Super Hunky - has taken his last ride

HuskyEd wrote:

So sad to hear this news of Rick's passing. Now Rick can take his last drive of the GYDBT to heaven. Being a young snot nosed...

So sad to hear this news of Rick's passing. Now Rick can take his last drive of the GYDBT to heaven. Being a young snot nosed kid in the 70's I couldn't wait for next months edition of Dirt Bike. For those of us that were lucky enough to grow up in that era you know exactly what I'm talking about. Rick's writing and entertainment skills were second to none.

RIP Rick Sieman

 

Here's a great Matthes podcast with Super Hunky

http://www.pulpmx.com/sites/default/files/podcasts/Guest_Rick_SuperHunk…

braaap wrote:

My condolences to Cindy and all those that were close to Rick.  Rick was the biggest American dirt bike advocating bad ass that ever lived. If...

My condolences to Cindy and all those that were close to Rick. 

Rick was the biggest American dirt bike advocating bad ass that ever lived. If you’ve never read about his battles with big government (BLM), Sierra Club, Earth First!, you have no idea how much this man put his livelihood on the line to fight for anyone wanting to ride their dirt bike on American tax payer funded public government land. Believe it or not, your tree hugging government doesn’t like your dirt bike on their land! 

Pick up a copy of The Phantom Duck of the Desert book from eBay to read about it.  

500 Mike wrote:

Jody responds to Super Hunky’s passing.  A short but classy piece on their relationship.  
 

https://motocrossactionmag.com/rumors-gossip-unfounded-truths-all-the-news-that-fits-plus-some-stuff-we-just-squeezed-in/

WhipMeister wrote:

Update on the CD stuff. So I got the second CD full of photos sort of reconstituted. The color photo JPGs themselves are no biggie. But...

Update on the CD stuff. So I got the second CD full of photos sort of reconstituted. The color photo JPGs themselves are no biggie. But Rick had wrapped them in an Adobe Flash slideshow 'wrapper'. Flash was retired years ago and none of the browsers will permit the install of the plug-in due to some security risk I never really researched. Bottom line, I can turn the slide show into an MP4 video stream. But it will operate as a video. Anyway, progress.

I'm not hip enough to what other CDs he was putting out. All we have right now are the From The Saddle columns and the accompanying photos. Still need anything else he may have shipped.

Cindy's at a convention, so I don't expect much movement until next week. And, with the holiday..... Be patient, folks. We're getting there.

ALSO, there has been a big push to get Rick into the AMA Hall of Fame this year. If anyone has any pull whatsoever to make this happen, any and all efforts will be appreciated.

Magoofan wrote:

I wrote this one for Rick...     The Last Race (some time in the not too distant future) (In memory and in the writing spirit...

I wrote this one for Rick...

 

The Last Race (some time in the not too distant future)

(In memory and in the writing spirit of Rick “Super Hunky” Sieman)

Adam Spence's eyes adjusted as the lights came up in the arena after the LED faux “fireworks” display subsided. The 3000 or so other spectators around him immediately turned back to their hungry glowing screens and the never ending flow of mindless drivel. Concession drones quickly took to the air delivering WHO nutritionally approved snacks and beverages.

Adam sure could use an ice cold beer and an onion/mustard laced nitrate-cicle right now. ...these luxuries were nothing but a distant faded memory. <sigh>

It had been decades since Adam had watched, let alone attended a race. There had been far too many changes to the sport, too many regulations, restrictions. Shivers went down his spine as fond memories filled his head of a deafening stadium containing 70,000+ rabid fans on their feet screaming. Images of sponsors like Miller High Life, Camel cigarettes, endless “take my money, please” performance parts companies, gear/apparel companies, pretty young ladies using hand cannons to launch T-shirts into the stands flashed before his eyes. Those days were long gone.

As if the thought-police had read his mind filled with those happy memories, Adam was jarred back to reality by a loud PSA. He looked around dourly, this state arena was filled with digital screens displaying androgynous people repeating approved social messages: “Fair share for everyone”, “Do your part” and “Live carbon neutral”. It made the bile rise in Adams throat, he knew what these things really meant for all the subjects of the world today.

