The Hill of Doom

Soon after Paul's first race he bought himself a motorcycle. At the Sage Riders he had borrowed our cousin's Yamaha WR250. The bike seemed to do great in a lot of terrain, especially single track, (Picture: Flowers on the Bomb Run) but Paul has always been a fan of endless power, and the 250 had left him wanting. So he picked up a 2002 Yamaha WR426 hoping it would have such power.

We had always ridden our dad's bikes, and they were always stock with maybe a larger gas tank to help with the long rides in Baja. With this new (to him anyways) bike Paul dug in to find his inner mechanic and open up the bike to release the power within. Riding this bike reminds me of the XR650 I rode in Baja...and it came to pass that I was pleased.

Right after Paul purchased his bike there was another race coming up. Knowing that we shared the dream of racing, and that this upcoming race had a Team Class, he invited me to come race it with him. So my first race had finally come: Buzzards Hare Scrambles in Spring of 2007.

The course consisted of two loops of the same 25 miles. Paul would race the first half (because honestly I was still jittery about the start line) and then when he came into the pits I would take over and repeat the loop. 25 miles was nothing for us...on the terrain we were used to...but with the type of terrain these desert races had who knew what to expect? However we had heard this wouldn't be quite as different for us as what Sage Riders had been so we were optimistic. With each of us taking a loop we should have plenty of energy to push hard on our loop in order to place well.

I'm still quite glad I didn't start the race - the sage brush was tall and thick and more than a few guys went down when they didn't avoid it. Still it was exciting to watch, as all these starts are, and I was getting psyched as the race began.

Waiting at the pits was excruciating. Even more so than at his first race, (Picture: The WR426 in all it's glory with its commanders for the day. Paul on the left, me on the right. No I am not photogenic.) largely due to the fact that when he came back, it was my turn. It didn't seem to take long for the first Experts to start coming back to the pits. We were at the end of Pit Row and a part of the course came by pretty near to us and it was fun to watch them flying through. The first place overall rider was impressively fast, and I suddenly felt very unskilled and unsure about my own riding ability.

Paul came in and the course layout disoriented him a bit - he stopped right on the course near the pits and yelled to ask if that was where he turned in. Sadly no - he had another 5 miles to go before coming into the pits. But now I knew my time had come - I had no idea what to expect and I was incredibly nervous. He rolled in and we put a little gas in the bike and I hopped on ready to go. He let me know that about 12 miles in there was a gnarly hill climb that gave him a lot of trouble and told me to try and find an alternate route because it would slow me down. In my head I thought that if I could beat the hill first try it would not only stroke my ego but give me a one-up in the competition between brothers department. A hard lesson was to be learned this day.

Since we were at the end of pit row I took off and went up the hill behind us on the course - knowing full well I was being watched by many I turned it on and nearly crashed on the way up...providing at the very least some comical entertainment for those watching which included Paul, his family, and my family. I didn't make it far before the first problems occurred; within a mile I turned a corner and stalled the (Picture: In the Team Class, you line up with the Amateur's. This was our line up) bike, and the two guys I had just passed prior to that passed me right by again while I struggled to start it up again. I got it going again and headed off on the course.

I was amazed at how quickly I became winded and tired. Adding the stress of the race, the physical demands of pushing my ability to the limit, and the concentration level I was operating at totaled up to a massive stitch in my side which persisted for the next 12 miles. I had a difficult time breathing and found myself wanting to stop and rest - which I didn't do until I was "forced" to. I had always thought myself in decent shape, with my endurance a strong point for my physique. But this race showed me that I was nothing and before I had gone 5 miles exhaustion was showing signs.

Stalling the bike continued to be a problem for me. Even though I had had a chance to take the bike for a practice ride the week before (where the stalls were an issue for me as well) I had not been able to overcome this challenge yet. This was a "hot bike" as my dad would say and I wasn't used to how they worked yet so I kept stalling on corners that I would come into too fast.

Despite being winded and getting a workout that was more draining to me than anything ever before, as well as the stalling problem, I was faring pretty decently. The course was nothing so brutal as what Paul described from his first race with the Sage Riders. In fact I don't recall any deep whoops at all, though there were long sections of incessant little bumps that grew a little tiresome (funny though - I can remember thinking that then, and now that I've raced a lot more I would love for a course to have those again!). There were some pretty tight single track that took getting used to, as well as a super sketchy hill descent. The course also included a few places with some fast jeep road that I used to my full advantage.

