Or
The Ballad of Tom Batten
Inevitable is a word we hear used in a lot of different circumstances and for a lot of different reasons. Lately some of those reasons have struck home in an entirely different way as I listen to some of our friends talking about cleaning out their parents home after they had passed on and ponder my own mothers advancing years. Like the very word itself most of the time those things have been inevitable.
I first met Tom Batten in 2004, that was Jakes first year of racing and I had been doing some lurking around the now defunct NEMX web board in preparation for the season to try and catch on. One thing I noticed right away was that there was this one guy Tom Batten who always and I mean always seemed really interested in the results.
No matter what the track or the org if Tom wasn’t at that race and even if he was; Tom was looking for results. Well I joined the board and posted sparingly, getting to know who people were a little by reading the sometimes very spirited topics. By the time Jakes first race at Winchester came around I had sort of come to know who a few people were and didn’t feel too uncomfortable about our first time.
I was setting up our pit, badly I might add, the night before the race and Jake who was 8 at the time was sort of meandering around taking it all in, slightly awestruck. We got a few things out and I was under the EZ Up When I heard a guy say “Is that your bike?” and I turned around to see this guy standing a few feet away from where Jake was leaning on his bike. Now if you were ever going to picture in your head the perfect example of the word “Grizzled” .....well that would be Tom Batten, squinting through the glasses, smoke in hand, for the life of me all I could think of was my own grandfather; the epitome of old school.
Jakes eyes lit up as he excitedly told Tom about how this was his first race and Tom just listened and talked with Jake about racing and how his son Nick raced too. I walked over and introduced myself and we chatted a bit before heading up to the sign up building.
We came to know quite a few folks that first year and the years since then, some of the people I consider family to Jake and I we met on the track. I also came to realize something else, it wasn’t just on the internet that Tom was interested in what went on at the races, he was a fixture at the fences and always had a good word for the riders coming off the track especially the little ones. Standing near the exit gate as the riders pulled off ready with a pat on the back when you did well and a word of encouragement when you didn’t. No rider knew this or felt it more I am sure than Nick, to say that Tom was 100% percent behind him is a woeful understatement. On Toms profile for the Stacy Racing web board his occupation was listed as Father and his interests Nick and MX. Rain or shine, come hell and sometimes even high water you could always count on seeing Tom there cheering Nick on, it was inevitable.
I think everybody that raced with Nick and Tom have what I like to call a “Tom Batten moment”. I know quite a few folks that will remember the NEMX monsoon day at Hemonds with racing cancelled and mud up to the ankles Tom literally got run over in the pits by a truck slipping around a turn in the muck, only to get back up and shrug it off.
Mine was at Winchester one weekend when our power washer had died and I spotted Tom walking past my perch in the announcing tower. I asked if they had a washer set up we could borrow to give Jakes bike a quick spray down as ours had expired and of course the answer was yes. Tom pointed out where they had it set up and I said I would be over to use it. Well the track need a little touching up so with a few minutes break I roll over to where I saw Nicks bikes as well as the power washer and set to spraying away on Jakes bike. I was about done when I notice a guy standing there with a Honda 450, just sort of looking at me and thinking he is probably going to use it too. I said hey in my neighborly fashion but instead of saying hi back he says “Can I use my power washer now?”
“Oh...” I said “Tom Batten said I could use it so I thought it was theirs”
At which the guy sort of broke out into a grin and said “Ahhh that explains it”.
For me that was Tom, some people say they would give you the shirt off their back...Tom really would. It was all about the family of motocross, when someone needed something if he could help them by god he would. I am sure it never occurred to him that anybody would mind doing whatever they could to help out another racer; that was Tom.
Well as the seasons rolled on into 2008 Tom started to look a little worse for the wear but just seemed to shrug it off with his characteristic dismissive wave as if it was nothing, business as usual until the day came in October when Tom finally took the checkered flag himself. True to form just a week before he passed Tom was posting on the Stacy Racing web board asking about....you guessed it......the results for the Race of Champions. When we got the news it was a shock, as Paul Buckley posted “It seemed like Tom was tough enough to beat anything”.......but I guess it really was inevitable.
So if that is where we are all going and the march gets shorter every single day there is really only one thing that we can do. Burn as brightly as you can, never miss the chance to tell your kids when they do something great and even more so when they do something less than great. Hug them or kiss them and make sure they know you love them. Touch the lives of the people around you and never miss the chance to bring a smile to your friend’s faces. Stand at the fences and shout or stand behind your loved ones at all costs but stand for something and defend what you believe in because at the end of the day that is all that really matters.
