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 Parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parenting. 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......
10/9/07
Time Flies
Time Flies.
Time flies when you’re having fun……. how many times have we heard that phrase or uttered it in jest to make light of an unpleasant situation? Used that as a sarcastic aside to deflect some of the tedium that life can sometimes amount to? It is a phrase that you hear so often and in so many mundane instances that we never really stop to think about.
Guess what? Time really does fly whether we are having fun or not. Every single day that the earth turns it is spinning us faster and faster through life yet we only seem to want to encourage things to go quicker still.
Time flies when you’re having fun……. how many times have we heard that phrase or uttered it in jest to make light of an unpleasant situation? Used that as a sarcastic aside to deflect some of the tedium that life can sometimes amount to? It is a phrase that you hear so often and in so many mundane instances that we never really stop to think about.
Guess what? Time really does fly whether we are having fun or not. Every single day that the earth turns it is spinning us faster and faster through life yet we only seem to want to encourage things to go quicker still.
Growing up I always wanted to be bigger, couldn’t wait to be farther along in life, older. Being number 5 out of 6 kids I was always wishing that I could be the older one, it just seemed like so much more fun. Mornings were a madhouse as everyone tried to fight their way into the bathroom and out the door on time for school or work and dinner, well, that was always controlled mayhem which I could barely drag myself inside to eat before rushing back out again. Holidays were a rush of relatives and friends blowing by like leaves in a hurricane and before I knew it I was bigger, a teenager with only more things to do as quickly as I could. I spent my late teens and early 20’s on the road in rock bands well into the flow of life as it continued at breakneck speed. Then Jake was born and it was as if the entire globe suddenly screeched to a halt and oddly enough that was fine with me. When Jake was an infant my favorite time of the day was when Jake would finish lunch and get ready for his nap. I would lie down on the couch and put him on my chest where he would settle in and fall into a comfortable sleep to the lullaby of my heart beating, the world could have stopped rotating at that point and it would have been fine with me.
I think I first noticed how quickly time had passed because of the pennies.......
Perhaps I should explain.
For some reason about month or so after Jake was born I started to collect pennies from that year, 1995. At first they were easy to spot; all brand new and shining out of the change pile like the sun. I sort them out as I save my pocket change into a big jar and place them into a smaller one on my bureau top. Last year I started to notice that it was getting pretty hard to spot the 1995 pennies, they had taken on the burnished and scuffed look of so many other years worth of coin. The passage of time had started to take hold before I even had realized it.
For some reason about month or so after Jake was born I started to collect pennies from that year, 1995. At first they were easy to spot; all brand new and shining out of the change pile like the sun. I sort them out as I save my pocket change into a big jar and place them into a smaller one on my bureau top. Last year I started to notice that it was getting pretty hard to spot the 1995 pennies, they had taken on the burnished and scuffed look of so many other years worth of coin. The passage of time had started to take hold before I even had realized it.
Now I find myself standing on the side of the tracks while Jake is racing and encouraging him to go faster, the conversations that we have while running on practice tracks revolves around jumping farther, turning quicker, shaving off seconds here and there always with the goal of going faster.
Last year Jake was able to take his first holeshot, something that had seemed like it was going to be out of his reach for at least a little while longer. It was awesome and terrifying in equal amounts as we have all been treated to the sight of watching some racer scream out of the gate, get to the turn first then fall promptly being stomped by every other rider off the gate. So even though I was totally psyched to see him flying out to the front of the pack at the same time there is this unreasonable little voice in my head that is screaming “NO!! SLOW DOWN!” I find myself longing for those bygone days when Jake was chugging around the track on his XR70, hopelessly overmatched by the faster riders and two-stroke machines. It was safer in my mind although not nearly what Jake had in his when it came to competition. For the life of me I wish we could go back that way and not worry about jumping those gap doubles and flying off the gate for the holeshot. Well short of inventing a time machine which seems doubtful there is no way to go back there and as time marches on he will only go faster and farther scaring the crap out of his mom and I along the way. I am sure there are many of you out there ruefully shaking your head to yourselves and saying “no kidding pal, it only gets worse.” I know, I know but I can dream can’t I?
Jake then;
Back in the XR 70 days. Photo courtesy www.stacyracing.com
And now;
I guess all I can do is try to take every chance to slow it down where I can, talking and spending time with my no longer little guy, grabbing time firmly by the hand and tugging back with all my might with a hug and god forbid anyone should see a kiss for my son now and then. Life is pretty good to us though because every now and then we all get to have one of those moments when we share the wonder of life with our kids both on and off the track. Just like every now and then I catch a glimpse of one of those shiny as new 1995 pennies to remind what is really golden in life.
So don’t miss the chance to grab them and hold them as tightly as you can because before you know time has passed, the scuffs and distances of time will inevitably make their way in, because time really does fly.
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.
12/21/05
Letting Go.