It seems it was only a few miles in when my camelback broke...I didn't notice it right away, but the mouthpiece had come off and was leaking all over me. I suddenly noticed my legs were wet and was wondering if I had inadvertently peed my pants due to the nervousness...to my (somewhat) relief that was not the case as the hose from my camelback was still shooting water everywhere. My only choice at this point was to keep it in my mouth, which would prove to cause me some problems later on.

Despite all this I was able to make several passes which made me feel great, though thinking back on it, as tired as I might have been (Picture: A great shot from the Expert Wave. Be sure to compliment my wife Sarah on her great photography if you see her) I'm sure I was a lot more energized than those who were going through this for a second time. But still I was making passes on Novices, Amateurs, and even a few Experts - it was a great ego boost!

After several hill climbs, which were moderately difficult but nothing most riders couldn't handle I began to wonder where this hill climb was that gave Paul so much trouble. I hadn't seen anyone in a while and wondered if I was past it. I had lost track of the mileage but I thought I might have been past the 12 mile mark. There was one hill descent that scared me quite badly, and I wondered if maybe he had had to go up that but then they changed the course or something. Kind of a stupid thing to think looking back, but I couldn't shake the thought of the hill he warned me about. Where was it?

I came through a mud bog and saw a bunch of riders off the course a ways, and then noticed a bunch more up ahead. The trail turned into some trees and then began a gentle incline. Quite suddenly there were racers everywhere; some heading off the trail in different directions, some just hanging out chatting with others, a couple guys laying down looking like they were taking a nap. I didn't have time to really take it all in and wonder what was going on before the trail took a sharp turn and then went up.

It caught me off guard but I quickly turned on the gas and headed up the hill. I quickly realized this was the hill that gave Paul problems, because it was very steep, sandy and washed out with big rocks strewn about either side (also strewn about were riders and bikes as well). I was handling it great and was about 3/4's of the way up when my front tire hit the steepest part of the trail and came off the ground. I was about to go over backwards but I quickly got off and caught the bike as if I had done it on purpose (you know what I mean? Like when you ride a bmx bike and pop a wheelie and then put your feet down and hold it standing up). I turned to the right and brought the front wheel down and moved off the trail to make sure I wouldn't be an obstacle for someone else.

My ego got the better of me here - had I just gotten back on the (Picture: Paul at the start, waiting for the banner to drop. The Bomb Run starts are dead engine, so when the banner drops you fire it up and hit the gas.) bike, gone off the trail a couple feet or so and finished the last 1/4 of the hill I would have made about 30 passes in that super short distance and helped our finishing place a great deal. Instead I turned the front wheel down the hill so I could make another attempt.

Thus, The Hill of Doom.

It's frustrating to look back and think about this, but at least I learned a valuable lesson from doing so - as in, never make that mistake again! Just watching people attempt the hill should have given me reason not to retry - it had become so washed out that pretty much nobody else was making it up. They were taking alternate lines to either side of the trail or going for anything else they could find where ever it may be.

I got to the bottom and instead of using the trail for my approach I went off to the side a bit to get a straight shot at the climb. My mistake on this attempt was impatience. A couple people attempted to make it before I went and crashed and were still on the trail. I picked a line to go around them, but I should have waited for them to clear out instead. As a result I only made it up halfway before crashing. The cons of the WR426 showed at this point. It is one very heavy bike when it's tipped over, especially when it's tipped over on a hill. It's a great deal lighter than my dad's XR400's, but still, the WR is a heavy bike. It was apparent that weight lifting would also be in my future as my skinny little arms struggled with picking the bike up again.

Between these two tries I was spent - I came back down to the bottom of the hill and parked the bike and sat down to rest. I was nearly out of water at this point in my camelback and all the exertion spent on the hill had made me a little nauseous (water logged!). While I sat there the huge group of racers that had been there began to thin out - new comers to the hill didn't even attempt it and found ways around. Before long there were only a handful of us left - stubborn people who wouldn't let the hill win.

I probably waited 20 minutes or more before my third try and with that one I got to the original 3/4's high location I made it to on my first try. This time the bike did go over backwards and I didn't have the strength to catch it. I lost 1/4 of the hill as a result, moved the bike over to the side and rested some more. After this whole Hill experience I decided that I wasn't strong enough to be a desert racer and have since tried to improve my strength endurance. That means going to the gym, which I'm back and forth on with consistency. But it is a positive side effect of racing - I'm much more careful about my health and fitness than I have been my whole life.