Inevitably it is about who you are to the family and friends around you.
Rest in peace Tom Batten we miss you in the pits old friend.
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
6/24/09
1/13/09
It’s all fun and games.....
This story was written in June of 2008, finally decided to share it.
"It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt"
How true that statement can be and although the majority of us may have heard this from our parents it never really held much weight until now for me. I don’t have to tell anyone that the world we live in is a dangerous place. Every single day people lose that roll of the dice with fate and well crap happens...to paraphrase another well known cliché.
In racing the possibility of injury is a way of life, it really isn’t a question of if but rather when and how bad. When bad things happen the family of the sport really shines through as without fail your friends and people whom you may not know any more about than the number on their jersey pitch in and help. I recently helped a young girl who was at an open practice load her boyfriend’s bike as he was being loaded up for transport. As I pushed the bike over to his truck the folks pitted around them who immediately knew something had happened, came over and like a swarm of bees had everything loaded up. I went to give her the keys but she couldn’t drive with the stick-shift so we decide that parking it by the track office would make him feel good and then she could ride with him to the ER. As we drove over she remarked that she didn’t spend much time with him at the track and was surprised at how everybody came over and was so nice to her, asking how she was and helping out. I explained to her that it was just how it was with racers and their families, we all know it sucks to crash and we also know that someday it will be our turn in the barrel. How soon I would get a chance to be right about that one, as not too long after that practice day our barrel rolled in.
It was just another typical race day for us at Winchester Speedpark as we got ready to go for round 4 of the series, it rained the night before but beautiful blue skies greeted us in the morning so it looked like practice would be muddy but the track would shape up to be mint for racing. Jake gated up for his heat race feeling good about the day, he had run a solid fourth in his first outing on the 2008 SX layout and expected to do well again. The gate dropped and he reacted well off the line coming off the start running top five, as the pack rounded turn two Jake had only a handful of guys ahead perfectly set up for the double that would separate the pack a bit allowing him to run smooth laps to work his lines and get a great gate pick for the main....except that didn’t happen.
As soon as Jake left the face of the jump I knew something was wrong because he kicked his left leg out and twisted at the top of the bike. When he came down it looked like he flat landed then bounce-rolled over the next jump off the side of the track and went down. I didn’t really think it was going to be too serious as Jake would most likely get up any time now and remount to finish his heat, pissed at himself for not doing better.....except that didn’t happen either.
As I walked to the corner of the mechanics area to get a better look I saw a track ref pulling Jake’s bike up off him and kneeling down but instead of helping Jake stand up he began vigorously waving for the EMT’s to come over and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. At this point everything took on that surreal quality that life sometimes has as it got real quiet for me, I couldn’t really hear the bikes still racing around the track anymore but I was suddenly aware of the wind from the trees behind me. I watched them racing to Jakes side flags waving all over the section as multiple riders had gone down. I stood tensed at the edge of the rope separating me from the track waiting to see how Jake was when I noticed the red flag was now also waving and my stomach found a new low as I knew this meant someone wasn’t getting up, turned out it was my someone.
After the track was cleared I was waved over and I sprinted across the track as fast as I could which was really no match for the way my mind was racing. It was scary to see Jake at the center of a full on exam, head and neck being supported as they prepared to put him on a back board. I knelt down and told Jake I was there for him as he occasionally cried out in pain and the medics did their job. The scariest moment for me was as they ran through the standard various questions to see if he was OK and asked “Jake can you move your foot?” and he said “No” I can’t begin to describe to you all how I felt at that point and even as I write this it is going to make me cry again, I just couldn’t believe I heard him say that.
Then he said “Something is under it.” One of the medical bags had been put down just below his boot and his foot ended up resting against it. At which point the EMT said “Just wiggle your toes, can you wiggle your toes?” And he said “Yes” I almost laughed in relief at that point as that is just so Jake, no matter what he has to give the correct answers to the exact question. Well they back-boarded Jake and we headed for the ambulance as they got me up to speed on what was going to happen, we would be going to the local ER and from there would decide what Jake needed. Once Jake was secured I took off to get the truck to follow behind the ambulance at no point during any of this did I see Jakes bike or any of the gear they took off him but as I ran back to the pits our family descended. “We’ll take care of your stuff just go” and go I did without a second thought knowing Jake and I would be well taken care of in the hands of our extended family and that the folks who loved the sport we loved would be thinking about us and feeling our pain.