Adam peered around and could spot the few actual remaining true moto fans in the arena tonight. They were the ones not looking at their social-credit device screens, they were the ones taking in this spectacle with knowing eyes. Truthfully, it made it easier to spot them due to their wearing hats and t-shirts with faded logos of all those long-since extinct companies like FMF, Pro Circuit, Hinson, Alpine Stars... No doubt, they were all questioning why they had even bothered to come. He too had asked himself what in the hell he was doing here...more than once.

Actually, the event almost didn’t happen. Some local bureaucrat wanted it canceled, citing “wastefulness of precious resources”, “noise pollution” and “promotion of dangerous behavior”. Through some miracle, the worlds last remaining motorcycle manufacturer had received approval for the event purely due to a clerical error. Not surprisingly, the person in city hall responsible for said error was promptly terminated from their position.

Up on the jumbo-digi-screen, the commentators were discussing how the once beloved worldwide sport of motocross had been born and how it had exploded in the late 20th century. Images of past races and legendary riders rolled across the screen… DeCoster, Smith, Hannah, Magoo, O’Mara, Bailey, Johnson, Ward, Glover, Carmichael, Stewart, Dungey and so many other legends.

The commentators continued the discussion with the evolution of motocross and how it began as an affordable motor-sport for the “every-man”. Adam scoffed, that affordability had gone down the drain when 4-strokes burst onto the scene because 2-strokes, AKA “smokers”, no longer met the ever tightening stranglehold of government regulations.

The discussion finally arrived to the point at which electric motorcycles were introduced to the sport. These wonders were to herald a new era of noiseless and eco-friendly riding/racing. Also touting advantages like “low maintenance” - read: perfect for a growing number of people who don’t know how to work on their own toys. Never mind that the price tag of these glorified toasters climbed to stratospheric new heights. No mention was made of the dirty fact that mining of battery materials was most definitely NOT eco-friendly. The moto webisphere took the bait, proclaiming:”Noiseless bikes!...tracks could open up in neighborhoods now!”

The trap was set and the duped were many.

Adam recalled how the 2035 banning of internal combustion engine vehicles and motorcycles dealt a devastating blow to the off-roading community. Sure, batteries work for 25 minute motos, but were utterly useless for all day or multi-day treks thru the mountains and deserts. Gasoline, no longer in high demand and being phased out, saw prices skyrocket to unobtanium levels. Seems many short-sighted enthusiasts didn’t realize that sales of bikes other than motocross models kept motorcycle companies in business. Motorcycle sales dried up and manufacturers shuttered their doors one by one.

All those “new tracks close to neighborhoods” never materialized. Real estate was too expensive. Government prioritized it’s use for businesses that would maximize tax revenues in their “15 minute city” plans. Lets not even get into the prohibitive liability insurance costs to a potential track owner.

As time passed, fewer and fewer citizens could afford a vehicle to get their bike to the tracks outside city limits. You couldn’t bring a gas generator to charge your bike battery between motos. Even if you could afford the gasoline, they had been banned. Most of the painfully few charging stations provided by the track owners had perpetual “out of order” signs on them. The other option, you could always buy a second battery for half of what the bike cost you originally, just add it to the payment plan.

BLM public land closures and government land grabs were another nail in the coffin.

This was the environmentalist wackos plan all along, they celebrated with each new falling domino. The off-road community with heroes like Rick Sieman and Louis McKey (The Phantom Duck of the Desert) had won hard fought battles against the government in decades past...but in the end, the war was lost. Those bastards had endless funds to draw from…that being YOUR tax dollars.

Adams internal thoughts were once again interrupted by an announcement. “Racing is about to begin shortly, please take your seats”. The creepily soothing voice reminded him of the carousel scene in the movie Logans Run.

Adam muttered sarcastically to noone in particular, “I can hardly wait”. He took a bite of the snack the concession drone had delivered and immediately regretted doing so. It had the consistency of chalk and about as much flavor as English bangers...which means none if you’ve ever had the pleasure. He spit it back in the wrapper and fought the urge to jump up waving it around while screaming “Soylent Green...is people!” He wondered how many would get the reference.

