The Seven Stages Of Hare Scrambles

People often ask me what it's like to race hare scrambles.  I always tell them it exactly mirrors the Seven stages of Grief:

1. Shock:  Damn, how did all these other guys get past me?  How are they so fucking fast?

2. Denial:  I am not this slow.  Those fuckers are cheating.  They cut the course.  They have better tires.  Better suspension.  Better lives.

3. Anger:  I fucking hate this shit.  This bike sucks.  Piece of shit.  Waste my damn weekend bouncing off of trees and getting used as a berm by horny, adrenaline addled teenagers.

4. Bargaining:  If I can just pass this guy, I will take it easy for the rest of the race.  I will mow the lawn next weekend, I promise.  One more rear tire to get me through the season.

5. Guilt:  I wish I had loctited those sprocket nuts.  Why did I skip those days at the gym?  I'm sorry I ate the whole pizza.  I'm sorry I just ran you and your shiny KTM over.  I'm sorry I spent my savings on another dirt bike.

6. Depression: So tired and sweaty, just want to die.  This is so hard, whole body hurts.  Too fucking old for this bullshit.  I'm going to crash again, I just know it.  I want my mommy.

7. Acceptance:  I am slow.  I will always be slow.  Dirt bikes hurt.  They will always hurt.  I will do this again as soon as possible.  I will never learn.

Judging by the look of disdain on the face of the young girl in the tye-dyed shirt, she can hear me crying......