As we sped along the highway my eyes grimly focused on the twin back windows of the ambulance in front of me, pulsing lights almost hypnotic after a few miles and I began to play the blame game in my head.
“I shouldn’t have told him to be aggressive on that jump, he could have waited a lap....it’s all my fault.”
What if he has permanent damage? What if he needs surgery?....it’s all my fault”
“What the hell was I thinking even getting him into this.....it’s all my fault”
Sing along with me if you know the words.
At that point I had what some folks describe as a moment of clarity and a line from some old western movie whose name escapes me just popped into my head pushing all of the other scattered worries away.
”Sometimes you just have to roll with what life throws you”
So I just sort of told myself to stop and began to focus on the things that I knew lay ahead now that life had thrown us this little curve. Thankfully I can say that everything ended pretty well for Jake that day after a full round of testing, pokes, prods and scans he was determined to have fractured his L-1 vertebrae but there was no nerve damage or complications. It was definitely going to hurt for a bit but he would recover and be back to race another day.
Am I scared about what will happen?
Hell yeah; but that is a part of life and no matter what we do there is no way to keep the bad things in life at bay. When you grab hold of life and shake it for all it is worth sometimes things happen that you don’t expect. I believe it really is the testing of our mettle that shows us how strong we are, even when we would rather not see it.
After all is said and done it isn’t about how hard you fall but how hard you try to get back up that matters the most.
And so the games begin again......
"It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt"
How true that statement can be and although the majority of us may have heard this from our parents it never really held much weight until now for me. I don’t have to tell anyone that the world we live in is a dangerous place. Every single day people lose that roll of the dice with fate and well crap happens...to paraphrase another well known cliché.
In racing the possibility of injury is a way of life, it really isn’t a question of if but rather when and how bad. When bad things happen the family of the sport really shines through as without fail your friends and people whom you may not know any more about than the number on their jersey pitch in and help. I recently helped a young girl who was at an open practice load her boyfriend’s bike as he was being loaded up for transport. As I pushed the bike over to his truck the folks pitted around them who immediately knew something had happened, came over and like a swarm of bees had everything loaded up. I went to give her the keys but she couldn’t drive with the stick-shift so we decide that parking it by the track office would make him feel good and then she could ride with him to the ER. As we drove over she remarked that she didn’t spend much time with him at the track and was surprised at how everybody came over and was so nice to her, asking how she was and helping out. I explained to her that it was just how it was with racers and their families, we all know it sucks to crash and we also know that someday it will be our turn in the barrel. How soon I would get a chance to be right about that one, as not too long after that practice day our barrel rolled in.
It was just another typical race day for us at Winchester Speedpark as we got ready to go for round 4 of the series, it rained the night before but beautiful blue skies greeted us in the morning so it looked like practice would be muddy but the track would shape up to be mint for racing. Jake gated up for his heat race feeling good about the day, he had run a solid fourth in his first outing on the 2008 SX layout and expected to do well again. The gate dropped and he reacted well off the line coming off the start running top five, as the pack rounded turn two Jake had only a handful of guys ahead perfectly set up for the double that would separate the pack a bit allowing him to run smooth laps to work his lines and get a great gate pick for the main....except that didn’t happen.
As soon as Jake left the face of the jump I knew something was wrong because he kicked his left leg out and twisted at the top of the bike. When he came down it looked like he flat landed then bounce-rolled over the next jump off the side of the track and went down. I didn’t really think it was going to be too serious as Jake would most likely get up any time now and remount to finish his heat, pissed at himself for not doing better.....except that didn’t happen either.
As I walked to the corner of the mechanics area to get a better look I saw a track ref pulling Jake’s bike up off him and kneeling down but instead of helping Jake stand up he began vigorously waving for the EMT’s to come over and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. At this point everything took on that surreal quality that life sometimes has as it got real quiet for me, I couldn’t really hear the bikes still racing around the track anymore but I was suddenly aware of the wind from the trees behind me. I watched them racing to Jakes side flags waving all over the section as multiple riders had gone down. I stood tensed at the edge of the rope separating me from the track waiting to see how Jake was when I noticed the red flag was now also waving and my stomach found a new low as I knew this meant someone wasn’t getting up, turned out it was my someone.