So often in life we can rush headlong through the days and hours making decisions at a furious rate never once considering the consequence of those choices, even when we are doing our best to make things right.
I have always prided myself on being unfailingly supportive of Jakes riding no matter what place he finishes. I have been very vocal about it when he comes off the track and try to make him feel like no matter where he finishes he is a winner to me. There are times when he rolls off the track after having one of those less than perfect races and it is very difficult to run the same old “Great Job” past someone that doesn’t feel like he just did a great job. Just the fact that he has finished the race was always good enough to me and I wanted him to know that trophies and points don’t matter to me. At the outset of the 2005 season Jake actually told me he wanted me to be harder on him to try and help him ride better. OK so we have tried that and to a certain extent I think it has helped him with some early season cob webs and some bad habits that he had developed.
The problem started when Jake hit sort of a plateau and began to have some issues with getting off the starting gate. Running in any race demands that you get going with everyone else and near the front if possible so even though he was passing a dozen or more riders Jake was struggling to crack the top 15. Each time he would roll off the track after a discouraging run I’d be right there at the track exit to offer my supportive comments and assurance that he had done a great job just by finishing. Sometimes he would accept that and as I pushed the bike back to the pits and he peeled off his gear we would discuss the good and bad points of the race. Jakes mom would also be there to offer her encouragement grabbing his gloves and googles with water bottle at the ready, hugging him and patting his back protectively. Then there were the times when the race hadn’t gone even remotely well, starting last, falling once or more during the race and in general not getting the result he wanted. I was still trying to offer my encouragement but the words only seemed to aggravate him as he would hotly answer me back “No dad that wasn’t good I rode awful!” A few times he came off the track and was upset to the point of tears complaining about the way the bike rode or that he didn’t like the Supercross style track he was sometimes racing on. I wish I could say that I took it in stride and let him vent but instead I vainly tried to convince him that he had done a good job or that the track was the track and he just had to deal with it. Well a couple times it came to point of us yelling at each other and even me suggesting that if he was having such a bad time maybe we should sell the bike and just stop. It was one of those times in your life that you wish you could reach out into the air and grab the words back before they got away from you but of course you can’t.
After that day I tried to take stock of what it was that I was trying to do for Jake and make sure that I didn’t let my own temper or feelings get in the way too much. I decided that I was just going to let Jake have his time mostly to himself and after a few simple words I would leave him alone after the races.
It all finally became clear to me in the fall series when Jake had one of those races that are just heartbreaking to watch. Stalled the bike off the gate then got going pretty good only to get too high in a corner and go down. Up and running again when he washed out the front end and face planted in a particularly fast section, hitting the ground hard right in front of where I was standing in the mechanics area. He picked it up and got going but the shear frustration was visible as he took off. Rolling out the exit gate in dead last he was obviously angry and his mom and I walked a wide path behind him and just tried to let him calm down. We got back to the pits; put the bike and gear away then hung out watching the other races that were going on. Jake had grabbed himself a bottle of water and came over to the fence where I was standing, we stood there without talking for a few minutes then I looked over at him and could see the disappointment on his face. The supportive, loving side of me couldn’t stand it anymore so I said “Listen pal I know you aren’t happy with the way the race went but it is just one bad race. You know I don’t care about that, what is more important to me is that you didn’t quit you kept on trying. Getting a trophy or finishing top five isn’t everything. I love you pal and it’s more important to me that you have fun, trophies and all that stuff it just doesn’t matter to me.” At that point Jake looked up and met my gaze squarely and with a fire in his eyes he said “Well it matters to me Dad!”
That was when I realized something, I had been trying to find a way to make myself feel better about what was happening on the track and trying to make Jake see it my way. It isn’t about me, it’s about him. Jake has set himself a goal and rather than try to make him feel better when he doesn’t reach it I needed to do whatever I can to help him get there. It may never happen but if I have done everything I can to give him the opportunity and the tools then the rest is up to him. How he deals with making it or not making it happen the way he wants it to is all part of life and there is nothing I can do to control that, all I can do is be there. Until he asks for help I have to let it go because I can't tell him how to feel but then again he can't tell me not to be proud no matter what.
I have always prided myself on being unfailingly supportive of Jakes riding no matter what place he finishes. I have been very vocal about it when he comes off the track and try to make him feel like no matter where he finishes he is a winner to me. There are times when he rolls off the track after having one of those less than perfect races and it is very difficult to run the same old “Great Job” past someone that doesn’t feel like he just did a great job. Just the fact that he has finished the race was always good enough to me and I wanted him to know that trophies and points don’t matter to me. At the outset of the 2005 season Jake actually told me he wanted me to be harder on him to try and help him ride better. OK so we have tried that and to a certain extent I think it has helped him with some early season cob webs and some bad habits that he had developed.
