Trail Rider Magazine

A few moments later we arrive at "his pit." He suits up while Adam goes over the bike again. Adam is incredibly thorough. In fact, he would make a wonderful obsessive-type neurotic if he weren't the pillar of sanity amongst the group, which is, admittedly, nothing to hang your hat on. A moment or two later the sound of two strokes fill the air like a hive of angry bees as Mike, Paddy and Lee take off. Thirty minutes spin by and the three of them are back. One down, three more motos to go. "You going to throw a leg over that shit box (apparently "shitbox" is the preferred way to address someone else's bike) and join us" Mike asks me? Lee beams at his remark and I try to side step the question and go off on Lee about how he only picked on my bike because it's a four stroke, and not because it's a bona fide shitbox, like his 150cc moped. Four stokes aren't in favor these days. In fact, it's pretty apparent that Mike's two stroke relationship is long term, and quite serious. I snap back to reality. Oh crap. There it is. The offer to ride his track. I was hoping he'd leave me alone. "I sure am!" I say, ripe with false enthusiasm. I hate Mike's moto courses. They are ridiculously clapped out, at least by the time I get to them. In fairness, to call them clapped out would be an injustice. They're much worse, more like non-re- 42 Trail Rider portable environmental disasters. Each track I've ridden is an ugly, all too frequent mix of awkward corners (strike one), tight trees with little margin for error (strike two) and suspension crunching chop (strike three.) I get no more than 100 yards into his off road quagmire and hate life. Lee and Paddy are troopers. I do a lap and contemplate letting the air out of my tires. Eventually Mike and Paddy come roaring by and put a lap on me during their second moto. He is still, after 19 years, a sand box warrior, still loves to have fun riding his dirt bike. At the end of their second moto the mood is light and airy. I wonder if Lee and Paddy walk around half baked on mood enhancing pharmaceuticals, or if they genuinely enjoy the torture? Rather than cast my dour mood into the mix I stay quiet. "Great stuff, isn't it Novello?" Mike chides. "Yeah, great practice for sure!" I say. He see's right through the lie. "Ready for another?" he asks enthusiastically. "Can't wait" I say, my tone a little too flat for my own liking. An eternity and two motos later we roll out of his practice pit. I am still feeling beat up while Mike is upbeat and talkative. Traffic slows as we approach Route 55 and for a moment, I consider broaching the topic of this year's enthusiasm and success. I decide to wait yet again. "Last year was rough" he says slowly as we close in on his driveway. "How so?" I ask. "Just trying to make the best of a season that was completely shot so early in the year" he laments. Mike DNF'd the Texas round in April of 2011 while winning it. "You can't come back from a DNF (did not finish) these days. The competition is too tight and the talent pool is too deep." There is a lowness, a paucity in his storytelling, a kind of detail gap that reveals the extent of his disappointment. "Still, we did some good things later in the year after we made the switch to the two stroke. I felt fast again. I didn't get so worn out at the end of the races. I felt excited about what we could do for 2012." It may be grit, or possibly the default response an athlete has when glory has been snatched from under his nose, but either way, I felt like he was coping after the Texas round. I do not get the impression he is coping this year. Rather, he's having the best season he's had in a while and having a lot of fun doing it. "Safe to assume the excitement carried over in to the off season?" I ask. "Definitely. I began to think, ya know, I can do this. Maybe I'm not done yet." He left it at that and cut the engine on the big King Ranch. After the dutiful bike washing and adjustments, it was off to dinner with his better half, Brandi. Brandi is great fun to hang www.TrailRider.com

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