After the track was cleared I was waved over and I sprinted across the track as fast as I could which was really no match for the way my mind was racing. It was scary to see Jake at the center of a full on exam, head and neck being supported as they prepared to put him on a back board. I knelt down and told Jake I was there for him as he occasionally cried out in pain and the medics did their job. The scariest moment for me was as they ran through the standard various questions to see if he was OK and asked “Jake can you move your foot?” and he said “No” I can’t begin to describe to you all how I felt at that point and even as I write this it is going to make me cry again, I just couldn’t believe I heard him say that.
Then he said “Something is under it.” One of the medical bags had been put down just below his boot and his foot ended up resting against it. At which point the EMT said “Just wiggle your toes, can you wiggle your toes?” And he said “Yes” I almost laughed in relief at that point as that is just so Jake, no matter what he has to give the correct answers to the exact question. Well they back-boarded Jake and we headed for the ambulance as they got me up to speed on what was going to happen, we would be going to the local ER and from there would decide what Jake needed. Once Jake was secured I took off to get the truck to follow behind the ambulance at no point during any of this did I see Jakes bike or any of the gear they took off him but as I ran back to the pits our family descended. “We’ll take care of your stuff just go” and go I did without a second thought knowing Jake and I would be well taken care of in the hands of our extended family and that the folks who loved the sport we loved would be thinking about us and feeling our pain.
As we sped along the highway my eyes grimly focused on the twin back windows of the ambulance in front of me, pulsing lights almost hypnotic after a few miles and I began to play the blame game in my head.
“I shouldn’t have told him to be aggressive on that jump, he could have waited a lap....it’s all my fault.”
What if he has permanent damage? What if he needs surgery?....it’s all my fault”
“What the hell was I thinking even getting him into this.....it’s all my fault”
Sing along with me if you know the words.
At that point I had what some folks describe as a moment of clarity and a line from some old western movie whose name escapes me just popped into my head pushing all of the other scattered worries away.
”Sometimes you just have to roll with what life throws you”
So I just sort of told myself to stop and began to focus on the things that I knew lay ahead now that life had thrown us this little curve. Thankfully I can say that everything ended pretty well for Jake that day after a full round of testing, pokes, prods and scans he was determined to have fractured his L-1 vertebrae but there was no nerve damage or complications. It was definitely going to hurt for a bit but he would recover and be back to race another day.
Am I scared about what will happen?
Hell yeah; but that is a part of life and no matter what we do there is no way to keep the bad things in life at bay. When you grab hold of life and shake it for all it is worth sometimes things happen that you don’t expect. I believe it really is the testing of our mettle that shows us how strong we are, even when we would rather not see it.
After all is said and done it isn’t about how hard you fall but how hard you try to get back up that matters the most.
And so the games begin again......
2/1/08
DVD Review - Velocity 2
Velocity II
Released by RS Films
-5 Stars-
Velocity; \və-ˈlä-sə-tē, -ˈläs-tē\
Function: noun
Meaning: quickness of motion : speed
The release of Velocity II by young Filmmaker Robb Swiatek may have gotten by you if you are not lucky enough to be around the New England MX scene. One thing is for sure, miss out on picking up this excellent study of a season in the life of some of the northeast’s best riders and you will be the one who is left behind. From the opening scenes of frosty winter weather sending the serious riders southward in search of softer dirt till the ending sequences, back in the dead of winter at the Boo Koo US Open of Arenacross Velocity II brings home the heart and soul of why Motocross gets in your blood.
The release of Velocity II by young Filmmaker Robb Swiatek may have gotten by you if you are not lucky enough to be around the New England MX scene. One thing is for sure, miss out on picking up this excellent study of a season in the life of some of the northeast’s best riders and you will be the one who is left behind. From the opening scenes of frosty winter weather sending the serious riders southward in search of softer dirt till the ending sequences, back in the dead of winter at the Boo Koo US Open of Arenacross Velocity II brings home the heart and soul of why Motocross gets in your blood.
Swiatek, or “Robo Robb” as he has been referred to during his tenure as one of the tireless shooters for last seasons Racer X Motocross.com shows spreads the focus wide on this release. Shifting through the gears at local NESC races to sessions with veteran riders like John Dowd and Tony Lorusso, showcasing the pressure cooker of the New England Regional Championship and the craziness of the Transworld MX Masters of Mini events. What really shines through in this film is the grassroots of families that have raced for generations and riders who do it just for the love of the sport.
So what separates this film from the myriad of other offerings cropping up now that everyone has a video camera and a computer editing program?