Tonights racing, if you want to call it that, was not at all what he was accustomed to or expecting. In fact, it was entirely laughable. The tiny arena was a far cry from the likes of a stadium like Anaheim (that hallowed ground had been demolished long ago). Tonights “track” even made arenacross look like an outdoors event. If that wasn’t insulting enough, only one rider could “compete” on the track at any given time. The possibility of rider to rider or bike to bike contact had been strictly banned due to the outcry of the younger generation who felt it was unfair and unsportsmanlike. Boo hoo…

I’d give my left nut to see "master of the take-out " Justin Barcia out there banging bars one last time, Adam thought to himself.

 

It got more ridiculous as he read the event program.

1. Racing is a timed lap format, riders get 3 laps.

2. Machines must be identical for all riders, no modifications.

3. A start grate is utilized to assure consistency of starts.

4. AI launch assist and traction control for consistency of starts.

5. AI controlled transmissions – clutch use and shifting are inefficient.

6. AI steering assist – assures riders stay on the track

7. AI controlled throttle response – assures correct power levels for specific obstacles

8. AI controlled suspension/wheel gyros – assures stability for all bumps and jumps.

9. AI crash prevention………...

….that was the final straw, Adam stopped reading, crumpled up the program and tossed it. Electronics had completely taken all the rider skill off the table. Essentially, the rider had only to hold on to the handlebars.

About this time, Frank Simmons, the first “competitor” pulled up to the start grate. It was so quiet, Adam literally could hear someone cough on the other side of the arena. The gate dropped and off Frank went. Gone were the exciting days of jockeying for the holeshot and first turn pile-ups. The near silent Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr of the electric motor and horrible clack, clack, clacking of the drive chain were the only sounds in the arena. There had been no blast of fire shooting into the sky when the gate dropped, no roar of motors into the first turn, no cheering crowd, no exhaust fumes and no scent of race gas wafting into the stands.

Adam winced… his mind screamed, the least they could have done to was to play something like AC/DC Thunderstruck over the arena sound system to get people charged up. Then he quickly realized, that would’ve been against the noise ordinance.

During Franks 3rd and final lap, Adam looked around the arena. The spectators were transfixed by their little electronic leashes again and the selfies started as they inevitably do. Nobody cared about the “action”, the lack of sounds, the lack of smells and lack of genuine competition. This was the legacy of the “grow the sport” generation…micro-second attention span consumers, not fans.

When Frank crossed the timing line...there was no “lighting of the candles” or “neck burn” (thank you JS7). Just an impotent LED flashing display of his three timed laps. All within 0.3 seconds of each other. Thrilling.

As the “competition” train wreck continued, the third competitor on the track was black-flagged for doing a heel-clicker over a jump. Rebellious and unsafe displays of individuality were not to be tolerated. A thoroughly disgusted Adam had seen enough. He got up and made a beeline for the exit.

On his way out of the arena, an event mandated social-worker scowled at Adam. It most assuredly was the “Who the hell is Bob Hannah?” T-shirt he was sporting that drew the ire. “Good”, thought Adam, “the night wasn’t a total loss”.

He walked home rather than taking the public transit system, he needed to take in the brisk night air. It was one of the few remaining things that made him feel alive in this choked society.

Unbeknownst to Adam, when the event concluded and the “Everyone's a winner!” participation trophies had all been passed out, the hosting motorcycle manufacturer made an announcement. The Director of Public Relations proclaimed with a shaking voice that tonight was their last hurrah, they would be closing down operations and ceasing manufacturing. The trifecta of death, that being the environmental/health/safety laws, had finally outlawed motorcycling. As had been done to everything else that was deemed damaging to the environment or dangerous/risky hobbies. The motorcycle manufacturers sincere “Thank you for your years of support” fell on deaf ears, the seats were empty.

After all the spectators left the state arena and boarded public transit to their little government mandated communal cubicals, the arena staff threw a switch and the lights went out on a motocross event for the last time.

Adam arrived home, kicked off his boots, sunk into his favorite chair and took a good long pull of his home distilled hootch (illegal of course). He pulled out a very old Dirt Bike magazine from his collection and leafed thru it. God, how he missed those days. His eyes getting heavy and his work shift a mere 5 hours away, he finally crawled into bed and slipped into the ethereal dreamscape.

