justalonewolf007
Member
- Apr 30, 2007
- 657
- 0
I'll have to do this one in parts, beings as I have very limited internet access, and no MS Word on my compulator.
Yes, I am far far far behind in my adventures...but I'll give a quick rundown.
Still racing, but not totally back into my fearless groove. Instead, I've developed a new signature Tolle riding style. It's a lot more goonish than before :whoa: , but I am faster than I have ever been (so far as I can tell), which feels really good.
I've even started clearing tabletops!! Having suspension, and the additional power has really made a night and day difference in my riding.
I'm still working in the fields, but my boss picked up a CRF 230, and I spend a lot more time on that now instead of a 4wheeler. I had no idea those things were such tanks, and I will try my hardest to get a nearly stuck picture on here, and the resulting mud carnage that the poor tank endured on my behalf.
Prelude:
Unlike the adventures beforehand (at least the ones you have read) this one involves another DRN member, possibly three depending on who all is on this site.
MX86 will have to stand up and wave for a second, as I introduce him as a one of my partners in crime.
Adventure:
The trip started out with my driving to his small hometown of Nutwash. That is not its official title, but I cannot for the life of me pronounce that town's rather disconcerting name. The vowels and consenants are all messed up. Seriously, just have it changed to Nutwash guys, that way I won't screw it up so bad.
I had been up most of the night before, having issues with a lot of other stuff, so getting there, I was pretty tired. But the tickets had been bought, and I was stoked to see some professional riding skills. MX86, I, and two others all hopped in, and headed down to the cities on friday night.
Having made it half way, we stopped for gas, and I was introduced to White Castle for the second time in my life. Ends up that there is a reason they call them SLYDERS. I was oblivious to this fact for quite some time, until the other three occupants of the car said "you're going to be hurting soon" after they watched me scarf four of them down.
I was definitely hurting later.
The overnight destination had me comfortably situated on a love seat, which may or may not have caused some seriously weird dreams. I really think the White Castle was mostly to blame though. Waking up was more than a little funny, and getting up was even funnier. I am just 3 inches too long for a love seat, and my back decided to stick in place.
Having unstucked myself, I found my partner in crime also awake at the unheavenly hour of 5am. Neither of us fell back asleep, so I meandered over to the showers and take care of my daily primping (which really is a big joke - I take a 15 minute shower, and don't own makeup or a blow dryer).
Breakfast was about ready a short while after, and I ate the most ultra exquisitly delicious french toast that I've ever tasted. With that, we collected the other half of our party, added one member, and headed to spring creek.
We didn't park close, but I didn't care. You could hear the bikes just as soon as you got out of the car, and even if they were thumpers, the sound was like Picasso painting an audible picture of happiness. I wasn't racing, but I still felt the excitement of race day.
We trickled in to the central point of attention like a colorful bunch of ants heading back to the hill, and hilly it was. As a flatlander, I got pretty disoriented at all the ridiculous angles the ground had decided to take. Had we not been surrounded by thundering thumpers, you could've heard my calves and knees complaining out loud.
We split from the two younger members, and made our way to a fence, where I saw my first professional racers blaze by, and promptly had my jaw slack open at the sheer speed and air they were achieving.
About the same time my jaw hung open, we all got roosted, and even the mouthful of dirt was great! Being totally cut off from the media world, I hadn't kept up on the standings or riders at all, and had to depend on everyone else for the who's who. Everyone was riding too fast for me to get anything really good for pictures, but I made up for quality with quantity.
The sweet smell of race gas was wafting around us in invisible waves, stronger just after each machine blazed past, and it was entirely intoxicating.
We toured the track, and I struggled, my legs about 8 inches shorter than the people I was trying to keep up with. I don't remember how many times I had to make them slow down for me, and I'm kinda sure that they all got kinda sick of my trying to keep up. The short person jokes were coming fast and furious as well, but I was still left grinning.
We found some food, and I landed myself a turkey leg that was about the size of my thigh. I didn't dominate it entirely, but it was funny to see that mine was nearly twice the size of the one that a companion had received. It was especially funny when he was nearly twice the size of me.
I was content to walk around, and we found some great seats for the 450 class in the first race. I tried to take some pictures, but gave it up and focused on scarfing down my huge birdy leg.
The ease with which these riders navigated everything was astounding, and I could only fantasize about riding with even half their skill level. Seeing the faces of the riders as they entered corners and navigated ruts as deep as my own supermini was also a new experience. Some were relaxed, some intense, and some were almost a little scared. I liked it all.
I don't remember which rider lost his muffler, but that was kinda funny, because my ears rang every time he went through that corner. It was good stuff. There was no real carnage to be had, except for what the riders were doing to the track, and the great air. I kept feeling smaller and smaller as they continued to do their awesome thing.
