then Alessi’s rockhard conditioning became apparent and he slowly pulled on Randall. It shows that international-calibre riders such as Mike are incredibly consistent in their speed, and don’t let up at all through the course of a moto. Mike was the winner at the end, with Randall second.
Second Moto
After I warmed up on the track a little bit, I was talking to Chris, and he said to come and line up for the second moto. The Alessis wanted some “traffic” out there to make it seem more like a race.
Right then and there I decided I had to ride. My bike had a problem at the moment, but I knew Misfit’s YZ250F was down in the shed, I had to keep from sprinting down the hill, and glad I had thrown my gear in the truck just in case.
As I pulled my helmet on, I reflected how weird it was to be lining up with Mike Alessi for a motocross “race” on a Tuesday morning when I had not even been planning to ride. Eight hours prior to that, I was watching The Spy Who Loved Me and planning on watching Alessi at Budds Creek this weekend. Now I was lining up with him. That’s what I love about this sport. It’s unpredictable. I knew I was not in the same universe as Mike riding-wise, but it would be run to tear up some dirt with him.
In the end, Mike trounced us all, and I got to follow and watch his lines for a couple corners as he lapped me. With Mike running around a minute, 34 seconds, and my own rather slower rate of two minutes six seconds, Mike and Randall were lapping me every three laps or so.
I noticed Mike picking some really interesting lines at the far inside, and also picking sweeping lines across the track over jumps, kicking his bike to scrub speed. Both he and Randall keep it sideways off the jumps a ton. What amazed me most was Alessi’s cornering speed and momentum, and also his aggression in the whoops and over jumps. This guy has it covered.
So check out the video…and Misfit never did show up. But he let me ride his bike, so thanks to him and Chris Snider for an awesome summer early morning ride.
* * *