The crisp braaaaap of a finely tuned 2-stroke filled his ears and the aroma of blue smoke laced with unburnt race gas tickled his nose, he aimed his front wheel at the big triple...and soared. Adam smiled in his sleep. they can’t ever mandate the dreams or memories away.

 

Magoofan wrote:

I wrote this one for Rick...     The Last Race (some time in the not too distant future) (In memory and in the writing spirit...

I wrote this one for Rick...

 

The Last Race (some time in the not too distant future)

(In memory and in the writing spirit of Rick “Super Hunky” Sieman)

Adam Spence's eyes adjusted as the lights came up in the arena after the LED faux “fireworks” display subsided. The 3000 or so other spectators around him immediately turned back to their hungry glowing screens and the never ending flow of mindless drivel. Concession drones quickly took to the air delivering WHO nutritionally approved snacks and beverages.

Adam sure could use an ice cold beer and an onion/mustard laced nitrate-cicle right now. ...these luxuries were nothing but a distant faded memory. <sigh>

It had been decades since Adam had watched, let alone attended a race. There had been far too many changes to the sport, too many regulations, restrictions. Shivers went down his spine as fond memories filled his head of a deafening stadium containing 70,000+ rabid fans on their feet screaming. Images of sponsors like Miller High Life, Camel cigarettes, endless “take my money, please” performance parts companies, gear/apparel companies, pretty young ladies using hand cannons to launch T-shirts into the stands flashed before his eyes. Those days were long gone.

As if the thought-police had read his mind filled with those happy memories, Adam was jarred back to reality by a loud PSA. He looked around dourly, this state arena was filled with digital screens displaying androgynous people repeating approved social messages: “Fair share for everyone”, “Do your part” and “Live carbon neutral”. It made the bile rise in Adams throat, he knew what these things really meant for all the subjects of the world today.

Adam peered around and could spot the few actual remaining true moto fans in the arena tonight. They were the ones not looking at their social-credit device screens, they were the ones taking in this spectacle with knowing eyes. Truthfully, it made it easier to spot them due to their wearing hats and t-shirts with faded logos of all those long-since extinct companies like FMF, Pro Circuit, Hinson, Alpine Stars... No doubt, they were all questioning why they had even bothered to come. He too had asked himself what in the hell he was doing here...more than once.

Actually, the event almost didn’t happen. Some local bureaucrat wanted it canceled, citing “wastefulness of precious resources”, “noise pollution” and “promotion of dangerous behavior”. Through some miracle, the worlds last remaining motorcycle manufacturer had received approval for the event purely due to a clerical error. Not surprisingly, the person in city hall responsible for said error was promptly terminated from their position.

Up on the jumbo-digi-screen, the commentators were discussing how the once beloved worldwide sport of motocross had been born and how it had exploded in the late 20th century. Images of past races and legendary riders rolled across the screen… DeCoster, Smith, Hannah, Magoo, O’Mara, Bailey, Johnson, Ward, Glover, Carmichael, Stewart, Dungey and so many other legends.

The commentators continued the discussion with the evolution of motocross and how it began as an affordable motor-sport for the “every-man”. Adam scoffed, that affordability had gone down the drain when 4-strokes burst onto the scene because 2-strokes, AKA “smokers”, no longer met the ever tightening stranglehold of government regulations.

The discussion finally arrived to the point at which electric motorcycles were introduced to the sport. These wonders were to herald a new era of noiseless and eco-friendly riding/racing. Also touting advantages like “low maintenance” - read: perfect for a growing number of people who don’t know how to work on their own toys. Never mind that the price tag of these glorified toasters climbed to stratospheric new heights. No mention was made of the dirty fact that mining of battery materials was most definitely NOT eco-friendly. The moto webisphere took the bait, proclaiming:”Noiseless bikes!...tracks could open up in neighborhoods now!”

The trap was set and the duped were many.

Adam recalled how the 2035 banning of internal combustion engine vehicles and motorcycles dealt a devastating blow to the off-roading community. Sure, batteries work for 25 minute motos, but were utterly useless for all day or multi-day treks thru the mountains and deserts. Gasoline, no longer in high demand and being phased out, saw prices skyrocket to unobtanium levels. Seems many short-sighted enthusiasts didn’t realize that sales of bikes other than motocross models kept motorcycle companies in business. Motorcycle sales dried up and manufacturers shuttered their doors one by one.

