Just One More Lap!

My son and I have been waiting for it to stop raining for over a month. But when you live in Texas in the springtime, it's just part of the deal. Finally, we saw a seven-day forecast with no rain. We rushed to get our bikes back together and started picking out our favorite track. We finally agreed on a local track with a good sand/clay mix and a traditional old-school lay-out. I liked it for the wide open layout where you can actually click 5th gear on a 450 and he liked the flattrack that allows him time to get used to the powerful hit of his refurbished KX60 (plus he's still getting used to the whole shifting thing).


We arrived at the track and found a decent crowd had already shown up but our favorite shade tree near the flattrack was waiting for us and I took it as a good sign from the moto gods. We couldn't get the bikes unloaded and our gear on fast enough. I knew I was going to have to be a little more patient since I usually get Jr going first and with over a month off the bike, I had to make sure he didn't forget the techniques I taught him last time. To my surprise, he picked up right where we left off. I putted along with him for a little while around the flattrack with the occasional hot lap just to get my blood flowing. Finally, he got tired and pulled off the track for a swig of H2O. It was now Daddy's time to tackle the big boy track.


I took the first few laps slow since there were a few small changes since the last time we were out. Then I started to turn it up a little. I immediately noticed that the maintenance to my aging '05 CRF450 that I had performed during the monsoons of North Texas had paid off. My trusty steed felt like a brand new ride and everything felt crisp. As I started getting into the flow of the track, I realized this was shaping up to be one of those surreal days that only come along once in a blue moon.


Everything for me was clicking. I was no longer fighting the fire-breathing power of my refreshed red dragon; instead I was flowing with it. I noticed I wasn't arguing with myself about where to start braking entering a corner but instead was just allowing my momentum to carry me through the apex. I also wasn't deliberating on how fast to hit the jumps. Instead, I just left the throttle on all the way up the face and let the chips fall where they may. For the first time in a long time, I felt strong enough not to worry about the pain of flat landing. I would just grabbed a hand full right before landing and wheely into the next turn.


And it was in the large, bermed turns that really got my juices flowing. For whatever reason, my bike was sticking to the rough, moist terrafirma like never before. It felt like I couldn't drive it in hard enough or roll it back on quick enough. I was riding the rails of the track using up every square inch of it just so I wouldn't have to let go of the throttle. My trusty steed and I were making beautiful music together and it just seemed like a sin to chop the throttle prematurely. I sailed off the small table-top in the back leading to the downhill, flatlanding about 10 feet passed the sweet spot. With the throttle still wide open, I approached my favorite part of the track; a long seductive berm that lined the edge of the trees. In times passed, I would have chopped the throttle to set up my entrance being careful not to sail careening through the forest, but this time was different. This time I stared my own mortality dead in the eye, kept the throttle to the stops and dropped that bad bitch parallel to the earth!


I was rewarded for my bravery by being supplied with perfect traction from the beast. With my inside leg straight out and sandwiched between the bars and the earth, my back was arched and my neck stretched out over the triple clamps like a champion thoroughbred at the finish line, I shot out of the turn and onto the choppy straight like a heat seeking missile. I quickly grabbed 4th at the exit of the turn and proceeded to sail over the natural terrain jumps that lined the fastest part of the track. Upon the last landing, I grinned as I clicked the lonesome and often unused 5th gear leading into the sharp and flat 180 degree turn. I jammed the the tranny back into the lower gears as I clamped hard on the front brake and feathered the rear, tossing small clods of dirt down the back of my jersey letting me know that perfect braking had been applied. My over exuberance nearly made me miss my line, but I coiled up on the side of the bike like a rattlesnake ready to strike with all my 200 plus pounds on my outside peg and my elbow so high that even the Professor would nod in approval. Once again, I was blessed with perfect traction as I shoveled on the coal coming out of the tight 180 and using up every piece of real estate the turn had to offer including the trunk of a tree that marked the exit.


As you can tell, this was the perfect moment for a motocrosser. That rare time when just being in the zone isn't enough. At each turn and every jump, I was rewarded by a rush of adrenaline to my heart, a chill down my back and the feel of cold steel in my veins. As I hit all the sections of the track with my new found speed lap after lap, I started to reluctantly feel the fatigue of my 30 something year old body. My adrenaline filled spirit tried to ignore the cries of pain from my wrists and shoulders but in the end the signs were made clear. My elbows started to drop although I fought to re-establish my grip at every moment of air time. My legs started to quiver as I fought to squeeze the bike harder between my knees in order to relax my rubbery arms. After finally blowing out a few newly created berms from my previous endeavors to use the whole track, I admitted to myself that this session had drawn to a close.


Not willing to let go of the nirvana that I had just roosted through, I muttered the four most dangerous words an aging," professional motocross practicer" could utter:


"JUST ONE MORE LAP!"


I didn't realize the curse that I had just placed upon myself, mainly because I was still high as a kite from the rush. It actually went quite well for 3/4 of my "last lap" as I started to back the pace down just a bit. But coming out of the flat turn and approaching the simple rhythm section, I "Bubba shifted" on the face of the jump. While my momentum carried me 90% of the distance I needed, the missed shift sent my front end straight to the earth. I twisted the throttle in a desperate attempt to bring it back up. The sound of my 450 bouncing off the rev limiter in mid flight, alerted all within ear shot that for one poor slob, the shit had hit the fan! As I slammed into the dried baked clay, my bike turned on me and our new found relationship and proceeded to bash my dazed and confused skull back into the ground.


After catching my breath which seemed like hours but was mere seconds, I dragged my limp and twisted body back on top of my steed and tenderly putted back to my truck. As I sat on the back of my truck trying to figure out what day of the week it was, I fought for any clarity in my clouded head. I began to try and asses my injuries but kept drifting between dream and reality. It had been a long time but I have been here before. I knew what my diagnosis was but I just didn't want to admit it. I finally loaded me and the boy up after the tweety birds circling my head were down to just a few and proceeded to get a professional opinion. He concurred.......concussion.


Now, it's going to be 4-6 more weeks before I can ride again and by that time it's going to be so damn hot that only insects will still be active. All because of those four little words, "JUST ONE MORE LAP"