Not wanting to repeat the mistake that I made on the first try, I got the bike going again and tried to head up to the right of the trail. It was difficult going from a dead stop like that in the middle of a steep hill climb - the front tire kept wanting to come up and the back tire wasn't gripping on much. I regained that 1/4 of the hill I had lost in the last attempt but ran out of steam. I stopped to rest again.

The other stragglers that were still there had banded together to help each other out and were walking one bike up the hill at a time. The first bike was a little Honda CRF150R. It shouldn't have been too big a deal since it's fairly lightweight, but even for 4 of them it was proving a challenge. Feeling bad just watching them I helped out and after much struggling we got the bike up.

Looking at some of the other bikes left to go up was disheartening. That little Honda was a tough job, and the others guys were riding much bigger, heavier bikes. Luckily though the challenge to get those up never came.

I say that a little mockingly - it wasn't all that lucky because a major ego-killing moment had arrived...the first sweeper showed up. I'm not (Picture: The banner is down and they're off! Paul off the start on the right side of the picture just above the girl's hands.) sure how much time had passed since I first got there, but apparently a lot of time had gone by. Sweepers come through at the end of the race to make sure everyone gets home safe. I was under the impression that if you get caught by a sweeper then you DNF the race. Thankfully that wasn't the case this time, but I was worried that it would be.

Since I was closest to the top the sweeper came to help me first - he fired the bike right up and finished the last 1/4 of the hill like it was nothing. I was humbled for sure, and mad at myself as well. But I didn't get a DNF - he said to hop on and finish the race...he was going to help everyone else. With that, the Hill of Doom was now behind me...a lesson well learned.

Still not sure how the whole "sweeping" thing worked, I got back on the trail with renewed energy to finish the race so I wouldn't get caught by the sweeper again. Thankfully the rest of the course was pretty tame and I completed it with relative ease and very quickly. With about 6 miles left my stitch came back (thanks to all the rest at The Hill it had abated for a while) so I had to slow down a bit. As I came on to the part of the course that was near the pits I could see someone standing next to the trail. I got closer and could see it was Paul - it looked like I had the same effect on him for my part in this race as he had had on me for his entire first race. I stopped to let him know I was fine and that I had spent all my time at the Hill instead of racing, handed him my broken camelback and then proceeded to finish the last 5 miles of the course.

(Picture: We didn't know him yet, but the guy at the head of the pack in this picture is a good friend now. Here he is getting the "holeshot" in the Novice Wave; the infamous Carlo Sanchez)

We got the finisher's pin, so the sweeper that helped me out didn't cause us to DNF thankfully; finished 171 out of 215 finishers overall...4th out of 6 Teams. It was a fantastic course looking back - I would love the opportunity to ride it again, and it was a great first race and experience for me.

I was pretty hooked after this and wanted to do more. Unfortunately I did not have my own motorcycle, and not every race of the season had a Team class. Paul wasn't going to race the next one and was going to let me race it instead with his bike, but just a few days before that race I realized my schedule wouldn't allow it. After that Paul made every race of the season (I think). There were only a couple more that I could have raced Team with him, but there was always some commitment that I had already made that got in the way. So that would be my only race for 2007, but it was enough to get me to plan for 2008. I needed a bike, and I wasn't sure how I would get one to race, but I was going to race in 2008 for sure.

The Sage Riders

(Or How it All Started Part 2)

After the trip to Baja in 2002 I knew racing was in my future, but I had no idea how it would happen. At the time I lived in Bellingham, Washington, and had no possible way of affording racing...not to mention I didn't know if there was any desert-style riding up there. I had another hobby at the time as well which took most of my free time, though I like to think that if I could have afforded to race I would have dropped that hobby in favor of racing.

<--Starting line at Sage Riders National Hare and Hound April 2007

Fast forward to 2005 when I moved my family back to Utah. Though I still couldn't afford to race, and my other hobby was taking even more time, the opportunity to at least ride again came with this move. I would be able to ride my dad's motorcycles and go on trips with the family again. We went on a few trips and had a great time and the desire to race was starting to surface again...but I wouldn't be the one to take the plunge and finally get the ball rolling.

In Spring of 2007 seemingly out of nowhere my brother Paul (who had always shared the dream of racing with me) announced that he had signed up for a desert race in Jericho, Utah, that a motorcycle club called the Sage Riders was putting on. It was going to be a "National" so that meant there would be good riders and we were excited to see how well he would do.


