MadEarthWorm
~SPONSOR~
- Apr 22, 2003
- 245
- 0
(Note: MEW is not related to Mr. Toad who is also known for his Wild Ride)
After much delay and more than a few nervous nights I finally got the chance to take my very first dirtbike to the track (actually it was 3 tracks in 2 days).
Saturday morning I was up a little after 6 with plans to drive 1.5 hours to The Landing in Easton, MD. After some practice hitting the snooze/I'm sleepy/I'm lazy/it's too early button I grabbed some oatmeal to go (with raisins) and hopped in the ride and took off about 7:30ish.
After a stop for gas and contact lense adjustment I arrived at the track and grabbed a decent spot next to another black trailer that looked just like mine, except it had more shine or sumpthin. I walked around and looked at the different tracks and decided that the super noobie speedway was just right for me. 20 minutes or so later I was "fresh dressed like a million bucks" (in loose change) and ready to start sampling the soil variations.
Another twenty minutes and I was back at the trailer with a nice soil sample and one broken brake lever! "This can not be happening" I thought as I put my bike back on the stand fighting back very manly tears.
(This would be the end of my ride report if I had not remembered how nice Gomer was (thanks again Mike) and what you all said about people willing to help out).
Determined not to be outdone by a broken lever (and my own lack of skill) I walked right up to the first person I saw and asked for help--of any variety. This person, Mike (coincidence?), who I have nicknamed the Rasta Rider b/c of his cool dreads immediately offered help and advice (I hope I have not offended any Rastafarians or other admirers of Haile Selassie). After looking at my stumpy lever he said I'd be fine to ride because enough was left to use my index and middle fingers on (which is what I do anyway). "If that's the case" I thought, "this conversation is over!"
I thanked Mike for his help and went back to the noobie track, except this time I was followed....As soon as I went around a couple times and was feeling happy, the Rasta Rider rode up on his decal heavy CRF450 and yelled, "We gotta work on some things!" Like what? I own this track....me and the kid riding the PW50 with the training wheels that keeps passing me. :think:
Mike taught me how to use the clutch and brake in the corners to give myself more control. Sweet. Then he made me move to the Novice track which is more challenging and has more/bigger jumps. He rode with me off and on for the rest of the day.
Just when I was happy with the little security I found (even though I fell like 4 times), Mike returned and said, "I think we need to go to the intermediate/advanced track". "Great, I can watch the experts" I said. "Yeah, up close" he replied. Then I realized he actually wanted me to ride on that track.
15 minutes later after another lesson in holding my line and keeping enough momentum to get up the jumps we were off. I followed him around twice and then he decided he should start roosting me, "just so you get used to it" he admitted later. I didn't mind, it was the first time that day I didn't have to lay the bike down to evaluate the minerals/contaminants of the soil.
At the end of the day I was going around the Novice track with ease and upshifting down the back straight trying to stay on pace with Mike. I had a blast. We exchanged numbers and I was off to enjoy some good memories, the dust in my nosehairs and the dirt clinging to my contacts.
9:35 that night, Mike calls and says, "We're riding tomorrow", like I didn't have a choice in the matter (I told him earlier I'd be interested). So....the next morning at 7 am I was getting ready to go ride at Tomohawk in W.Va but it was closed so we hit Mountainerr raceway--I now know why I heard people calling it "Baby Budds Creek". I decided right then and there I was not qualified to ride that track.
And hour later I decided I shouldn't doubt myself so much.
I didn't ride as much as the previous day (they were doing sessions) but by the end of the day I was screaming (for me) up and down the straights (with the 50-80 cc bikes) and I even hit a jump (quite by accident) and landed successfuly (quite by luck, the Force, clean living, good Karma, and the lucky quarter Rasta Rider spied on the ground the day b4).
Most everyone was cool, especially when they realized I was/am new to the sport and the only thing me and James Stewart have in common is an affinity for whack dance moves (among other things) :cool: Even when I fell people would stop and ask if I was okay.
The only time I really felt dissed was when some hotshot on a 50 almost rubbed is rear tire on my eyelashes coming off a jump and then looked back as if to show off or something. :ugg: I saw the kid again and as I strolled by I realized that he was only three feet tall, I could dunk on him with ease and I didn't have to ask my mom for money, so then I felt better :laugh:
As I walked back to my muddy spot, the warm sun and smell of hamburgers being grilled intermingled with puffs of premix exhaust and the growl of new thumpers being ridden by the A class guys converged to form one thought, "This must be what DirtWeek is like, except you know everybody."