The problem started when Jake hit sort of a plateau and began to have some issues with getting off the starting gate. Running in any race demands that you get going with everyone else and near the front if possible so even though he was passing a dozen or more riders Jake was struggling to crack the top 15. Each time he would roll off the track after a discouraging run I’d be right there at the track exit to offer my supportive comments and assurance that he had done a great job just by finishing. Sometimes he would accept that and as I pushed the bike back to the pits and he peeled off his gear we would discuss the good and bad points of the race. Jakes mom would also be there to offer her encouragement grabbing his gloves and googles with water bottle at the ready, hugging him and patting his back protectively. Then there were the times when the race hadn’t gone even remotely well, starting last, falling once or more during the race and in general not getting the result he wanted. I was still trying to offer my encouragement but the words only seemed to aggravate him as he would hotly answer me back “No dad that wasn’t good I rode awful!” A few times he came off the track and was upset to the point of tears complaining about the way the bike rode or that he didn’t like the Supercross style track he was sometimes racing on. I wish I could say that I took it in stride and let him vent but instead I vainly tried to convince him that he had done a good job or that the track was the track and he just had to deal with it. Well a couple times it came to point of us yelling at each other and even me suggesting that if he was having such a bad time maybe we should sell the bike and just stop. It was one of those times in your life that you wish you could reach out into the air and grab the words back before they got away from you but of course you can’t.
After that day I tried to take stock of what it was that I was trying to do for Jake and make sure that I didn’t let my own temper or feelings get in the way too much. I decided that I was just going to let Jake have his time mostly to himself and after a few simple words I would leave him alone after the races.
It all finally became clear to me in the fall series when Jake had one of those races that are just heartbreaking to watch. Stalled the bike off the gate then got going pretty good only to get too high in a corner and go down. Up and running again when he washed out the front end and face planted in a particularly fast section, hitting the ground hard right in front of where I was standing in the mechanics area. He picked it up and got going but the shear frustration was visible as he took off. Rolling out the exit gate in dead last he was obviously angry and his mom and I walked a wide path behind him and just tried to let him calm down. We got back to the pits; put the bike and gear away then hung out watching the other races that were going on. Jake had grabbed himself a bottle of water and came over to the fence where I was standing, we stood there without talking for a few minutes then I looked over at him and could see the disappointment on his face. The supportive, loving side of me couldn’t stand it anymore so I said “Listen pal I know you aren’t happy with the way the race went but it is just one bad race. You know I don’t care about that, what is more important to me is that you didn’t quit you kept on trying. Getting a trophy or finishing top five isn’t everything. I love you pal and it’s more important to me that you have fun, trophies and all that stuff it just doesn’t matter to me.” At that point Jake looked up and met my gaze squarely and with a fire in his eyes he said “Well it matters to me Dad!”
That was when I realized something, I had been trying to find a way to make myself feel better about what was happening on the track and trying to make Jake see it my way. It isn’t about me, it’s about him. Jake has set himself a goal and rather than try to make him feel better when he doesn’t reach it I needed to do whatever I can to help him get there. It may never happen but if I have done everything I can to give him the opportunity and the tools then the rest is up to him. How he deals with making it or not making it happen the way he wants it to is all part of life and there is nothing I can do to control that, all I can do is be there. Until he asks for help I have to let it go because I can't tell him how to feel but then again he can't tell me not to be proud no matter what.
8/3/05
The Eternal Question.
Originally published in Moto Sports Magazine issue 164 July 2005.
The Eternal Question.
Jake working the Winchester Speedpark SX in July 05.
Photo courtesy www.tomofarrell.com
Why would you let your child do that?
We have all heard that question in its various forms. Perhaps you are trying to explain to grandma how come her sweet little grand-daughter is roosting her friends instead of selling Girl Scout cookies with them. Could be a casual conversation at your kid’s school as to why they don’t see you at the Soccer field. The question came to me one time from a parent of my son’s classmate who plays Lacrosse…..a game with no protective padding to speak of, where they chase you around with a big stick. Maybe you are unfortunate enough to have heard this while sitting in an emergency room somewhere with your injured child. Are you crazy, that’s so dangerous? What could you be thinking? Why would you do that? I can’t speak for the masses here but for me the answer is because I love my child.
What more can you give your child than the opportunity to feel the sense of personal accomplishment that comes from learning how to do something on their own. When my son Jake got his first bike it was something he had talked about doing for a long time. Of course going to the races and watching the other kids on the track convinced him that it would be a cinch to jump on and ride. As is often the case the reality of controlling the bike was a little different than the idea of it and after about 3 minutes of riding/falling over he rolled over to me and said he was done. Now I knew that he wanted to ride but it was hard and he was discouraged. All he had talked about since he could form sentences was how he was going to learn to ride and race in a “real race”, there was no way I was going to let him just give up. Instead of letting Jake stop I leaned over and told him that I knew he was having a hard time with it and maybe he just wanted to quit but I wasn’t going to let him. “Whenever you try something new you are going to fall and it is going to be scary but that is a lot better than being scared to try.” So back out he went and darned if he didn’t come back over after finally catching the hang of it, a beaming look of self satisfaction on his face that fairly screamed “I did it dad!!”