Paul at the start line (he's the one on a blue Yamaha WR250 in red gear and gray helmet):

I don't know how well he thought he'd do, but as I mentioned before I thought I was pretty hot stuff and I knew that Paul was better than me. He told me he was entering the Novice division which surprised me because he seemed like an Expert to me. But I figured it would be fine because he would just dominate and would show everyone how awesome he was by passing up Amateurs and Experts who would have a head start on him.

The start was crazy...I had seen maybe one or two videos of starts like that when I was a kid, but seeing it in person was something else. Called the "Bomb Run" by a lot of people, just watching it stressed me out. I got a good spot to watch from; the start line was in the sage brush and then ended up in some sand dunes and I was right next to one of the banners that started the marked course on the sand dunes.

(<- Paul in the thick of things)

When Paul's line came through he was right in the middle of all the action...it looked so crazy and insane! He was going for it though, and I felt good that when the course got narrower he'd turn it on and start passing people left and right.

Video of the start from that very race, but it's only of the Expert wave so you won't see Paul in it (the camera is shooting from the same area that I was watching from):

Back at the pits we waited for what seemed like forever. The Pro and Expert divisions didn't seem to take long on the first loop and so I waited out on pit row with anticipation - I was sure I'd see Paul coming somewhere in the middle of the Experts. He didn't show up with the Experts as I noticed the first several Amateurs start filtering through. It must have been a little tougher than I thought but no big deal - he'd show up with the Amateurs.

But then the first few Novices started filtering through the Amatuers. I was getting pretty worried now, thinking since he hadn't shown up yet he must have had a really bad crash or something and gotten hurt. He was far too fast and too good to be this far back in the pack.

For a while it seemed like everyone had come through, giving further weight to my thought that he crashed hard. But then looking down pit row I saw what looked like Paul...but it wasn't the Paul I knew - this guy looked tired. Really tired.

Well he rolled in to the pits looking kinda battered. I asked if he had crashed but he said nothing bad - he just was really tired from battling the other Novices (lots of them sprawled out on hill climbs) on the course. He related some of the crazy things he'd seen - terrain he hadn't spent a lot of time on before that didn't suit our style of riding: large deep whoops,

(Gassing up at the pits and telling us about the obstacles on the course - mostly other Novices that had crashed...I'm filling him up and Dad is in the orange shirt. Paul's wife and baby are in the foreground-->)
technical single track, crazy hill climbs - all this coupled with a whole bunch of riders of every skill level. We filled him up with gas and he took off looking re-energized.

Despite the fact that he had come in much further behind to the pits than I thought he would, and obviously exhausted, for some reason I still thought he'd take command of the second loop and come in ahead of all the other Novices. We didn't really give him that much time to complete the loop before heading over to the finish to watch him come in.

We probably waited there an hour or so and again I was getting really worried - this was my brother who was an amazing rider when we'd go to Baja and other places. I just couldn't fathom what this race course was like that would be so hard on him. What I've come to learn since then is that this terrain is not what we were used to. On the fast Baja-style jeep roads I'll still hold that we're quite skilled and fast...but that type of terrain isn't as tiring - you can sit down more to rest, it's not so technical etc. It's more just, how fast do you dare to go? These races like this Sage Riders AMA National Hare and Hound he did has a little fast terrain, but it has some difficult hill climbs, large deep whoops that suck the strength and energy out of your body, technical single track that you can't go fast on but requires more strength and agility. We've both come to enjoy this terrain as much as the stuff we grew up on, but if you're not used to it, it will drain you, and fast.

We waited for a long time and he finally came in - we didn't know it yet but he had had a really bad wreck on this loop and was hurt pretty bad, but he still gave us all a show when he came into the finish with a long wheelie.
(<-- He might have been hurt, but he could still show off!)
It was a totally new experience for him, but he finished his first race. He was in the Over 30 class in the Novice division in which he finished 7th, the 43rd overall Novice out of 55 that actually finished. Keep in mind at least a dozen Novices or so didn't finish the race (DNF'd for future reference - Did Not Finish).

Watching this whole thing made me a little more skeptical about racing instead of making me want to do it more. The bomb run start looked pretty insane and dangerous to me; the type of terrain he told me about on the course wasn't the kind we were used to and had ridden all our lives and it really didn't sound that fun. I really liked our Baja-style fast jeep roads.

Paul on the other hand, was hooked. He would race in almost all of the remaining Utah races that year and even eventually showing how good he was by get a 1st Overall Novice finish before the end of the season. My chance to race still hadn't come, but it would soon, even though at this point I wasn't as sure anymore that I even wanted to do it...at least not what he had just done...