The film is beautifully shot throughout, paired with an excellent but unobtrusive soundtrack and it really brings out the dedication that both the riders and filmmaker have for their craft. There is a balanced mix of riding and interviews that paces the film well and keeps the viewer interested and engaged throughout the entire 80 minutes.
I think what I like best is the films ability to show the human side of the riders, the work, dedication and effort it takes along with the silliness and fun without ever declining into the “Jackass on wheels” format that so many new films have a tendency to.
Superbly shot and edited with the focus squarely on the subject at hand Velocity II puts RS Film and Robb Swiatek firmly into the same realm of industry standards like Troy Adamitis and gets a Five out of Five stars on my scale.
Velocity II is available for sale online, purchase and preview clips at;
http://www.videoxsports.com/velocityii.html
For more info on RS Films and additional trailers
9/6/06
The worst of all four letter words.
The worst of all four-letter words.
So I am sitting on a stool in my basement staring at the inanimate object in front of me and just hating it. I mean really hating it with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns and wondering what in the heck I was thinking getting involved in a sport that required me to be a mechanic. I have never in my life had my hands inside the engine of anything two-wheels or four, when I was in my early 20’s I was learning how to work a crowd fronting rock bands. If you want to know how to handle a lackluster biker bar crowd on a Wednesday night I am your guy, taking apart engine components and re-assembling them successfully is not my strong point. It is funny because the very word that was on my mind as I was sitting there was to be the subject of some controversy in a conversation I would have on the track.
“Your son is using four-letter words out there on the track.”
This came to me as I was standing in the fenced spectator area at Winchester Speedpark watching Jake slog through another of the endless early spring mud races for 2006. Our friend Barry Stacy was working the track and had come over to where I was standing to deliver this bombshell. I couldn’t believe it what could he have possibly said, I have never even heard him utter anything remotely close. As long as Jake has been alive I have been painstakingly careful about watching my language. Not that I don’t have my own share of colorful vocabulary words as do we all, reserved for those wonderful moments we all encounter throughout our lives. I am certainly no saint but I just always thought it was better not to use that kind of language in front of Jake indeed I have been pretty successful with just a couple exceptions. The mountain bike versus the Jeep incident immediately pops to mind but that is a long story and nobody needs to hear about me losing a battle of wits with a canvas top. So you can imagine what was running through my mind on hearing the news that Jake was spewing out four-letter words during a race. My mind was literally racing with possibilities if you will forgive the pun but I put on an admittedly weak smile and asked Barry a reluctant question. “What is up, did something happen out there…..what did he say?” I replied with more than a little dread. “He got stuck in the mud coming out of the turn up the hill and he told me “I can’t do it!” was the begrudgingly funny reply.
Can’t…..as in “I can’t” which although I will admit is better than what I thought he might have said and restored my faith in my decision to bite my own tongue frequently but it was still troubling.
Jake has always had a pretty good attitude towards what happened on the track and this year especially we have been to some races that have tested his patience with the ups and downs of racing. I on the other hand have been getting a crash course in the ups and downs of being an 85cc mechanic something which I am not sure that I have handled with the same optimism.
We decided this year to get out and ride a little earlier with Jake running on the bigger bike it seemed smart to not wait for the season to start before we hit the track. We did a trip down south to The Landing MX as well as running one of the venerable Jack Frost series races which had the distinction of being the first race we have ever gone to when it was snowing.
This year Jake also decided that he wanted to run the Loretta Lynn’s qualifier at Southwick to see what it was like to line up with the real big guns in New England. Except that while practicing following the race at Middleboro we noticed that the right-front fork had rivulets of greasy liquid stranding down to the bottom which I actually knew from previous experience meant that the fork seal had gone. OK that was no big deal we are sponsored by Factory Connection, they would certainly be at the Loretta’s qualifier weekend and since Jake wasn’t racing Saturday it should be no problem. Except that I had to take the fork tubes off so they could do it, which I found out at the track that Saturday. Suffice it to say that although the unnamed national hotel chain we stayed with probably doesn’t normally have a guest use their room as a garage it was that or nothing. After only a few missteps and one instance when the front brake pad fell out onto the carpet causing Jake and I to look at each other while he intoned a somber “that isn’t good” all was re-assembled and ready for race day. So the following morning in practice Jake was heading down the sweeping turn out of the woods as I watched from the mechanics area when he was suddenly bouncing and pitching over the bars the bike following him over and rag dolling him to the ground. As I sprinted down the side of the track towards where he was lying motionless on the ground with the medical workers knelt down next to him one thing kept running through my mind like a freight train “I screwed up the front brake and it locked up on him”.