All those “new tracks close to neighborhoods” never materialized. Real estate was too expensive. Government prioritized it’s use for businesses that would maximize tax revenues in their “15 minute city” plans. Lets not even get into the prohibitive liability insurance costs to a potential track owner.

As time passed, fewer and fewer citizens could afford a vehicle to get their bike to the tracks outside city limits. You couldn’t bring a gas generator to charge your bike battery between motos. Even if you could afford the gasoline, they had been banned. Most of the painfully few charging stations provided by the track owners had perpetual “out of order” signs on them. The other option, you could always buy a second battery for half of what the bike cost you originally, just add it to the payment plan.

BLM public land closures and government land grabs were another nail in the coffin.

This was the environmentalist wackos plan all along, they celebrated with each new falling domino. The off-road community with heroes like Rick Sieman and Louis McKey (The Phantom Duck of the Desert) had won hard fought battles against the government in decades past...but in the end, the war was lost. Those bastards had endless funds to draw from…that being YOUR tax dollars.

Adams internal thoughts were once again interrupted by an announcement. “Racing is about to begin shortly, please take your seats”. The creepily soothing voice reminded him of the carousel scene in the movie Logans Run.

Adam muttered sarcastically to noone in particular, “I can hardly wait”. He took a bite of the snack the concession drone had delivered and immediately regretted doing so. It had the consistency of chalk and about as much flavor as English bangers...which means none if you’ve ever had the pleasure. He spit it back in the wrapper and fought the urge to jump up waving it around while screaming “Soylent Green...is people!” He wondered how many would get the reference.

Tonights racing, if you want to call it that, was not at all what he was accustomed to or expecting. In fact, it was entirely laughable. The tiny arena was a far cry from the likes of a stadium like Anaheim (that hallowed ground had been demolished long ago). Tonights “track” even made arenacross look like an outdoors event. If that wasn’t insulting enough, only one rider could “compete” on the track at any given time. The possibility of rider to rider or bike to bike contact had been strictly banned due to the outcry of the younger generation who felt it was unfair and unsportsmanlike. Boo hoo…

I’d give my left nut to see "master of the take-out " Justin Barcia out there banging bars one last time, Adam thought to himself.

 

It got more ridiculous as he read the event program.

1. Racing is a timed lap format, riders get 3 laps.

2. Machines must be identical for all riders, no modifications.

3. A start grate is utilized to assure consistency of starts.

4. AI launch assist and traction control for consistency of starts.

5. AI controlled transmissions – clutch use and shifting are inefficient.

6. AI steering assist – assures riders stay on the track

7. AI controlled throttle response – assures correct power levels for specific obstacles

8. AI controlled suspension/wheel gyros – assures stability for all bumps and jumps.

9. AI crash prevention………...

….that was the final straw, Adam stopped reading, crumpled up the program and tossed it. Electronics had completely taken all the rider skill off the table. Essentially, the rider had only to hold on to the handlebars.

About this time, Frank Simmons, the first “competitor” pulled up to the start grate. It was so quiet, Adam literally could hear someone cough on the other side of the arena. The gate dropped and off Frank went. Gone were the exciting days of jockeying for the holeshot and first turn pile-ups. The near silent Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr of the electric motor and horrible clack, clack, clacking of the drive chain were the only sounds in the arena. There had been no blast of fire shooting into the sky when the gate dropped, no roar of motors into the first turn, no cheering crowd, no exhaust fumes and no scent of race gas wafting into the stands.

Adam winced… his mind screamed, the least they could have done to was to play something like AC/DC Thunderstruck over the arena sound system to get people charged up. Then he quickly realized, that would’ve been against the noise ordinance.

During Franks 3rd and final lap, Adam looked around the arena. The spectators were transfixed by their little electronic leashes again and the selfies started as they inevitably do. Nobody cared about the “action”, the lack of sounds, the lack of smells and lack of genuine competition. This was the legacy of the “grow the sport” generation…micro-second attention span consumers, not fans.

When Frank crossed the timing line...there was no “lighting of the candles” or “neck burn” (thank you JS7). Just an impotent LED flashing display of his three timed laps. All within 0.3 seconds of each other. Thrilling.