To this day I think that was a pivotal moment in Jakes life where he learned that nothing worthwhile comes easy, more so than I could have ever made him understand with mere words. Does it get any better than that as a parent? Could you ask for anything more than to see your child reach for something work hard and get it?
Now for the flipside, could it be anymore scary for us as parents? I know that I, like most of you, would like life much better if I could always be there to shield my child from harm, be there to stop any and all injustice or pain from befalling the apple of my eye. In case you don’t know me let me just relate this little personal fact, I am just a teensy bit over-protective of my little guy. I have what I call “The List” which started out as a running joke between my girlfriend and I. This list is my record of anyone who has ever crossed Jakes path and caused him any harm. The kid at soccer practice that elbowed Jake in the face, he was the first one on the list. Those older kids at the skating rink who bumped him on the floor a few times as they raced around, knocking him down once….on the list. The list is my way of keeping track of anyone whom I may have to dispatch should they touch him again. So why in the world would I decide to let Jake race motocross? Oddly enough it has actually been a way for me to get used to the idea that I can’t always be there to protect him from the real world. Sometimes life is going to knock him down and there is nothing I can do to stop it. So I guess I have learned something from racing as well, all we can do as parents is suit them up in the safety gear and send them out to fend for themselves. Not surprisingly they do seem to fend for themselves much better than we would like to admit. I got my most graphic example of this when Jake took his first real hit on the track. It was July of last year and we had made our first visit to the Hemonds MX facility in Maine, the mornings races had started well and then a couple motos before Jakes 65-C race came up it poured. The rain stopped but the track had soaked up a lot of water and was messy in spots, one of those spots being the “S” turn at the holeshot. The gate dropped and they sped off into the turn, as the riders tangled up in the turn Jake got stuck behind a rider that slipped and he got crossed up, the bike falling to the right and Jake falling to his left resting on one knee. That is when a kid behind him having the same problem stopping in the pack ran up close behind, jumped his rear wheel and BAM squarely punched him in the back with his front tire and suddenly Jake was face down in the mud being used as a berm. My heart stopped for the excruciatingly long few moments that he was flat on the track, my mind racing “oh my god, he’s dead, oh my god, he is really hurt, what was I thinking to let him….” Then as quickly as he went down he popped up shook the mud off like a dog shaking off after a bath, dragged his bike up out of the muck and off he went. When the race was over, I asked him how he felt after getting run over and he totally dismissed me telling me he just got bumped from behind. I had to show him the tire track across the back of his chest protector before he would believe me. Scared? Yeah just a little and we got off light. I have watched other parents have to follow an ambulance out of the pits and thought to myself how lucky we have been.
Unfortunately life is a dangerous sport in and of itself so there is no shortage of things that can harm our children every day of the week. Two little boys have an argument in the concession stand line after a little league game and one of them kills the other with a bat. More than one little boy or girl has gone missing while doing everyday things never to be seen again, victims of the ever growing population of sick animals roaming the face of the planet. There is no shortage of bad things or bad people in the world and all you can really do is keep your children close to you.
That is another thing that I point out to people when they ask me about our choice of sports. Where else can you go and see whole family’s sharing in the same activity, spending every weekend and many waking moments in between dedicated to a common goal? How many times do you see a sport that your 10 year old daughter, 16 year old son and still thinks he’s an 18 year old husband/father can all compete in on the same day and at the same place? I defy anyone to find another sport where the families involved come together and help each other over the rough spots in life the way the extended motocross family does. OK so maybe I am a little biased. All I know is what I see and that is what I have seen time and again as we have gotten more and more involved in this sport. People from different places and diverse backgrounds who come together to share in the competition and friendship that comes from this sport that we all love as well as the friendships that our children get to form amid the competition. There was more than one race last season where Jake told me that he had seen a friend down on the track and wanted to stop to help them up. That is a sentiment that I have always found sorely missing from the stick and ball sports that dominate the schoolyard.
So why in the world would we let our children do this? Perhaps it is the excitement, fun, family togetherness or the solid values they can learn? Maybe it is the chance for Jake to develop an understanding that life is a difficult bike to ride and it requires practice and dedication to be done well. Could be that I want Jake to understand that even if the goal is never reached the real victory is in the enjoyment you get running the race. All these things have been part and parcel of our experience in this sport. So I put this to all of you that would ask such a frivolous question of those of us that choose to stand trackside and watch our children learn to fly.
Why in world wouldn’t we let them do this?
For more information about Moto Sports magazine publisher
Paul Buckley check out his web site.
http://www.buckleyphotos.com/
The Eternal Question.
Jake working the Winchester Speedpark SX in July 05.
Photo courtesy www.tomofarrell.com
Why would you let your child do that?