Yes, I am far far far behind in my adventures...but I'll give a quick rundown.
Still racing, but not totally back into my fearless groove. Instead, I've developed a new signature Tolle riding style. It's a lot more goonish than before :whoa: , but I am faster than I have ever been (so far as I can tell), which feels really good.
I've even started clearing tabletops!! Having suspension, and the additional power has really made a night and day difference in my riding.
I'm still working in the fields, but my boss picked up a CRF 230, and I spend a lot more time on that now instead of a 4wheeler. I had no idea those things were such tanks, and I will try my hardest to get a nearly stuck picture on here, and the resulting mud carnage that the poor tank endured on my behalf.
Prelude:
Unlike the adventures beforehand (at least the ones you have read) this one involves another DRN member, possibly three depending on who all is on this site.
MX86 will have to stand up and wave for a second, as I introduce him as a one of my partners in crime.
Adventure:
The trip started out with my driving to his small hometown of Nutwash. That is not its official title, but I cannot for the life of me pronounce that town's rather disconcerting name. The vowels and consenants are all messed up. Seriously, just have it changed to Nutwash guys, that way I won't screw it up so bad.
I had been up most of the night before, having issues with a lot of other stuff, so getting there, I was pretty tired. But the tickets had been bought, and I was stoked to see some professional riding skills. MX86, I, and two others all hopped in, and headed down to the cities on friday night.
Having made it half way, we stopped for gas, and I was introduced to White Castle for the second time in my life. Ends up that there is a reason they call them SLYDERS. I was oblivious to this fact for quite some time, until the other three occupants of the car said "you're going to be hurting soon" after they watched me scarf four of them down.
I was definitely hurting later.
The overnight destination had me comfortably situated on a love seat, which may or may not have caused some seriously weird dreams. I really think the White Castle was mostly to blame though. Waking up was more than a little funny, and getting up was even funnier. I am just 3 inches too long for a love seat, and my back decided to stick in place.
Having unstucked myself, I found my partner in crime also awake at the unheavenly hour of 5am. Neither of us fell back asleep, so I meandered over to the showers and take care of my daily primping (which really is a big joke - I take a 15 minute shower, and don't own makeup or a blow dryer).
Breakfast was about ready a short while after, and I ate the most ultra exquisitly delicious french toast that I've ever tasted. With that, we collected the other half of our party, added one member, and headed to spring creek.
We didn't park close, but I didn't care. You could hear the bikes just as soon as you got out of the car, and even if they were thumpers, the sound was like Picasso painting an audible picture of happiness. I wasn't racing, but I still felt the excitement of race day.
We trickled in to the central point of attention like a colorful bunch of ants heading back to the hill, and hilly it was. As a flatlander, I got pretty disoriented at all the ridiculous angles the ground had decided to take. Had we not been surrounded by thundering thumpers, you could've heard my calves and knees complaining out loud.
We split from the two younger members, and made our way to a fence, where I saw my first professional racers blaze by, and promptly had my jaw slack open at the sheer speed and air they were achieving.
About the same time my jaw hung open, we all got roosted, and even the mouthful of dirt was great! Being totally cut off from the media world, I hadn't kept up on the standings or riders at all, and had to depend on everyone else for the who's who. Everyone was riding too fast for me to get anything really good for pictures, but I made up for quality with quantity.
The sweet smell of race gas was wafting around us in invisible waves, stronger just after each machine blazed past, and it was entirely intoxicating.
We toured the track, and I struggled, my legs about 8 inches shorter than the people I was trying to keep up with. I don't remember how many times I had to make them slow down for me, and I'm kinda sure that they all got kinda sick of my trying to keep up. The short person jokes were coming fast and furious as well, but I was still left grinning.
We found some food, and I landed myself a turkey leg that was about the size of my thigh. I didn't dominate it entirely, but it was funny to see that mine was nearly twice the size of the one that a companion had received. It was especially funny when he was nearly twice the size of me.
I was content to walk around, and we found some great seats for the 450 class in the first race. I tried to take some pictures, but gave it up and focused on scarfing down my huge birdy leg.
The ease with which these riders navigated everything was astounding, and I could only fantasize about riding with even half their skill level. Seeing the faces of the riders as they entered corners and navigated ruts as deep as my own supermini was also a new experience. Some were relaxed, some intense, and some were almost a little scared. I liked it all.
I don't remember which rider lost his muffler, but that was kinda funny, because my ears rang every time he went through that corner. It was good stuff. There was no real carnage to be had, except for what the riders were doing to the track, and the great air. I kept feeling smaller and smaller as they continued to do their awesome thing.
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