As the “competition” train wreck continued, the third competitor on the track was black-flagged for doing a heel-clicker over a jump. Rebellious and unsafe displays of individuality were not to be tolerated. A thoroughly disgusted Adam had seen enough. He got up and made a beeline for the exit.

On his way out of the arena, an event mandated social-worker scowled at Adam. It most assuredly was the “Who the hell is Bob Hannah?” T-shirt he was sporting that drew the ire. “Good”, thought Adam, “the night wasn’t a total loss”.

He walked home rather than taking the public transit system, he needed to take in the brisk night air. It was one of the few remaining things that made him feel alive in this choked society.

Unbeknownst to Adam, when the event concluded and the “Everyone's a winner!” participation trophies had all been passed out, the hosting motorcycle manufacturer made an announcement. The Director of Public Relations proclaimed with a shaking voice that tonight was their last hurrah, they would be closing down operations and ceasing manufacturing. The trifecta of death, that being the environmental/health/safety laws, had finally outlawed motorcycling. As had been done to everything else that was deemed damaging to the environment or dangerous/risky hobbies. The motorcycle manufacturers sincere “Thank you for your years of support” fell on deaf ears, the seats were empty.

After all the spectators left the state arena and boarded public transit to their little government mandated communal cubicals, the arena staff threw a switch and the lights went out on a motocross event for the last time.

Adam arrived home, kicked off his boots, sunk into his favorite chair and took a good long pull of his home distilled hootch (illegal of course). He pulled out a very old Dirt Bike magazine from his collection and leafed thru it. God, how he missed those days. His eyes getting heavy and his work shift a mere 5 hours away, he finally crawled into bed and slipped into the ethereal dreamscape.

The crisp braaaaap of a finely tuned 2-stroke filled his ears and the aroma of blue smoke laced with unburnt race gas tickled his nose, he aimed his front wheel at the big triple...and soared. Adam smiled in his sleep. they can’t ever mandate the dreams or memories away.

 

burn1986 wrote:

Wow Magoo that was really good, man 👍

RIP Rick. We’ll all miss you - God Blass you and you family 😕

Magoofan wrote:

Thanks!   I tried to channel  the Hunk's writing style.   Even used character names from some of his best stories.   I wish I could have shared it...

Thanks!   I tried to channel  the Hunk's writing style.   Even used character names from some of his best stories.   I wish I could have shared it with him....I think he would have liked it. 

Magoofan wrote:

I wrote this one for Rick...     The Last Race (some time in the not too distant future) (In memory and in the writing spirit...

I wrote this one for Rick...

 

The Last Race (some time in the not too distant future)

(In memory and in the writing spirit of Rick “Super Hunky” Sieman)

Adam Spence's eyes adjusted as the lights came up in the arena after the LED faux “fireworks” display subsided. The 3000 or so other spectators around him immediately turned back to their hungry glowing screens and the never ending flow of mindless drivel. Concession drones quickly took to the air delivering WHO nutritionally approved snacks and beverages.

Adam sure could use an ice cold beer and an onion/mustard laced nitrate-cicle right now. ...these luxuries were nothing but a distant faded memory. <sigh>

It had been decades since Adam had watched, let alone attended a race. There had been far too many changes to the sport, too many regulations, restrictions. Shivers went down his spine as fond memories filled his head of a deafening stadium containing 70,000+ rabid fans on their feet screaming. Images of sponsors like Miller High Life, Camel cigarettes, endless “take my money, please” performance parts companies, gear/apparel companies, pretty young ladies using hand cannons to launch T-shirts into the stands flashed before his eyes. Those days were long gone.

As if the thought-police had read his mind filled with those happy memories, Adam was jarred back to reality by a loud PSA. He looked around dourly, this state arena was filled with digital screens displaying androgynous people repeating approved social messages: “Fair share for everyone”, “Do your part” and “Live carbon neutral”. It made the bile rise in Adams throat, he knew what these things really meant for all the subjects of the world today.

Adam peered around and could spot the few actual remaining true moto fans in the arena tonight. They were the ones not looking at their social-credit device screens, they were the ones taking in this spectacle with knowing eyes. Truthfully, it made it easier to spot them due to their wearing hats and t-shirts with faded logos of all those long-since extinct companies like FMF, Pro Circuit, Hinson, Alpine Stars... No doubt, they were all questioning why they had even bothered to come. He too had asked himself what in the hell he was doing here...more than once.

