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General Moto | Off-Topic Posts
Red Horse Ranch (Winter Therapy) Adventure
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[QUOTE="justalonewolf007, post: 1331621, member: 77294"] Day 2 Dawn came very bright and even colder. I had managed to find a free bed (and no hungry lesbians!! Imagine that!) and the warm blankets put up a pretty persuasive argument against the annoying ring of the alarm I had set. Sometime, about five to 25 minutes later, the nazi-persistance of alarm won. After another three minutes of sleepy blinking and trying to remember where I was, I realized it was raceday…Again!!!! All sleepiness had left me, and I rather foolishly thought to myself that I “felt invincible. “OW Geeze!! Holy batman arthritis!!! That hurts...” I was rather quickly put in my place by oldness. Even as I limped into my gear and prayed for the “flyin’ Alero” to start in the -25 weather, I had to grin at the irony. I would probably have to get up a couple times the next night in order to keep my shoulders, back and knees from freezing up completely. That didn’t matter. In a few hours, I’d be back on the little dirtrocket and completely pain free. I got back to the arena about ten minutes before hotlaps were supposed to start, and stood patiently in line to register again. There really wasn’t much to prepare on the little rocket, so I wasn’t in a big rush. I saw the pink KTM there again, and was glad to see her there just for the sake of having a familiar face. The other chick from the woman’s class had decided to call it a day after being there so late the first race. Practice was identical to the day before. The corners were a bit awkward, but after a lap, things fell into sync. My joints didn’t hurt, and despite my slower pace, I still felt fast. I was feeling less and less “in control” of the bike, and more and more part of it. Like the first day, I was laughing as I rode. Really, is there anything better than a good ride? As I sat after practice, my mind slowly ran through the practice laps again. Each corner, jump, and straight section started playing through my head like a movie in slow motion. I used to do this as a swimmer, reviewing and planning each race before and after it actually occurred. For motocross though, it is far more enjoyable. “Tolle you goon…trippin’ from the ride.” Despite the wake up call imposed by my “reality” side, my mind started wandering further still, and I found myself recalling a conversation about Heaven. As defined by a winterloving friend (and paraphrased by myself) “Heaven for me isn’t all the gold streets they talk about. It’s a cabin somewhere in the mountains, where I can step outside and ride my sled all day, doing the very thing I love the most. For you, I’d be willing to bet it’s riding too.” In a way, he is right. The more I ride, the more I love it, and the better it makes me feel. Upon reflection of these couple days I spent racing, I have come to the conclusion that it really is what I’d consider to be my little bit of “heaven on earth.” Am I officially nuts now? The women were again at the bottom of the list, but there were fewer riders. Somehow this day, the motos flew by. I spent most of the time huddled up in my chair, and discovered that the horse stalls had wireless internet access after noticing a few laptops being used. Suddenly I heard them call the last three classes up to the staging area. I stowed my backpack in my gear box, and swung my arms around to try warm up. If I didn’t mention it before, I’m a very small person, and the arm swinging had very little effect. As I slid off my jacket and hoodie to be replaced with the chest protector, the cold rushed in through every layer and I started shaking like a California ‘quake. “Holy g-g-g-geeze I don’t like the c-c-cold!!!” As I waited in staging, some of the +40 riders started giggling and pointing in my direction. I first attributed it to them laughing at me shivering, but when they kept it up, I finally leaned over and shouted at the nearest one, “Hey!!!! …yea..uh…you…uhm. What is so funny??” “Your helmet and CP says “slow.” We like it.” Ends up I forgot to take the “slow moving vehicle symbol” off the back of my chest protector and helmet. I had put it there at the last race of the season being quite fresh off of collarbone break #2. “Oops…fitting I guess.” When it came time to line up at the gate, only three other bikes were there. I picked a rut, and rolled the little dirtrocket into place. A glance to my left showed the other ladies holding their bikes as their pit crews or cabana boys leveled dirt here and added dirt there. I threw a leg over and kicked the engine over a couple times, making sure that it would start when the time came. The whole always starts to kick in right about this time. Every race. Although I complain about not having a pit crew or reliable source of help, I really do value my independence on race day. At the track, I don’t have to censor my personality. I have found that the few times family or non-racing friends did show up (even cabana boy), I am forced to cater to their needs (see the Sandbox Adventure to see an example of misery induced by having to cater to a lesbian). I love to introduce people to the sport, but it soon loses the fun when I have to explain A class from B class from C class more than three times. The gateman swung his arm in a circle above his head, shouting “start’em up!!!” I automatically started my bike, the sound and feeling of the engine revving serving to bring me back to reality. Again, my heart started pounding faster as I rapped the throttle, watching the last of the bigger bikes leave the track from the first race. The 30 second board went sideways, and my pulse seemed to match the rpms as I gave ¾ throttle and found the release point of the clutch. The gates fell, and we launched again. “Hahaha!!! AIEYAH!!!!” Having four bikes didn’t make for much of a pack, but we managed to thunder into the first corner nonetheless. The two big bikes came into the corner just in front of me, and came out of it two bike-lengths ahead. My goonish whooping earned me a mouth full of roost as they blew past. In fact, I received nearly a lung full of that near-perfect dirt. (Looking back, I have to wonder how much horse manure was mixed in…). As I choked, and navigated the whoop-covered tabletop, I mis-judged the sharpness of one, and nearly got bucked over the handlebars. It was a little startling, but I didn’t lose my seat. Had I not been still choking, I would’ve giggled at how ridiculous I must have looked trying not fall off. “AIEYAHhhhdon’tfighttheruts!!!!” I got a little more gutsy with fewer riders on the track. I had a little distance between myself and the pink KTM, so I tried two of the doubles instead of one. They were easy. However, the third time was the non-charm. After casing (bouncing) one of the bigger doubles, I decided to stick to the smaller two. The laps flew by so quickly that I thought I had only done two when the first rider blazed past me just before the finishline. “Whoa…” I really have to hand it to the ladies that took 1st and 2nd place. What a treat to see you ride! I sat down again, and time flew by just as quickly as before, if not faster. I soon found myself packing up the things I didn’t need for the last moto, and stowing them in the flyin’ Alero in order to not waste any time loading up. I was just as cold as before, if not colder, when the time came to make my way into the staging line. There were only a few people that weren’t packing up as I rolled past, and those that weren’t packing up had already left. I received grins and nods from the +40 riders that had been laughing before. I returned them all with a grin of my own. As the exchanges there ended, a startling hand thumped down on the shoulder of my CP, and I lost balance and nearly knocked down a line of bikes. “Hey there! How do you like the track!?” I blinked stupidly while he shouted, but laughed and told him that I was having a fantastic time. “I have never seen this kind of attitude out of any rider!!! I could see you smile through your helmet every time you came off the track. I even heard you laughing! I like watching you!” “Well…thanks! I love it!!” The older gentleman disappeared. We picked gates, and suddenly he re-appeared, nearly scaring the living daylights out of me again. He carefully smoothed the dirt in front of my wheel, checked the gate, and then gave me a thumbs up. “You’ll be here valentine’s weekend, right!? I’d like to see you race again! If there’s anything you need, come find me!! Good luck!!” “Thanks!!” That moto couldn’t have gone better. I didn’t even get lapped. I drove home with a 3rd place trophy, and I was on top of the world. To that guy: People like you add that last little bit to the awesomeness of racing and riding. Thankyou for the encouragement and kind words! [/QUOTE]
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General Moto | Off-Topic Posts
Red Horse Ranch (Winter Therapy) Adventure
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