Rev-Up: Crash
Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Rev Up. My, my, what to do with all of this downtime? Things were flying around like crazy then all of the sudden it seems things have just stopped!
Ah, but this will be a brief lull in the program before things get fired up again next week with the arenacross circus. Until then I wanted to use another of these off weeks to talk about something fun.
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I remember my first bad crash like it was last week. Until that time, motocross was so much fun. The speed, the cool riding gear, and my shiny motorcycle was just the best thing that had ever happened to me. We had traveled to Ponca City and there used to be a little “burnout area” behind the starting gate. My Dad had just put on one of those super long and loud pipes on my Y-Zinger, and man was the thing fast! Problem was, he hadn’t gotten the bitchin YZ60 front forks and works performance rear shock yet. As a result, handling leaned a tad on the sketchy side.
Nonetheless, I had a couple of motos before my race and I decided to go tear around the burnout area. After about 12 laps I had a small group of people watching me so I turned up the wick and started showing off, letting my bike dance around on the acceleration bumps and spraying dust off the berms. It so happened I came down the straightaway one time faster than I ever had and the dance my PW50 had been doing quickly turned into a violent swap that had my feet flailing off the pegs like they were attached with rubber bands. Suddenly my vision was a 32:1 ratio of dirt to sky that lasted for what seemed like an eternity. When it finally ended, I was laying on my stomach and all I could see were feet running my direction. I could hear my Y-Zinger out in the weeds with the throttle hung wide open, screaming a blood-curdling cry that terrified me almost as much as the fact that I couldn’t breath.
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(Here’s an idea of what Andy’s loop-out would have looked like he were a highly-paid Spanish MotoGP racer.)
On came larger bikes and double jumps. I had seen people do something my friends called “Looping out.” A guy would get his front end too high in the air and flip over backwards causing major damage to himself and his machine. I would just think, ‘What a dumbass. No way I’m doing that.’ Boy was I mistaken. I fell mercy to the dreaded loop out on a 20-foot double jump in Chapman, Kansas. Thing was I didn’t even “double.” I was still too scared to jump so I would cram on the brakes at the last minute to try and save time and not get passed and piss off my Dad.
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The last thing I saw from looking out of the bottom of my helmet was my KX60 fly out from my hands in a slow motion backflip. After the vicious barrel roll I noticed the sun was peering into my goggles way more than normal. Something was amiss. I stood up and took inventory and as I pulled my goggles off I noticed what was missing. My visor! I wasn’t really hurt, but I sat back down and cried like a little girl until my Dad got about five yards away. Then I got up and walked to my bike, which was devoid of rear fender and had its handlebars around the tank.
Which reminds me of a time many moons after that one. My demise this time arrived at my first attempt at an outdoor national. I thought I was a pretty big deal in 1996 and was preparing to take the 125cc pro class by storm at Hangtown. I told myself the whole way from Kansas to Sacramento that the world would soon know who Andy Bowyer was! Upon my arrival I discovered that “the world” would have to wait until I first raced amateur day. It was then-Team Green manager Ron Heben’s brilliant plan that I ride the A class on Saturday so I could flex some Team Green muscle.
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Those were just a few, ladies and gentlemen. When I wake up on a rainy morning I am reminded of the other ones. But I am not alone. I stand beside you all as a member of the Motocross Crash Club. We are the plenty and the proud. It’s the reason most of us never back down from a fight. “Yeah, sure pal, you think I’m afraid of you? I was in the first turn pile up at Ponca City! I cartwheeled off the side of the infield tabletop at Loretta Lynn’s—on my 60! You don’t know what pain is, Biff.”
Crashing is a part of our sport. From Ricky Carmichael to Mitch Kumpstein, everyone goes down. But what makes us motocrossers is that we expect it, and we deal with it. It’s what makes us tough and gets us the chicks. But one thing is for certain. Crashing sucks.
Thanks for reading, see you next week.