Actually, the event almost didn’t happen. Some local bureaucrat wanted it canceled, citing “wastefulness of precious resources”, “noise pollution” and “promotion of dangerous behavior”. Through some miracle, the worlds last remaining motorcycle manufacturer had received approval for the event purely due to a clerical error. Not surprisingly, the person in city hall responsible for said error was promptly terminated from their position.

Up on the jumbo-digi-screen, the commentators were discussing how the once beloved worldwide sport of motocross had been born and how it had exploded in the late 20th century. Images of past races and legendary riders rolled across the screen… DeCoster, Smith, Hannah, Magoo, O’Mara, Bailey, Johnson, Ward, Glover, Carmichael, Stewart, Dungey and so many other legends.

The commentators continued the discussion with the evolution of motocross and how it began as an affordable motor-sport for the “every-man”. Adam scoffed, that affordability had gone down the drain when 4-strokes burst onto the scene because 2-strokes, AKA “smokers”, no longer met the ever tightening stranglehold of government regulations.

The discussion finally arrived to the point at which electric motorcycles were introduced to the sport. These wonders were to herald a new era of noiseless and eco-friendly riding/racing. Also touting advantages like “low maintenance” - read: perfect for a growing number of people who don’t know how to work on their own toys. Never mind that the price tag of these glorified toasters climbed to stratospheric new heights. No mention was made of the dirty fact that mining of battery materials was most definitely NOT eco-friendly. The moto webisphere took the bait, proclaiming:”Noiseless bikes!...tracks could open up in neighborhoods now!”

The trap was set and the duped were many.

Adam recalled how the 2035 banning of internal combustion engine vehicles and motorcycles dealt a devastating blow to the off-roading community. Sure, batteries work for 25 minute motos, but were utterly useless for all day or multi-day treks thru the mountains and deserts. Gasoline, no longer in high demand and being phased out, saw prices skyrocket to unobtanium levels. Seems many short-sighted enthusiasts didn’t realize that sales of bikes other than motocross models kept motorcycle companies in business. Motorcycle sales dried up and manufacturers shuttered their doors one by one.

All those “new tracks close to neighborhoods” never materialized. Real estate was too expensive. Government prioritized it’s use for businesses that would maximize tax revenues in their “15 minute city” plans. Lets not even get into the prohibitive liability insurance costs to a potential track owner.

As time passed, fewer and fewer citizens could afford a vehicle to get their bike to the tracks outside city limits. You couldn’t bring a gas generator to charge your bike battery between motos. Even if you could afford the gasoline, they had been banned. Most of the painfully few charging stations provided by the track owners had perpetual “out of order” signs on them. The other option, you could always buy a second battery for half of what the bike cost you originally, just add it to the payment plan.

BLM public land closures and government land grabs were another nail in the coffin.

This was the environmentalist wackos plan all along, they celebrated with each new falling domino. The off-road community with heroes like Rick Sieman and Louis McKey (The Phantom Duck of the Desert) had won hard fought battles against the government in decades past...but in the end, the war was lost. Those bastards had endless funds to draw from…that being YOUR tax dollars.

Adams internal thoughts were once again interrupted by an announcement. “Racing is about to begin shortly, please take your seats”. The creepily soothing voice reminded him of the carousel scene in the movie Logans Run.

Adam muttered sarcastically to noone in particular, “I can hardly wait”. He took a bite of the snack the concession drone had delivered and immediately regretted doing so. It had the consistency of chalk and about as much flavor as English bangers...which means none if you’ve ever had the pleasure. He spit it back in the wrapper and fought the urge to jump up waving it around while screaming “Soylent Green...is people!” He wondered how many would get the reference.

Tonights racing, if you want to call it that, was not at all what he was accustomed to or expecting. In fact, it was entirely laughable. The tiny arena was a far cry from the likes of a stadium like Anaheim (that hallowed ground had been demolished long ago). Tonights “track” even made arenacross look like an outdoors event. If that wasn’t insulting enough, only one rider could “compete” on the track at any given time. The possibility of rider to rider or bike to bike contact had been strictly banned due to the outcry of the younger generation who felt it was unfair and unsportsmanlike. Boo hoo…

I’d give my left nut to see "master of the take-out " Justin Barcia out there banging bars one last time, Adam thought to himself.