I'm hooked and the MadEarthworm is ready for more! :thumb:
After much delay and more than a few nervous nights I finally got the chance to take my very first dirtbike to the track (actually it was 3 tracks in 2 days).
Saturday morning I was up a little after 6 with plans to drive 1.5 hours to The Landing in Easton, MD. After some practice hitting the snooze/I'm sleepy/I'm lazy/it's too early button I grabbed some oatmeal to go (with raisins) and hopped in the ride and took off about 7:30ish.
After a stop for gas and contact lense adjustment I arrived at the track and grabbed a decent spot next to another black trailer that looked just like mine, except it had more shine or sumpthin. I walked around and looked at the different tracks and decided that the super noobie speedway was just right for me. 20 minutes or so later I was "fresh dressed like a million bucks" (in loose change) and ready to start sampling the soil variations.
Another twenty minutes and I was back at the trailer with a nice soil sample and one broken brake lever! "This can not be happening" I thought as I put my bike back on the stand fighting back very manly tears.
(This would be the end of my ride report if I had not remembered how nice Gomer was (thanks again Mike) and what you all said about people willing to help out).
Determined not to be outdone by a broken lever (and my own lack of skill) I walked right up to the first person I saw and asked for help--of any variety. This person, Mike (coincidence?), who I have nicknamed the Rasta Rider b/c of his cool dreads immediately offered help and advice (I hope I have not offended any Rastafarians or other admirers of Haile Selassie). After looking at my stumpy lever he said I'd be fine to ride because enough was left to use my index and middle fingers on (which is what I do anyway). "If that's the case" I thought, "this conversation is over!"
I thanked Mike for his help and went back to the noobie track, except this time I was followed....As soon as I went around a couple times and was feeling happy, the Rasta Rider rode up on his decal heavy CRF450 and yelled, "We gotta work on some things!" Like what? I own this track....me and the kid riding the PW50 with the training wheels that keeps passing me. :think:
Mike taught me how to use the clutch and brake in the corners to give myself more control. Sweet. Then he made me move to the Novice track which is more challenging and has more/bigger jumps. He rode with me off and on for the rest of the day.
Just when I was happy with the little security I found (even though I fell like 4 times), Mike returned and said, "I think we need to go to the intermediate/advanced track". "Great, I can watch the experts" I said. "Yeah, up close" he replied. Then I realized he actually wanted me to ride on that track.
15 minutes later after another lesson in holding my line and keeping enough momentum to get up the jumps we were off. I followed him around twice and then he decided he should start roosting me, "just so you get used to it" he admitted later. I didn't mind, it was the first time that day I didn't have to lay the bike down to evaluate the minerals/contaminants of the soil.
At the end of the day I was going around the Novice track with ease and upshifting down the back straight trying to stay on pace with Mike. I had a blast. We exchanged numbers and I was off to enjoy some good memories, the dust in my nosehairs and the dirt clinging to my contacts.
9:35 that night, Mike calls and says, "We're riding tomorrow", like I didn't have a choice in the matter (I told him earlier I'd be interested). So....the next morning at 7 am I was getting ready to go ride at Tomohawk in W.Va but it was closed so we hit Mountainerr raceway--I now know why I heard people calling it "Baby Budds Creek". I decided right then and there I was not qualified to ride that track.
And hour later I decided I shouldn't doubt myself so much.
I didn't ride as much as the previous day (they were doing sessions) but by the end of the day I was screaming (for me) up and down the straights (with the 50-80 cc bikes) and I even hit a jump (quite by accident) and landed successfuly (quite by luck, the Force, clean living, good Karma, and the lucky quarter Rasta Rider spied on the ground the day b4).
Most everyone was cool, especially when they realized I was/am new to the sport and the only thing me and James Stewart have in common is an affinity for whack dance moves (among other things) :cool: Even when I fell people would stop and ask if I was okay.
The only time I really felt dissed was when some hotshot on a 50 almost rubbed is rear tire on my eyelashes coming off a jump and then looked back as if to show off or something. :ugg: I saw the kid again and as I strolled by I realized that he was only three feet tall, I could dunk on him with ease and I didn't have to ask my mom for money, so then I felt better :laugh:
As I walked back to my muddy spot, the warm sun and smell of hamburgers being grilled intermingled with puffs of premix exhaust and the growl of new thumpers being ridden by the A class guys converged to form one thought, "This must be what DirtWeek is like, except you know everybody."
I'm hooked and the MadEarthworm is ready for more! :thumb:
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