Well all’s well that ends well as they say, Jake was fine albeit a little sore in the knee from getting tossed, the brakes did not lock up on him he just got a bad bounce down the hill and went on to run a pretty respectable couple motos, one of only 3 novice riders in a field of fast A&B riders.
Well things go along fine and then the bike starts to develop a bit of a late spring cold, acquiring a coughing pop and in general not running right. The general consensus was that I should take off the carburetor and clean it out to make sure that wasn’t the issue. “It’s easy” was the usual advice I would get as I laughed to myself, thinking that they obviously didn’t know who they were talking to.
Which brings us to where this story began as I am sitting there hating the carb and muttering to myself “I can’t do this.” That’s right the very same four letter word that Jake had finally been frustrated enough to let slip from his mouth after a month of mud racing had come all too easily out of mine. It was at this point I remembered a conversation we had when Jake was trying to work up to jumping some bigger obstacles and one double in particular, I told him there came a point where he just had to hook onto someone that was doing it and go for it.
“Dad I can’t jump that though”
“You mean you can’t jump it…yet.”
Well he laughed and we agreed that was the way to look at it and now he can jump that double, so I sort of laughed to myself and decided to get going on fixing the carburetor.
So from now on we have a deal there is no can’t do it, there is only can’t do it yet…
Oh and by the way it wasn’t even the carburetor after all but with “a little help from my friends” as the song goes at least I got a chance to take my own advice and stop using that four letter word.
So I am sitting on a stool in my basement staring at the inanimate object in front of me and just hating it. I mean really hating it with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns and wondering what in the heck I was thinking getting involved in a sport that required me to be a mechanic. I have never in my life had my hands inside the engine of anything two-wheels or four, when I was in my early 20’s I was learning how to work a crowd fronting rock bands. If you want to know how to handle a lackluster biker bar crowd on a Wednesday night I am your guy, taking apart engine components and re-assembling them successfully is not my strong point. It is funny because the very word that was on my mind as I was sitting there was to be the subject of some controversy in a conversation I would have on the track.
“Your son is using four-letter words out there on the track.”
This came to me as I was standing in the fenced spectator area at Winchester Speedpark watching Jake slog through another of the endless early spring mud races for 2006. Our friend Barry Stacy was working the track and had come over to where I was standing to deliver this bombshell. I couldn’t believe it what could he have possibly said, I have never even heard him utter anything remotely close. As long as Jake has been alive I have been painstakingly careful about watching my language. Not that I don’t have my own share of colorful vocabulary words as do we all, reserved for those wonderful moments we all encounter throughout our lives. I am certainly no saint but I just always thought it was better not to use that kind of language in front of Jake indeed I have been pretty successful with just a couple exceptions. The mountain bike versus the Jeep incident immediately pops to mind but that is a long story and nobody needs to hear about me losing a battle of wits with a canvas top. So you can imagine what was running through my mind on hearing the news that Jake was spewing out four-letter words during a race. My mind was literally racing with possibilities if you will forgive the pun but I put on an admittedly weak smile and asked Barry a reluctant question. “What is up, did something happen out there…..what did he say?” I replied with more than a little dread. “He got stuck in the mud coming out of the turn up the hill and he told me “I can’t do it!” was the begrudgingly funny reply.
Can’t…..as in “I can’t” which although I will admit is better than what I thought he might have said and restored my faith in my decision to bite my own tongue frequently but it was still troubling.
Jake has always had a pretty good attitude towards what happened on the track and this year especially we have been to some races that have tested his patience with the ups and downs of racing. I on the other hand have been getting a crash course in the ups and downs of being an 85cc mechanic something which I am not sure that I have handled with the same optimism.
We decided this year to get out and ride a little earlier with Jake running on the bigger bike it seemed smart to not wait for the season to start before we hit the track. We did a trip down south to The Landing MX as well as running one of the venerable Jack Frost series races which had the distinction of being the first race we have ever gone to when it was snowing.