We have all heard that question in its various forms. Perhaps you are trying to explain to grandma how come her sweet little grand-daughter is roosting her friends instead of selling Girl Scout cookies with them. Could be a casual conversation at your kid’s school as to why they don’t see you at the Soccer field. The question came to me one time from a parent of my son’s classmate who plays Lacrosse…..a game with no protective padding to speak of, where they chase you around with a big stick. Maybe you are unfortunate enough to have heard this while sitting in an emergency room somewhere with your injured child. Are you crazy, that’s so dangerous? What could you be thinking? Why would you do that? I can’t speak for the masses here but for me the answer is because I love my child.
What more can you give your child than the opportunity to feel the sense of personal accomplishment that comes from learning how to do something on their own. When my son Jake got his first bike it was something he had talked about doing for a long time. Of course going to the races and watching the other kids on the track convinced him that it would be a cinch to jump on and ride. As is often the case the reality of controlling the bike was a little different than the idea of it and after about 3 minutes of riding/falling over he rolled over to me and said he was done. Now I knew that he wanted to ride but it was hard and he was discouraged. All he had talked about since he could form sentences was how he was going to learn to ride and race in a “real race”, there was no way I was going to let him just give up. Instead of letting Jake stop I leaned over and told him that I knew he was having a hard time with it and maybe he just wanted to quit but I wasn’t going to let him. “Whenever you try something new you are going to fall and it is going to be scary but that is a lot better than being scared to try.” So back out he went and darned if he didn’t come back over after finally catching the hang of it, a beaming look of self satisfaction on his face that fairly screamed “I did it dad!!”
To this day I think that was a pivotal moment in Jakes life where he learned that nothing worthwhile comes easy, more so than I could have ever made him understand with mere words. Does it get any better than that as a parent? Could you ask for anything more than to see your child reach for something work hard and get it?
Now for the flipside, could it be anymore scary for us as parents? I know that I, like most of you, would like life much better if I could always be there to shield my child from harm, be there to stop any and all injustice or pain from befalling the apple of my eye. In case you don’t know me let me just relate this little personal fact, I am just a teensy bit over-protective of my little guy. I have what I call “The List” which started out as a running joke between my girlfriend and I. This list is my record of anyone who has ever crossed Jakes path and caused him any harm. The kid at soccer practice that elbowed Jake in the face, he was the first one on the list. Those older kids at the skating rink who bumped him on the floor a few times as they raced around, knocking him down once….on the list. The list is my way of keeping track of anyone whom I may have to dispatch should they touch him again. So why in the world would I decide to let Jake race motocross? Oddly enough it has actually been a way for me to get used to the idea that I can’t always be there to protect him from the real world. Sometimes life is going to knock him down and there is nothing I can do to stop it. So I guess I have learned something from racing as well, all we can do as parents is suit them up in the safety gear and send them out to fend for themselves. Not surprisingly they do seem to fend for themselves much better than we would like to admit. I got my most graphic example of this when Jake took his first real hit on the track. It was July of last year and we had made our first visit to the Hemonds MX facility in Maine, the mornings races had started well and then a couple motos before Jakes 65-C race came up it poured. The rain stopped but the track had soaked up a lot of water and was messy in spots, one of those spots being the “S” turn at the holeshot. The gate dropped and they sped off into the turn, as the riders tangled up in the turn Jake got stuck behind a rider that slipped and he got crossed up, the bike falling to the right and Jake falling to his left resting on one knee. That is when a kid behind him having the same problem stopping in the pack ran up close behind, jumped his rear wheel and BAM squarely punched him in the back with his front tire and suddenly Jake was face down in the mud being used as a berm. My heart stopped for the excruciatingly long few moments that he was flat on the track, my mind racing “oh my god, he’s dead, oh my god, he is really hurt, what was I thinking to let him….” Then as quickly as he went down he popped up shook the mud off like a dog shaking off after a bath, dragged his bike up out of the muck and off he went. When the race was over, I asked him how he felt after getting run over and he totally dismissed me telling me he just got bumped from behind. I had to show him the tire track across the back of his chest protector before he would believe me. Scared? Yeah just a little and we got off light. I have watched other parents have to follow an ambulance out of the pits and thought to myself how lucky we have been.
Unfortunately life is a dangerous sport in and of itself so there is no shortage of things that can harm our children every day of the week. Two little boys have an argument in the concession stand line after a little league game and one of them kills the other with a bat. More than one little boy or girl has gone missing while doing everyday things never to be seen again, victims of the ever growing population of sick animals roaming the face of the planet. There is no shortage of bad things or bad people in the world and all you can really do is keep your children close to you.