 

It got more ridiculous as he read the event program.

1. Racing is a timed lap format, riders get 3 laps.

2. Machines must be identical for all riders, no modifications.

3. A start grate is utilized to assure consistency of starts.

4. AI launch assist and traction control for consistency of starts.

5. AI controlled transmissions – clutch use and shifting are inefficient.

6. AI steering assist – assures riders stay on the track

7. AI controlled throttle response – assures correct power levels for specific obstacles

8. AI controlled suspension/wheel gyros – assures stability for all bumps and jumps.

9. AI crash prevention………...

….that was the final straw, Adam stopped reading, crumpled up the program and tossed it. Electronics had completely taken all the rider skill off the table. Essentially, the rider had only to hold on to the handlebars.

About this time, Frank Simmons, the first “competitor” pulled up to the start grate. It was so quiet, Adam literally could hear someone cough on the other side of the arena. The gate dropped and off Frank went. Gone were the exciting days of jockeying for the holeshot and first turn pile-ups. The near silent Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr of the electric motor and horrible clack, clack, clacking of the drive chain were the only sounds in the arena. There had been no blast of fire shooting into the sky when the gate dropped, no roar of motors into the first turn, no cheering crowd, no exhaust fumes and no scent of race gas wafting into the stands.

Adam winced… his mind screamed, the least they could have done to was to play something like AC/DC Thunderstruck over the arena sound system to get people charged up. Then he quickly realized, that would’ve been against the noise ordinance.

During Franks 3rd and final lap, Adam looked around the arena. The spectators were transfixed by their little electronic leashes again and the selfies started as they inevitably do. Nobody cared about the “action”, the lack of sounds, the lack of smells and lack of genuine competition. This was the legacy of the “grow the sport” generation…micro-second attention span consumers, not fans.

When Frank crossed the timing line...there was no “lighting of the candles” or “neck burn” (thank you JS7). Just an impotent LED flashing display of his three timed laps. All within 0.3 seconds of each other. Thrilling.

As the “competition” train wreck continued, the third competitor on the track was black-flagged for doing a heel-clicker over a jump. Rebellious and unsafe displays of individuality were not to be tolerated. A thoroughly disgusted Adam had seen enough. He got up and made a beeline for the exit.

On his way out of the arena, an event mandated social-worker scowled at Adam. It most assuredly was the “Who the hell is Bob Hannah?” T-shirt he was sporting that drew the ire. “Good”, thought Adam, “the night wasn’t a total loss”.

He walked home rather than taking the public transit system, he needed to take in the brisk night air. It was one of the few remaining things that made him feel alive in this choked society.

Unbeknownst to Adam, when the event concluded and the “Everyone's a winner!” participation trophies had all been passed out, the hosting motorcycle manufacturer made an announcement. The Director of Public Relations proclaimed with a shaking voice that tonight was their last hurrah, they would be closing down operations and ceasing manufacturing. The trifecta of death, that being the environmental/health/safety laws, had finally outlawed motorcycling. As had been done to everything else that was deemed damaging to the environment or dangerous/risky hobbies. The motorcycle manufacturers sincere “Thank you for your years of support” fell on deaf ears, the seats were empty.

After all the spectators left the state arena and boarded public transit to their little government mandated communal cubicals, the arena staff threw a switch and the lights went out on a motocross event for the last time.

Adam arrived home, kicked off his boots, sunk into his favorite chair and took a good long pull of his home distilled hootch (illegal of course). He pulled out a very old Dirt Bike magazine from his collection and leafed thru it. God, how he missed those days. His eyes getting heavy and his work shift a mere 5 hours away, he finally crawled into bed and slipped into the ethereal dreamscape.

The crisp braaaaap of a finely tuned 2-stroke filled his ears and the aroma of blue smoke laced with unburnt race gas tickled his nose, he aimed his front wheel at the big triple...and soared. Adam smiled in his sleep. they can’t ever mandate the dreams or memories away.