Jon K.
~SPONSOR~
- Mar 26, 2001
- 1,354
- 4
Just because I am feeling especially literate today, I thought I would share a story. 100% true in all respects.
Turkey Creek hare scramble approximately 1982. Meet Dale Hughes. As nice a guy as you could meet, rides an xr250 Honda.
On the way to the race from Mississippi (the Saturday before the event); Dale makes it all the way to the turn going into the campground when the bearings on one of his trailer wheels gives out and the wheel runs off in the bushes. No big deal; he parks the trailer at the entrance road, retrieves his wheel, takes the hub out of it so he might find some bearings, unloads the bike and rides it on in to set up camp.
Dale took time that evening to go into town and found the bearing that he needed, but upon returning, he finds that someone has swiped his wheel!! He had left it on the trailer, figuring that it would be safe as it is virtually in the campground. Dale is starting to get a little steamed now.
Of all things, someone spots a wheel leaded up against a ratty old school bus and asks Dale; "Hey Dale! Is that your wheel?"
"Sure is!" Dale replied, and stomps right into the guys’ camp to retrieve his wheel. The denizens of the school bus didn't say a word, though they were large in number. Perhaps the angry mob that was assembling behind Dale had something to do with their meekness. Dale decided not to call cops, etc., as he really just came to ride a hare-scramble and didn't need the aggravation.
Now as Dale rides out to the entrance road to fix the newly recovered trailer wheel; what does he find but NO TRAILER!! Some lowlife has made off with the whole rig! :flame:
Apparently this campground is also uses by the local hoodlums on a regular basis; as unsuspecting Dwight Rudder is about to find out. As Dwight pulls into the pit road; he finds it is blocked by some guys in two trucks that have stopped to converse about beer, shotguns, or what-have-you. Dwight beeps his horn a couple of times and promptly proceeds to get pulled through the window (by his hair) of his van and receive an butt-whuppin' of the finest description. Ms. Debbie runs around to rescue poor Dwight and she herself takes a couple of punches in the melee. Finally Dwight disentangles himself and his wife (the aforementioned Ms. Debbie) from the scuffle and gets himself back to the relative safety of the van.
That night a kind of queasy calm descends on the campground, as the riders are looking toward the race tomorrow and don't enjoy these kind of antics.
But this story is about Dale. The next morning Dale (still trailerless) mounts his bike to take a warm-up lap around the course. Half-way around is a light-line that would allow the riders to stretch out and see just how fast their bikes would go. The fast line is toward the edge of the woods (smoother over there), but there is the occasional low limb protruding from the trees alongside the light-line. Dale ducks a low limb just like he is supposed to, but upon raising his head back to normal attitude; he encounters a second limb that was hiding behind the first. Open faced helmet. 50 or so MPH.
The impact peels Dale off the back of the bike and leaves him bloodied and unconscious on the ground. The bike continues on its merry way for about 1/4 mile.
No one knows how long Dale stayed on the ground, the next rider to come along found him sort of staggering around, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, looking for the escaped motorcycle. They eventually gave up looking for the bike and Dale got on the back of his rescuers machine to get some much needed attention. As the quickest way back to the camp was along the trail, They proceeded in that direction to find the XR happily resting alongside the trail, completely undamaged. Despite his recently sustained face work; Dale knew that he did NOT want to leave his bike unattended in the woods, so he got his rescuer to crank it for him and rode it back to the pits. He made quite a sight entering the campground, as his face was completely unrecognizable and his jersey was completely drenched in blood.
Actually nothing else bad happened to Dale that weekend, though he was unable to compete, and despite appearances, there was no permanent damage to his face. The teeth tightened back up by themselves, and I volunteered to haul all his stuff back for him. The next week the police called him to come get his trailer, as they had pulled it from a ditch somewhere.
I saw Dale at a moto-cross race not too long ago, I am happy to report that he appeared to be fine and well.
Turkey Creek hare scramble approximately 1982. Meet Dale Hughes. As nice a guy as you could meet, rides an xr250 Honda.
On the way to the race from Mississippi (the Saturday before the event); Dale makes it all the way to the turn going into the campground when the bearings on one of his trailer wheels gives out and the wheel runs off in the bushes. No big deal; he parks the trailer at the entrance road, retrieves his wheel, takes the hub out of it so he might find some bearings, unloads the bike and rides it on in to set up camp.
Dale took time that evening to go into town and found the bearing that he needed, but upon returning, he finds that someone has swiped his wheel!! He had left it on the trailer, figuring that it would be safe as it is virtually in the campground. Dale is starting to get a little steamed now.
Of all things, someone spots a wheel leaded up against a ratty old school bus and asks Dale; "Hey Dale! Is that your wheel?"
"Sure is!" Dale replied, and stomps right into the guys’ camp to retrieve his wheel. The denizens of the school bus didn't say a word, though they were large in number. Perhaps the angry mob that was assembling behind Dale had something to do with their meekness. Dale decided not to call cops, etc., as he really just came to ride a hare-scramble and didn't need the aggravation.
Now as Dale rides out to the entrance road to fix the newly recovered trailer wheel; what does he find but NO TRAILER!! Some lowlife has made off with the whole rig! :flame:
Apparently this campground is also uses by the local hoodlums on a regular basis; as unsuspecting Dwight Rudder is about to find out. As Dwight pulls into the pit road; he finds it is blocked by some guys in two trucks that have stopped to converse about beer, shotguns, or what-have-you. Dwight beeps his horn a couple of times and promptly proceeds to get pulled through the window (by his hair) of his van and receive an butt-whuppin' of the finest description. Ms. Debbie runs around to rescue poor Dwight and she herself takes a couple of punches in the melee. Finally Dwight disentangles himself and his wife (the aforementioned Ms. Debbie) from the scuffle and gets himself back to the relative safety of the van.
That night a kind of queasy calm descends on the campground, as the riders are looking toward the race tomorrow and don't enjoy these kind of antics.
But this story is about Dale. The next morning Dale (still trailerless) mounts his bike to take a warm-up lap around the course. Half-way around is a light-line that would allow the riders to stretch out and see just how fast their bikes would go. The fast line is toward the edge of the woods (smoother over there), but there is the occasional low limb protruding from the trees alongside the light-line. Dale ducks a low limb just like he is supposed to, but upon raising his head back to normal attitude; he encounters a second limb that was hiding behind the first. Open faced helmet. 50 or so MPH.
The impact peels Dale off the back of the bike and leaves him bloodied and unconscious on the ground. The bike continues on its merry way for about 1/4 mile.
No one knows how long Dale stayed on the ground, the next rider to come along found him sort of staggering around, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, looking for the escaped motorcycle. They eventually gave up looking for the bike and Dale got on the back of his rescuers machine to get some much needed attention. As the quickest way back to the camp was along the trail, They proceeded in that direction to find the XR happily resting alongside the trail, completely undamaged. Despite his recently sustained face work; Dale knew that he did NOT want to leave his bike unattended in the woods, so he got his rescuer to crank it for him and rode it back to the pits. He made quite a sight entering the campground, as his face was completely unrecognizable and his jersey was completely drenched in blood.
Actually nothing else bad happened to Dale that weekend, though he was unable to compete, and despite appearances, there was no permanent damage to his face. The teeth tightened back up by themselves, and I volunteered to haul all his stuff back for him. The next week the police called him to come get his trailer, as they had pulled it from a ditch somewhere.
I saw Dale at a moto-cross race not too long ago, I am happy to report that he appeared to be fine and well.
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