Let It Ride

"I do the work that is in front of me." -Ian MacKaye



The 2018 season draws to a close, with only one race left to contest before the end.  For most this is a break, a rest, a respite.  No more packing up, hauling bikes and gear, schlepping all over the countryside in search of an obscure, seldom found muddy glory.  Many will take stock, reflect and wonder whether to remain in this hardscrabble hare scramble world.  There are certainly more forgiving hobbies, cheaper ones, less painful and difficult.  I'm not immune to that line of thought, comes with getting older I suppose.

 But for those who keep their skin in the game, now is the time to build, train, prepare.  To learn new tricks.  Yes, even this old dog.  The scant four and a half months between races will be gone before you know it.  Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, another birthday will pass like a breath and the faithful will be lined up on a cold, damp March day with guts full of butterflies and fogged goggles, listening to the race marshal bellow, "TEN SECONDS!!!".

Looking around a garage littered with dirt bike parts, engines in need of rebuilding, a bare frame that I shall have barely enough time to turn into a race bike, I wonder what to do.

Moments of overwhelming indecision, then it becomes clear.

I shall do the work in front of me.



     

The Battle Rages On...

September 23, 2018 VCHSS Round #12 Knockdown Hare Scramble, Charlotte Court House, VA


Rain overnight.  Another muddy race.  Another 3rd place.  The season winds down.  Much learned.  Much left to be learned.  The clock is still ticking...

Caveat Emptor Fucked By A Spanish Whore

Found a 2011 Gas Gas EC 300 on Craigslist in NC.  Drove there, looked it over, seemed to run decent, needed a little TLC.  Settled on a price of $2,500.  What could go wrong, right?  Well, for your amusement, I've decided to describe the debacle in pictures and poetry: 

A bit rough, off the cuff, but surely built with the right stuff? Too much? Not enough?

Piston leaves me wishin' I'd have kept fishin'. Rebuild now is the only mission. On my head rain is pissin'.

The head is dead. I see red.  I need gold, but have only lead.

My bore is scored. Oh lord.  How will I afford?

Crankseal doth weep. That ain't cheap.  Bearings too, creak, creak.  Rod probably also weak.

Happy couple or cursed nuptials?  Short honeymoon, 'til the trouble.  Iberian dream now shattered bubble. 

Photo Coyote 2018

August 26, 2018 Rural Retreat, VA

VCHSS Round #10 The Coyote Run

3rd place 40+B

Although these pics make it look like a trail ride, this was one of the most challenging courses I've ridden all year.  Nasty rocky hillclimbs of death followed by treacherous cliff dangling off cambers filled with ruts and roots and a creek run called "The Hero Section".  3rd place.  I'll take it.

(photos courtesy of Mike Jackson)

Mud Puppies of Martinsville, 2nd Best In the Worst

August 12, 2018  Martinsville, VA 1:30 pm


Rain.  It's coming.  It's already started.  The race is about to.  Goggles and tear-offs ruined.  Brain shifts gears.  Prepare for the wet Hell.  Harder now, hurts my eyes.  I think the guy waved the green flag.  Fuck it, go, go.  Start this bitch and take your medicine boy, there's no turning back.

Some shitheel decides he wants to bang bars, bad idea, I'm in no mood for anybody's crap, lean a shoulder into him and he backs down.  The weather and the conditions are the enemy now.  As well as fatigue.  And myself.  It's like riding in peanut butter and chocolate pudding, with about as much traction.  Actual rivers are running down the hill climbs.  I've been here before, two years ago, same location, same conditions.  I know what to expect.  A part of me wants to cry.  This will not be fun.  This is not sanity.  This is destruction.  Physical, spiritual, mental and mechanical.  It gets so dark in the woods there is no light at the end of the tunnel, just more darkness and pain.  Many will quit, I wish I could.  Got to get through to the other side.  Don't fall, don't make mistakes.  Ha, that's a joke.  Hope fades, emotions roller-coaster like the hills of the Blue Ridge range we are racing in.

Nearly three hours later it ends, bike, body and brain nearly dead.  2nd place, best finish of the year, with nothing save a crappy coffee mug trophy to show for it.

But the memory remains...and the darkness.

(Photos courtesy of Mike Jackson, thank you!!!!)

King of the Road

"I'm a man of means by no means..." -Roger Miller


$10,000 for a dirt bike?  For what amounts to essentially a toy?  I struggled to swallow that one, as a friend told me the out of door price for his new KTM.  Don't get me wrong, I'm sure with all the whiz bang technology it's worth every penny, but I wondered how any human being, especially men of our rather ahem 'advanced' age could exploit and really take advantage of such technology.  Sure electric start is nice, endlessly adjustable suspension, butter smooth power everywhere in the rev range, lightweight, one finger brakes and on and on. 

I'd venture to say nearly any motorcycle built in the last 20 years is capable of far more than the average rider.  Yet we still want, no, demand, more.  And we pay for it.  Or should I say, we make payments on it...

At what point do we reach the level of absurdity?  Or hit the outer limits of diminishing returns?  When do we finally make the distinction between want and need? 

Who knows?

Break out the duckets, it's gonna cost you...

   

Holeshot

Sunday, June 24, 2018 Rural Retreat VA

To lead a race, if even for a short time, is an amazing thing.  And difficult.  Red-eyed hounds of hell nip at boot heels with only one intent: your failure.  The animosity behind is palpable, wheedling its way into the subconscious to whittle away at self-confidence.  Hanging it all out turns into merely hanging on.  Until...

Fast becomes past.  Passed.

But a brain remembers those moments besting all comers, and formulates a plan to take it the distance.