That is another thing that I point out to people when they ask me about our choice of sports. Where else can you go and see whole family’s sharing in the same activity, spending every weekend and many waking moments in between dedicated to a common goal? How many times do you see a sport that your 10 year old daughter, 16 year old son and still thinks he’s an 18 year old husband/father can all compete in on the same day and at the same place? I defy anyone to find another sport where the families involved come together and help each other over the rough spots in life the way the extended motocross family does. OK so maybe I am a little biased. All I know is what I see and that is what I have seen time and again as we have gotten more and more involved in this sport. People from different places and diverse backgrounds who come together to share in the competition and friendship that comes from this sport that we all love as well as the friendships that our children get to form amid the competition. There was more than one race last season where Jake told me that he had seen a friend down on the track and wanted to stop to help them up. That is a sentiment that I have always found sorely missing from the stick and ball sports that dominate the schoolyard.
So why in the world would we let our children do this? Perhaps it is the excitement, fun, family togetherness or the solid values they can learn? Maybe it is the chance for Jake to develop an understanding that life is a difficult bike to ride and it requires practice and dedication to be done well. Could be that I want Jake to understand that even if the goal is never reached the real victory is in the enjoyment you get running the race. All these things have been part and parcel of our experience in this sport. So I put this to all of you that would ask such a frivolous question of those of us that choose to stand trackside and watch our children learn to fly.
Why in world wouldn’t we let them do this?
For more information about Moto Sports magazine publisher
Paul Buckley check out his web site.
http://www.buckleyphotos.com/
First Round
This is the story of how my son came to run his first race, originally published in Moto Sports magazine, issue 163 released in March 2005
First Round.
"J & D" Photo courtesy www.stacyracing.com
“Dad I wanna race”….sounds simple doesn’t it? Four tiny words from a little boys mouth that have been able to conjure up an incredible range of emotions, countless breathless moments and some of the most incredible smiles I have ever seen on my son’s face. Before I get ahead of myself lets start where it really took root.
Jake was just past his 3rd birthday and we had decided to take in a race at the nearby Central Cycle Club track. NESC was running that day, Keith Johnson, Mike Treadwell and Pat Barton would be battling it out. Jake and I took up a spot close by the near legendary triple called “Central Air” and we watched the bikes soaring over us whipping sideways through the air. Jake, still small enough to be comfortable in my arms pulled on my shirt and said, “That daddy…..I wanna do that.” I sorta dismissed it as being a reaction to the excitement of the races and didn’t think much more about it...but Jake did.
The first bike wasn’t obtained until he was 5, a 1986 PW with the classic red and white colors, by then I had gotten used to him always talking about wanting to ride and race. We took in tons of local Motocross and Arenacross races, Freestyle events, caught the Gravity Games and of course watched Supercross and the X-Games. Jake rode the wheels off that PW50 for a good year and a half before it was time for a bigger bike and we decided to go with the Honda XR70. It was a step up in size and power to be sure not to mention that model bike is built like a tank, perfect for the abuse it would surely take. After spending the rest of that summer riding and getting used to the new bike we decided that the 2004 season would be our first as a racing team. After going over the pros and cons of the various racing organizations in New England we decided that the best choice for us was to join NEMX. They offered a wide variety of tracks, plenty of track time for the little guys and reading over the lively discussions on their website showed some people that seemed laid back and fun. We picked the number 610 (Jake’s birthday) and registered for the 2004 season, the first race would be at the legendary MX338 on March 20th.
Of course this being New England, March 2004 decided to come in like a Lion and go out like a Leopard….a Snow Leopard that is. With the sandy shores of Southwick still not in view under the snow and the next race being at Central Village, which we can’t ride thanks to CT law. The following round would be at Brocton’s new MX track, but a trip to Disney nixed that race for us. It was beginning to look like it would be a long time before Jake’s first gate drop, enter Winchester Speedpark. I had heard a number of good comments regarding the cool SX style track as well as the dedication and great attitude of its owners Dave and Suzanne Boisvert. So after checking their race schedule we picked April 10th that would be the opening round of their Spring series and a good chance for Jake to get some track time before the NEMX visit to WSP the following month. So we packed up the gear, bike, tools, ez-up, tent, power washer, clothes, food and last on the truck our newly made water barrel. We headed off to camp out the night before to make sure we didn’t miss anything the morning of the race and cruised along up Route 2 through Connecticut and onto 91 heading through Mass. The whole ride I was unable to see out the rear view mirror because of the water barrel sitting tied to the top of one of our totes in the truck bed. We went through a bit of construction and after hitting a little bump to the left I heard a peculiar bouncing sound, but I dismissed it as just road noise and cruised on. After a few miles I checked the side mirrors and then glanced in the rearview, thinking “nice not much traffic and nobody tailgating”. Then it hit me that I could see out the rearview….THE BARREL!!
All I could think of was that heavy brass fitting attached to a 55-gallon drum sized missile smashing through some poor persons windshield. I had to pull over and see if there was some damage behind me, surely the police would be looking for me soon enough. Well we got to a wider spot in the road and I pulled over to the side envisioning the carnage I must have caused, I looked over at Jake, told him to stay put and went to survey the back of the truck for any clues as to the disaster I had wrought. And there….hanging over the rear bumper…… was the barrel, suspended inches over the road by a line I had put around the spigot. I kicked myself a few times for ignoring elementary physics, re-tied the barrel in place and we were off once again. The rest of our ride through the crisp spring afternoon was uneventful and by 6:30 we arrived at Winchester Speedpark.