This year Jake also decided that he wanted to run the Loretta Lynn’s qualifier at Southwick to see what it was like to line up with the real big guns in New England. Except that while practicing following the race at Middleboro we noticed that the right-front fork had rivulets of greasy liquid stranding down to the bottom which I actually knew from previous experience meant that the fork seal had gone. OK that was no big deal we are sponsored by Factory Connection, they would certainly be at the Loretta’s qualifier weekend and since Jake wasn’t racing Saturday it should be no problem. Except that I had to take the fork tubes off so they could do it, which I found out at the track that Saturday. Suffice it to say that although the unnamed national hotel chain we stayed with probably doesn’t normally have a guest use their room as a garage it was that or nothing. After only a few missteps and one instance when the front brake pad fell out onto the carpet causing Jake and I to look at each other while he intoned a somber “that isn’t good” all was re-assembled and ready for race day. So the following morning in practice Jake was heading down the sweeping turn out of the woods as I watched from the mechanics area when he was suddenly bouncing and pitching over the bars the bike following him over and rag dolling him to the ground. As I sprinted down the side of the track towards where he was lying motionless on the ground with the medical workers knelt down next to him one thing kept running through my mind like a freight train “I screwed up the front brake and it locked up on him”.
Well all’s well that ends well as they say, Jake was fine albeit a little sore in the knee from getting tossed, the brakes did not lock up on him he just got a bad bounce down the hill and went on to run a pretty respectable couple motos, one of only 3 novice riders in a field of fast A&B riders.
Well things go along fine and then the bike starts to develop a bit of a late spring cold, acquiring a coughing pop and in general not running right. The general consensus was that I should take off the carburetor and clean it out to make sure that wasn’t the issue. “It’s easy” was the usual advice I would get as I laughed to myself, thinking that they obviously didn’t know who they were talking to.
Which brings us to where this story began as I am sitting there hating the carb and muttering to myself “I can’t do this.” That’s right the very same four letter word that Jake had finally been frustrated enough to let slip from his mouth after a month of mud racing had come all too easily out of mine. It was at this point I remembered a conversation we had when Jake was trying to work up to jumping some bigger obstacles and one double in particular, I told him there came a point where he just had to hook onto someone that was doing it and go for it.
“Dad I can’t jump that though”
“You mean you can’t jump it…yet.”
Well he laughed and we agreed that was the way to look at it and now he can jump that double, so I sort of laughed to myself and decided to get going on fixing the carburetor.
So from now on we have a deal there is no can’t do it, there is only can’t do it yet…
Oh and by the way it wasn’t even the carburetor after all but with “a little help from my friends” as the song goes at least I got a chance to take my own advice and stop using that four letter word.
8/3/05
Ink and Changes
Ink and Changes.
I was lying on the couch in my living room this evening when I looked down and glimpsed my hand. On the back was an inked round stamp that said "OK" and another next to it that was a simple red star. I laughed to myself and thought about how often I had seen those and other stamps across the canvas of the back of my hands over the course of my late teens and twenties, also known as the terrible, wonderful 80's. Gather round children and let me entertain you with stories of the days before the wristband was a ubiquitous addition to virtually every event involving music. Yes in those bygone golden days you would pay your cover charge without anyone asking for an ID and get your hand stamped to allow all the appropriate access. If they did ask for ID and you didn't have any, well it was no biggie you could sign a book attesting to the fact that you really were old enough. The stamps differed from club to club with the added bonus that it was after all ink, you and your friends could take turns paying at the different clubs entrance and then going back outside to roll the fresh stamp across your non-paying friends hand allowing them access in a few minutes. If the ink dried too quickly well the person that didn't pay had to lick their hand and hope for the best. The more common ones were the "OK" and "Fragile" shipping stamps or the supermarket price roller type variety clearly meant for other purposes, then there was the whole "Paid" family. My favorites were the clubs that would get their own individual stamps that you could instantly recognize it was sort of a roadmap for the next day in case things got fuzzy. It also was much better then looking like some kind of mental case who got hold of the ink pad at Stop and Shop. Strip Clubs would often use more prolific stamps and let's not pretend that a musician touring during the 80's never went into such establishments. Let’s just say that it was somewhat common for the unique "uncle" and another fav "sicko" on my hands along with the rest of the ink rainbow. OK so I dated strippers, so shoot me, in my defense all I can say is at least I got those stamps for free. In the daily working world the hand stamp was the bane of your existence because the ink was that indelible stuff which would require some type of bristle brush to remove. If you went out with your friends on Monday night, and I often did since a local club had a weekly showcase called “Metal Monday”, you came home with the “club tattoo” right there for the world to see. Needless to say calling out sick on Tuesday and then showing up on Wednesday with either a scarlet letter of stamped evidence or the raw red hand which fairly screamed out "guilty!" just wasn't the way to go up the career ladder let’s say. Unless of course you didn't care or like me you had the kind of a job that encouraged that type of behavior. The round "OK" was one that got used at the Agora Ballroom in West Hartford CT throughout the 80's and the accompanying Red Star was the ticket to the upper level VIP lounge. The Agora was a 2,000 person concert club that had two stages and the best bands in the area. Because of the proximity to the Hartford Civic center it was not uncommon to find the guys playing the arena shows in the Agora’s VIP lounge, especially after hours. In my circle of friends and band mates it was the Gucci watch of stamp combo's and sometimes that would be the only set of ink on the hand in the morning but other times it was just another hue on the daily palette. Too many times I awoke unsure of where, how and with who I would be waking up and I drove home in the harsh morning light looking at those little sign posts more times than I care to remember. Today it is a whole different story that is being told by the telltale ink and certainly a much more G-rated one at that. It's my son Jake lying with his head on my chest and the stamps are from us going roller-skating while he is on school vacation. I even used a floating holiday for the day off instead of calling out on a weekday but tomorrow I will run the office gauntlet once again. Funny how the ink hasn't really changed much but the motivation has and what the heck tomorrow is a half-day anyway.
