Dirty Significance
As much as I hate to admit it, this summer is flying by with alarming haste and when last I checked, I've yet to accomplish anything significant. Of course, I have had a few novels published and even pitched an animated series to Cartoon Network, but what I'm talking about specifically is the really important stuff. Now typically my motorcycle fixation takes two distinct directions during the dog days of summer that I would consider significant. The first is the acquisition of a new (often times old) bike and the second is the epic ride.
Building your own track always seems like a great idea until it's actually time to get out and do it. Unless you have access to the right equipment and personnel, creating a dirt masterpiece is a major headache.
Sure there have been rides but the epic is that one where weather, scenery, friends and bike all align so harmoniously that you are keenly aware of the future-memories even while they are taking place. Granted, the season's not quite over as I pen this article, there is truth in the fact that all of my rides thus far this summer have been overly hot, entirely too short, and decidedly destination- less: Typical buzzing around under the blanketed logic that summer's short and passing quickly.
As per the first condition mentioned above, I've been surprisingly thrifty these past few months while the rest of the neighborhood barbecues fresh meat and lounges near the pool. Many manufacturers have already rolled out their 2009 model year lineups and yet somehow my normally trigger-happy credit card has been lying idle (not that my family is complaining mind you). It's just unusual for the month of August to approach and not find me buried in sales literature in between sessions of workshop reorganizing to make room for the inevitable arrival.
Perhaps part of the oddity is the direct result of an updated fleet of bikes gracing the garages of my riding buddies this season. So far everything from a Ducati 999 to a KTM Duke has been added to our modest restaurant parking-lot fleet with a highly anticipated BMW F800GS on the way. Apparently my friends are bound neither by riding disciplines, countries of origin, or engine displacement. Variety is the spice of life after all. Either not wishing to steal any of their thunder or perhaps simply living vicariously through their drained savings accounts, I've been content to steer clear of the classifieds. Okay, so I haven't exactly been steering clear, just not finding anything that I simply must have at the moment.
This wasn't the type of two-wheeled action in mind when starting this project.
So, where's that leave us, content with a nice bankroll? Not quite. It turns out my natural attraction to competition and spending what little money I have runs strong and when I can't seem to go broke on street bikes, I switch over to dirt. Inspired in part by some stellar examples witnessed through the miracle of Youtube, I have been spending many free evenings attempting to turn a piece of overgrown land into a motocross track. It turns out that between adventure tourers, ATVs, mountain bikes, supermotos, and little cousins with minis, the need for a dirt-based playground is quite present in my circles.
Like my last big attempt to turn a flat piece of earth into an obstacle-laden soil based masterpiece (1999), all of my friends were gung-ho at the prospect when it was presented to them. Talk of renting a Bobcat or even a small backhoe ran rampant in early discussions. These ambitions were methodically downgraded in accordance with our budgets to talk of shovels and rakes as the time drew nearer. Finally when the day arrived to begin turning over the soil, talk turned to excuses and prior engagements.
Still, never one to bail out before getting hurt, I gathered up my neighbor Andy with his trusty walk-behind roto-tiller on what would become the hottest day of the year and got down to business.
After several hours of intense labor and dehydration, we had managed to clear out a strip of hard pack that would allow even the slowest among us to almost reach the halfway point of first gear before having to grab the brakes for all their worth lest become permanently entangled in a wall of briers. It wasn't much but it was a start.
The quest for a private moto heaven will have to wait until the ground softens and the labor force gains a little muscle.
The following day I returned to square off against year of neglect and overgrowth and proceeded to drive further into the unknown foliage behind the handlebars of Andy's 6-horse Toro tiller. Unknown territory indeed as I would soon discover once I encountered a fairly deep drainage gully that had been long since overtaken by the dense brush. The tiller, with the aid of our old friend gravity, had clued me in to its existence by tumbling sideways with me still in tow. Yes my friends, it was a crash worthy of the highlight reel wherein yours truly did the flying w right over the bars and was thrown headlong into a patch of poison berries. No permanent damage save for some blisters and one Hanes t-shirt that will never again be white.
Suffice to say, the track work has been put on hold until the cooler days of autumn when the temps are more cooperative and some of the density of the forest is shed to reveal such land features as say drainage gullies and scrap metal deposits. In the mean time maybe I'll head down to the dealership in effort to test out the old willpower. Better yet, I think I'll meet my friends at the restaurant in effort to stir up that epic ride I was telling you about. By the way if Andy calls wondering why the tines of his tiller are all bent up, I'm not here.
Let us know what you think about this article in the MCUSA Forum.
Click Here