We headed up to the main building filled out the necessary forms, got everything under the sun notarized and in roughly 10 minutes Jake was signed up for the spring series and the next days 65-C moto. All that was left to do now was set up the tent, unpack the truck and have some dinner. As we sat eating our cheeseburgers I began to notice that it was getting a little cold, I also noticed that we were the only people setting up a tent. We were one lonely canvas island in a sea of RV’s. “Oh well”, I thought I had brought plenty of blankets, our sleeping bags, we both had sweats to sleep in and we would be sleeping on a nice air mattress so it wouldn’t be like sleeping on the frozen ground.
Those of you reading this that have ever camped in New Hampshire in the early spring are laughing right now I’m sure of it. Jake and I both woke up shivering at about 3:20am, I’m not sure if it was my teeth chattering that woke him or if it was the other way around. Needless to say we high-tailed it into the truck and turned on the heat, one run for a couple blankets and pillows later we had our new tent for the rest of the night. Stretching and yawning we rolled outta the truck into the chilly morning air at about 6:00 to find everything including Jakes bike was covered in frost. Soon enough the sun came around the side of the hills and took the chill off so we had our breakfast and wandered up for the riders meeting.
It was a nice informal riders meeting, flag instructions and gentle reminders to everyone that the winter rust would be best shaken off slowly not knocked off with a slam to the turf. Practice was smooth and with the exception of a few rough spots Jake came through unscathed. Before we knew it moto number one rolled around so we staged up behind the 85cc class and watched as they roared off into a very tight first turn, 2 riders tangling and flipping into a heap, an audible gasp coming up from the crowd. Suddenly I thought to myself…”What the hell have I done!!!” Then I got a hold of myself and remembered all the times we had talked about this very moment and how happy Jake was to be sitting there surrounded by the other riders and getting ready to race. We rolled onto the start pad and as he got ready I could see the nervous excitement on Jakes face and I leaned in to make eye contact. “OK buddy, ya ready?” of course his answer was “Daaaad” (pronounced Duuuh!!) and we both laughed. I then said something to him that I would say before every race Jake would run in 2004, it was actually something I heard New England racing legend Doug Henry’s wife say to him on the gate at Southwick. “Look ahead, think ahead, remember to breath, have fun and I love you.
Jake running in his first Moto ever, April 04 Winchester Speedpark.
Photo courtesy www.stacyracing.com
With that I stepped back holding my breath as the 30 second board came up, the gate dropped and off he roared. Both motos went very well, Jake finished each with his wheels on the ground and as he rolled out the exit gate after moto2 and climbed off his bike the look of total satisfaction on his face was worth every moment spent getting there. Yea I cried a little bit, so what? The track was very dusty that day.
For more information about Moto Sports magazine publisher Paul Buckley
check out his web site.
http://www.buckleyphotos.com/
First Round.
"J & D" Photo courtesy www.stacyracing.com
“Dad I wanna race”….sounds simple doesn’t it? Four tiny words from a little boys mouth that have been able to conjure up an incredible range of emotions, countless breathless moments and some of the most incredible smiles I have ever seen on my son’s face. Before I get ahead of myself lets start where it really took root.
Jake was just past his 3rd birthday and we had decided to take in a race at the nearby Central Cycle Club track. NESC was running that day, Keith Johnson, Mike Treadwell and Pat Barton would be battling it out. Jake and I took up a spot close by the near legendary triple called “Central Air” and we watched the bikes soaring over us whipping sideways through the air. Jake, still small enough to be comfortable in my arms pulled on my shirt and said, “That daddy…..I wanna do that.” I sorta dismissed it as being a reaction to the excitement of the races and didn’t think much more about it...but Jake did.
The first bike wasn’t obtained until he was 5, a 1986 PW with the classic red and white colors, by then I had gotten used to him always talking about wanting to ride and race. We took in tons of local Motocross and Arenacross races, Freestyle events, caught the Gravity Games and of course watched Supercross and the X-Games. Jake rode the wheels off that PW50 for a good year and a half before it was time for a bigger bike and we decided to go with the Honda XR70. It was a step up in size and power to be sure not to mention that model bike is built like a tank, perfect for the abuse it would surely take. After spending the rest of that summer riding and getting used to the new bike we decided that the 2004 season would be our first as a racing team. After going over the pros and cons of the various racing organizations in New England we decided that the best choice for us was to join NEMX. They offered a wide variety of tracks, plenty of track time for the little guys and reading over the lively discussions on their website showed some people that seemed laid back and fun. We picked the number 610 (Jake’s birthday) and registered for the 2004 season, the first race would be at the legendary MX338 on March 20th.