I was lying on the couch in my living room this evening when I looked down and glimpsed my hand. On the back was an inked round stamp that said "OK" and another next to it that was a simple red star. I laughed to myself and thought about how often I had seen those and other stamps across the canvas of the back of my hands over the course of my late teens and twenties, also known as the terrible, wonderful 80's. Gather round children and let me entertain you with stories of the days before the wristband was a ubiquitous addition to virtually every event involving music. Yes in those bygone golden days you would pay your cover charge without anyone asking for an ID and get your hand stamped to allow all the appropriate access. If they did ask for ID and you didn't have any, well it was no biggie you could sign a book attesting to the fact that you really were old enough. The stamps differed from club to club with the added bonus that it was after all ink, you and your friends could take turns paying at the different clubs entrance and then going back outside to roll the fresh stamp across your non-paying friends hand allowing them access in a few minutes. If the ink dried too quickly well the person that didn't pay had to lick their hand and hope for the best. The more common ones were the "OK" and "Fragile" shipping stamps or the supermarket price roller type variety clearly meant for other purposes, then there was the whole "Paid" family. My favorites were the clubs that would get their own individual stamps that you could instantly recognize it was sort of a roadmap for the next day in case things got fuzzy. It also was much better then looking like some kind of mental case who got hold of the ink pad at Stop and Shop. Strip Clubs would often use more prolific stamps and let's not pretend that a musician touring during the 80's never went into such establishments. Let’s just say that it was somewhat common for the unique "uncle" and another fav "sicko" on my hands along with the rest of the ink rainbow. OK so I dated strippers, so shoot me, in my defense all I can say is at least I got those stamps for free. In the daily working world the hand stamp was the bane of your existence because the ink was that indelible stuff which would require some type of bristle brush to remove. If you went out with your friends on Monday night, and I often did since a local club had a weekly showcase called “Metal Monday”, you came home with the “club tattoo” right there for the world to see. Needless to say calling out sick on Tuesday and then showing up on Wednesday with either a scarlet letter of stamped evidence or the raw red hand which fairly screamed out "guilty!" just wasn't the way to go up the career ladder let’s say. Unless of course you didn't care or like me you had the kind of a job that encouraged that type of behavior. The round "OK" was one that got used at the Agora Ballroom in West Hartford CT throughout the 80's and the accompanying Red Star was the ticket to the upper level VIP lounge. The Agora was a 2,000 person concert club that had two stages and the best bands in the area. Because of the proximity to the Hartford Civic center it was not uncommon to find the guys playing the arena shows in the Agora’s VIP lounge, especially after hours. In my circle of friends and band mates it was the Gucci watch of stamp combo's and sometimes that would be the only set of ink on the hand in the morning but other times it was just another hue on the daily palette. Too many times I awoke unsure of where, how and with who I would be waking up and I drove home in the harsh morning light looking at those little sign posts more times than I care to remember. Today it is a whole different story that is being told by the telltale ink and certainly a much more G-rated one at that. It's my son Jake lying with his head on my chest and the stamps are from us going roller-skating while he is on school vacation. I even used a floating holiday for the day off instead of calling out on a weekday but tomorrow I will run the office gauntlet once again. Funny how the ink hasn't really changed much but the motivation has and what the heck tomorrow is a half-day anyway.
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