Tomorrow is my 4th race this year: USRA Round 4, Firebirds Hare Scrambles. Race Reports are on the way, but I'm trying to keep this somewhat chronological. Next in the story is my first race, since I will only have done 5, I'm almost caught up!

The Disappearing Text Act

When I view this blog at work the text doesn't always appear. If I scroll down it suddenly shows up, but when the page is loaded it's not always there. This always happens to me while viewing at work (Internet browser here = IE6), but it does not happen to me at home (I use FireFox 2.0 at home). I've heard from at least one other person that it happens to them, and it doesn't seem to matter for them if they are at home or school.

Does it happen to anyone else? Please comment and let me know. If it does I'd like to know what browser you're using as well. I'll see if I can find any info on this and correct it hopefully.

Thanks!

P.S. New posts coming soon, so stay tuned!

How it all started

This weekend I will participate in my fourth desert race for this year, my fifth ever. I'm still surprised at times how into it I am now considering where I was just two years ago with my life...though at the same time I'm quite depressed at the idea of where I might be right now with my racing had I started two years ago. Or where I'd be right now if I had started when I first wanted to race...

Oh well! Coulda, shoulda, woulda...anyways, so for a little history on my riding and how I got into racing, read on!

I first started riding motorcycles at five years old. Details are a little sketchy with my memory these days, but prior to that age I would sit on the front of my dad's Honda XR500 when the family would go on riding trips. Whether or not I wanted to ride by myself or was gently persuaded to do so I don't remember...but I can remember the first time I did ride on my own. We had a little Suzuki JR50 and we took a trip out to a place called Manning - an old school motocross track that had long been abandoned in an area called 5 Mile Pass southwest of Salt Lake City, Utah and there I learned how to ride.

I was the youngest of four boys in the family (there are three girls in the family too, but two of them are younger than me and the older one wasn't around much when I was growing up) and by quite a bit too; the next oldest brother is six years older than me. So when I was five years old he was eleven and to me he was amazing on a motorcycle. I would watch my brothers fly around that old track and want nothing more than to ride as well as they did.

My dad encouraged us all at riding since it was a favorite hobby of his. He would take us out around two or three times a year at least, and he bought new bikes now and again too which was always nice. I rode that little JR50 until I was eight years old and had a blast on it. Around that time he bought a new bike; a Suzuki DS80. Man what a hot bike! I thought I was so cool on that thing and on the first trip we took with it (at least the first I remember) I showed everyone just how cool I was.

We went to Moab, Utah and were riding through a pretty windy wash. I can't remember the exact area, but I do seem to remember it was nearby another old school abandoned motocross track there as well. Being on the small bike I was behind the main group, but everyone was nice and wasn't going so fast I couldn't keep up. I rounded a corner and was surprised to see everyone stopped. Very slowly and one by one everyone moved forward, carefully going around a big rock in the middle of the wash. Since everyone was there I saw the perfect opportunity to show everyone how awesome I was, and how stylin' I was on the new bike. The rock in the middle seemed to have the perfect trajectory to jump off of, and I couldn't really see the other side but it had to be just sand or something - after that's all the wash was!

As everyone cleared out and moved forward they all stopped to make sure I got through okay. With all eyes on me I put it in gear and gunned it heading straight for the rock. My moment of glory was approaching! I turned it on and at full throttle hit the rock and pulled back on the handle bars to jump and waited for that great rush of wind and feeling of awesomeness to come. It never came...instead of pulling my front tire up and launching off the rock, the bike plummeted straight down into what I hadn't been able to see before which was the reason everyone was carefully going around the rock: a big 2-3 feet deep water hole. Before I knew what was going on my head was under water and the new DS80's rear tire sticking up in the air spinning mud at everyone.

It's a moment that will surely live on in family history for anyone that was there (though there have been more memorable moments since then...not always involving me but usually they did). There is a cause for this funny mishap that seems to be a common theme in incidents where I either crash or nearly crash. You might be able to guess it - it has to do with the fact that everyone was there and watching...the spotlight was on me...it was my moment of glory.

Yeah.

For whatever reason I have a hard time keeping my cool when I'm being watched. The first race of this year nearly had a pretty major wreck for me due to this same issue. Luckily it didn't, and truly, it was luck that saved me in that case. But I'll report on that when I get to that race report which will hopefully be soon. But for whatever reason when I see people I get all excited and turn it up a notch. Need to work on that. The good news for anyone else out there though is that if they're at a race watching me and they see me coming around the corner they can bet they'll get some entertainment in some form...whether it's me actually pulling off something cool or getting in a near crash or actually crashing super hard. It should be fun to watch anyways.

