250 Words: Heaven on Dirt

Following a rider’s meeting, roughly 40 of us rolled to the track. No practice, just a single lap for each rider to ensure transponders were in working order. I wasn’t nervous or anything, this was just for fun, but when it was go-time I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find myself involuntarily leaning over the front fender, elbows and RPMs up, letting the clutch flirt with friction. I couldn’t see myself, but I imagine anyone in that pose on a 2006 DR-Z125 looks about as cool as a hipster wearing pajamas and crocs. I probably looked even dumber on the start when I realized I was in third gear, not second. I dropped the hammer and the bike bogged hard, slowly rolling forward as everyone else zipped by. I’d started on the second row but coming into the first turn I think all six rows were ahead of me.

At this moment the thoughts of taking it easy, this was all just for fun, be careful, all went out the window. I had a ton of spots to make up and I wasn’t going to wait until lap 58 to do it! I downshifted and started bouncing that DR-Z off the rev limiter like a kid on riding a Halloween sugar rush. I was pleasantly surprised at how good the traction turned out to be. The dirt was wet, but it was clay and you could pretty much turn and burn with the throttle wide open for most of the track. I was no match for the top seven or eight guys, who apparently take this race very seriously every year. Their bikes were fast, they were tucked the whole way around. If you got in their way you were going to get banged around and stood up fast. The eventual winner, Marples (I don’t know his first name, but I saw the back of his jersey plenty), moved me out of his way more than once.

Somehow I was still doing pretty well, and might have been running in roughly the top-ten after about ten laps. I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having! Then I tried to cut a turn too tight, clipped a hay bale, and went down. I was just fine, but my bike ended up with some tracks on it thanks to the pack of animals behind me. At that point I regrouped, pulled a tear off, and cruised back into the race. I knew my shot at a good result was done, so I just looked around for Jared or Troy. Those dudes needed to get taken out! After a few laps of cruising I spotted Jared coming up behind me. I let him by and dropped the hammer. Letting him by was a mistake—I could not catch him! Lap after lap after lap I stayed almost exactly 20 feet behind him. I’d gain maybe a length by staying on the gas longer into turn one and he’d take it right back. I gave it everything I had but I just couldn’t get him. After the checkers flew he pulled into the infield and tried to give me a “good race” fist bump, which I declined, instead opting to line up in front of him, dump the clutch, and spray him with turf and mud. I ended up 16th, which didn’t seem too bad, all things considered. And despite the fact that I was on a super slow trail bike, it was easily the most fun I’ve had on a motorcycle in years.

Afterward the bench racing was as wild as the action, with friends laughing and going over what’d just happened. Beverages were consumed, insults were exchanged, and excuses were made. Even Troy, who’d broken his lower fibula when dabbing his foot in a corner, said he was excited to come back in 2022. Over the PA system the track owner’s enthusiasm echoed our own.

“The founders would be smiling if they could see what we just did! Now get those transponders back to the tower, they’re expensive!”

Simple race, simple machinery, huge fun. Little did I know the best part of the weekend wouldn’t happen until the next day.

On Sunday morning over breakfast, I was telling my kids how awesome their super cool dad had done and my six-year-old son got amped to go riding. So, I loaded up his TT-R50 and my daughter’s KLX110 for me to use as a pit bike and headed back to Cycleland. When we got there, however, his heart sank—they were closed! Turns out there was insufficient time to prep the motocross track properly following the rain. The owner, however, was on the property and came out and took a look in the back of the truck. Seeing kids’ bikes, he waved us in and told us if we wanted to ride the kids track it’d be just fine. He wouldn’t even accept payment. In other words, my son had the track completely to himself and it didn’t cost me a dime!

As much fun as I’d had the night before, it didn’t compare to the joy of watching my little guy spinning laps, gaining confidence, getting bolder, and giving me a big thumbs up every single time he rode by. It was even better when I hopped on the 110 and rode side-by-side with him for what seemed like another 59 laps. Nobody around, no fancy motocross bike underneath me. The outside word did not exist, it was just him and me, bonding through our shared, two-wheeled experience.

Every now and then he’d hit a jump a little faster than intended and catch a whopping four inches of air and I’d hear him shouting with glee inside his helmet.

“Did you see that!?”

“Yeah buddy, that was amazing!”

“I know!”