Of course this being New England, March 2004 decided to come in like a Lion and go out like a Leopard….a Snow Leopard that is. With the sandy shores of Southwick still not in view under the snow and the next race being at Central Village, which we can’t ride thanks to CT law. The following round would be at Brocton’s new MX track, but a trip to Disney nixed that race for us. It was beginning to look like it would be a long time before Jake’s first gate drop, enter Winchester Speedpark. I had heard a number of good comments regarding the cool SX style track as well as the dedication and great attitude of its owners Dave and Suzanne Boisvert. So after checking their race schedule we picked April 10th that would be the opening round of their Spring series and a good chance for Jake to get some track time before the NEMX visit to WSP the following month. So we packed up the gear, bike, tools, ez-up, tent, power washer, clothes, food and last on the truck our newly made water barrel. We headed off to camp out the night before to make sure we didn’t miss anything the morning of the race and cruised along up Route 2 through Connecticut and onto 91 heading through Mass. The whole ride I was unable to see out the rear view mirror because of the water barrel sitting tied to the top of one of our totes in the truck bed. We went through a bit of construction and after hitting a little bump to the left I heard a peculiar bouncing sound, but I dismissed it as just road noise and cruised on. After a few miles I checked the side mirrors and then glanced in the rearview, thinking “nice not much traffic and nobody tailgating”. Then it hit me that I could see out the rearview….THE BARREL!!
All I could think of was that heavy brass fitting attached to a 55-gallon drum sized missile smashing through some poor persons windshield. I had to pull over and see if there was some damage behind me, surely the police would be looking for me soon enough. Well we got to a wider spot in the road and I pulled over to the side envisioning the carnage I must have caused, I looked over at Jake, told him to stay put and went to survey the back of the truck for any clues as to the disaster I had wrought. And there….hanging over the rear bumper…… was the barrel, suspended inches over the road by a line I had put around the spigot. I kicked myself a few times for ignoring elementary physics, re-tied the barrel in place and we were off once again. The rest of our ride through the crisp spring afternoon was uneventful and by 6:30 we arrived at Winchester Speedpark.
We headed up to the main building filled out the necessary forms, got everything under the sun notarized and in roughly 10 minutes Jake was signed up for the spring series and the next days 65-C moto. All that was left to do now was set up the tent, unpack the truck and have some dinner. As we sat eating our cheeseburgers I began to notice that it was getting a little cold, I also noticed that we were the only people setting up a tent. We were one lonely canvas island in a sea of RV’s. “Oh well”, I thought I had brought plenty of blankets, our sleeping bags, we both had sweats to sleep in and we would be sleeping on a nice air mattress so it wouldn’t be like sleeping on the frozen ground.
Those of you reading this that have ever camped in New Hampshire in the early spring are laughing right now I’m sure of it. Jake and I both woke up shivering at about 3:20am, I’m not sure if it was my teeth chattering that woke him or if it was the other way around. Needless to say we high-tailed it into the truck and turned on the heat, one run for a couple blankets and pillows later we had our new tent for the rest of the night. Stretching and yawning we rolled outta the truck into the chilly morning air at about 6:00 to find everything including Jakes bike was covered in frost. Soon enough the sun came around the side of the hills and took the chill off so we had our breakfast and wandered up for the riders meeting.
It was a nice informal riders meeting, flag instructions and gentle reminders to everyone that the winter rust would be best shaken off slowly not knocked off with a slam to the turf. Practice was smooth and with the exception of a few rough spots Jake came through unscathed. Before we knew it moto number one rolled around so we staged up behind the 85cc class and watched as they roared off into a very tight first turn, 2 riders tangling and flipping into a heap, an audible gasp coming up from the crowd. Suddenly I thought to myself…”What the hell have I done!!!” Then I got a hold of myself and remembered all the times we had talked about this very moment and how happy Jake was to be sitting there surrounded by the other riders and getting ready to race. We rolled onto the start pad and as he got ready I could see the nervous excitement on Jakes face and I leaned in to make eye contact. “OK buddy, ya ready?” of course his answer was “Daaaad” (pronounced Duuuh!!) and we both laughed. I then said something to him that I would say before every race Jake would run in 2004, it was actually something I heard New England racing legend Doug Henry’s wife say to him on the gate at Southwick. “Look ahead, think ahead, remember to breath, have fun and I love you.
Jake running in his first Moto ever, April 04 Winchester Speedpark.
Photo courtesy www.stacyracing.com
With that I stepped back holding my breath as the 30 second board came up, the gate dropped and off he roared. Both motos went very well, Jake finished each with his wheels on the ground and as he rolled out the exit gate after moto2 and climbed off his bike the look of total satisfaction on his face was worth every moment spent getting there. Yea I cried a little bit, so what? The track was very dusty that day.
For more information about Moto Sports magazine publisher Paul Buckley
check out his web site.
http://www.buckleyphotos.com/
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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