After a few years on the DS80 my dad got a Honda XR100. I rode this in a lot of places including my first several Baja trips. I moved from this to an old Honda XR200 we had had for along time, and from there I borrowed my older brother Matt's Yamaha TT350. I used a Honda XR400 after that, and one trip was able to ride a Honda XR650, which was the first "hot bike," as my dad calls them, I ever rode...more on that later. I was improving from year to year and with the bigger bikes was able to keep up with my brothers better and better.

The year the competitive spirit really hit me though was 1994. I was fourteen years old that year and we took a trip to Baja. This was different than anything I had been on - we weren't taking a motor home or a trailer for base camp like we had in the past...just the guys, their motorcycles, and backpacks with supplies. Perhaps after reading this my dad will volunteer the map or route and I can add it to this post, but I can't remember where we went at all. I was on the XR200 for this trip and it was the first time I really felt like I could keep up. But being able to keep up is what ignited the competitiveness in me - it was there all along, just hadn't been awoken yet in terms of riding.

It happened sometime during the middle of the trip, my brother Paul and I were riding through a wash that was a lot of fun and had excessively deep sand. We were riding side by side through it and it became quite challenging to remain like that and still go fast...but the rush of doing so only made me want to go faster. Since he was a much faster rider it was not a problem for him to keep my pace, so I pretty much set the speed and he just stayed next to me. It was such a rush - I was pushing it as hard as I could and staying on my side of the trail as he was right next me. We probably weren't actually going that fast through there when I look back and think about it, but at the time it sure felt like we were. The sand was deep and you had to have the throttle pinned all the way or you'd lose all momentum.

Riding side by side like this and going as fast as I was able is what gave me the rush of competition. I wasn't really trying to beat Paul at the time - just trying to stay with him since he could go much faster than I. But I was at my limit of my skill and ability and that limit was awesome. This was the first time I had felt that I was good at riding and that's when the idea of desert racing first came to my mind.

Naturally for me having ridden so much in Baja the Baja SCORE races were what I associated with desert racing. I didn't know what else was out there at the time but assumed that all desert racing would be like riding in Baja. Over the years we've been on several of the trails used in the Baja 500 and Baja 1000 races so I figured I knew what to expect. The dream to race in one of those races was born at this time and has remained ever since.

As the years progressed there were lots more trips and my riding ability increased. To be honest I thought I was pretty hot stuff...my ignorance of the desert racing world would serve to humble me in the future. However it was a good thing too, thinking that I was hot stuff - if I hadn't I probably wouldn't have given racing a try for fear of not being competitive enough or something. Though that sort of fear isn't a trait that's very common in my family so...

The last piece of the puzzle to how it all got started was only six years ago in 2002 with another Baja trip. I hadn't been to Baja since 1996 and I was excited at the idea of going again. I was newly married and in no way could afford to go, but luckily my dad wanted me to go bad enough he helped me get there and enjoy the trip. This trip introduced a whole new kind of bike to me - a really fast bike with seemingly limitless power: Honda's XR650R. Every bike I had ridden in the past had some sort of weakness I was always dealing with, whether it wasn't enough top speed or not enough hit or "oomph" in the low gears. The XR650 though...it had it all. There was always more speed to be had if I had the nerve to use it, and there was always more than enough power in the low gears and mid gears. What's great about it too is it didn't feel clunky like a lot of the other bikes I had ridden (of course, those bikes hadn't felt clunky at the time...they only did after I rode this one). It was large and heavy but balanced so well that it felt light weight and easy to handle. I felt invincible on this bike.

My competitive spirit coupled with a desire to show off and prove how good I was, added to the new found world of really fast motorcycles, conspired together to ensure that racing was in my future. Sadly at that time in my life being a new husband, soon to be a new father, and pretty much no money to my name it wouldn't occur until later. I've been extremely fortunate in my life though and the opportunity to race has presented itself - and it's much different than I thought it would be.

Next post will be a report of the first race I went to and got my first taste of what it would be like. I've got some pictures from that event so it shouldn't be just a read but have nice pretty visual aides to help you readers along. Also more good news - my dad is going to get me a bunch of his old slides and pictures for me to scan, so I'll be editing some of these older posts in the future to add pictures from these past events I referenced.