Hashing with Chex yesterday about soccer brought back some good racing memories. My dad and I had a lot of fun racing bikes. He was my mechanic. I always had the fastest bikes. My dad would spend countless hours porting cylinders and tuning pipes. He would get race specs for my bikes from U.S. Suzuki and he would do the mods; changing port timing by raising or lowering intake or exhaust ports, sectioning the expansion chamber on the pipe and adding to the stinger. I was usually the first guy to the first turn. My sponsor nicknamed me Holeshot.
It was important to be in great shape. You healed quicker from injuries. My parents divorced when I was 10. I spent weekends, holidays and vacations with my dad. My dad would pick me up from school on Fridays, my bike prepped and ready to go in the back of the van with all of my race gear. We’d head straight to the racetrack from school. I raced Friday nights locally, went to Saddleback on Saturday and raced Saddleback, Carlsbad or locally on Sunday. They had races on Tuesdays nights for a while and we raced those, too. We would also race out of state if the local sanctioning bodies hosted a multi-state series.
Injuries were normal in motocross. Youngsters healed fast. Every time I got hurt my mom swore it was the last time she’d allow me to race. The first time I broke my wrist, it involved some growth plate bone or something. My mom was certain it would result in one normal length arm and one tyrannosaurus rex arm. She threatened my dad. Unfortunately, I re-broke the arm within a couple of weeks after getting the cast off. The third (or fourth) time I broke the same arm, I was up in Northern California racing in the intermediate class, in a multi-state series. It was only the third or fourth race of the series and I crashed hard and fractured the radius bone about 4” up from the wrist. When I stood up and looked at my arm, it was very obvious that it was broken. It was nearly a compound fracture with a serious bend in the forearm but no broken skin. My dad arrived at the yellow flag incident and told me to get back on the bike, that it didn’t look too bad
We called my mom from the emergency room at St. Agnes hospital and she swore that was it, I’d never race again. She insisted that I see my regular orthopedic surgeon at UCLA when we get back from upstate. They set my arm, casted it and sent me home. I was at UCLA the next morning for an evaluation. My right arm still has a very noticeable bend in the forearm.
My mom threatened my father with great bodily injury if he ever put me on a motorcycle again. She really wanted to kill him. Six weeks later, my dad picked me up from Jr. High on a Friday; I had an appointment at UCLA to get my cast cut off and to get some final X-rays. When I jumped in the van, I could smell Av-gas and Klotz pre-mix. My bike and all my race gear was in the van. We headed to the racetrack straight from the hospital after they cut my cast off I was a little rusty that night but still placed.
I turned Pro not long after that. Took 2nd in my first Pro race, behind factory Suzuki rider John Whelchel. I didn’t crash often but when I did, I was usually in 6th gear. I don’t remember the crash that fractured my C3 but I know what happened because my racing partner and good friend was behind me. The resulting concussion wiped out a period of time from my memory. It was my 5th concussion. I didn’t care about the head injury, neither did my dad, but my mom was going to kill him.
My mom only ever saw me race once. She never saw the whole race. I holeshotted and blasted past the spot where she was standing and she got in her car and left crying
The next year, I hammered my right knee in a slow speed crash at Saddleback Park. ACL, MCL & meniscus. I recovered from that and about a year later suffered another concussion in another crash. Dr. Earhardt, my orthopedic surgeon had already been pleading with me to quit racing. He said one day I might bump my head and not fully recover. I quit racing later that year. Mom was right, some of the injuries stuck with me. My last knee surgery was in 2006 but was directly related to previous injuries sustained while racing.
I wouldn’t change one second of that time period in my life. Lots of great times racing with my dad and camping at racetracks with my friends. Some of my friends were paralyzed in crashes. Some have died early because of racing injuries. Mike Brown lost a leg and was nearly killed in a spectacular jump at a fair or something. We were fearless little men. I sure miss my parents.
Good times.
It was important to be in great shape. You healed quicker from injuries. My parents divorced when I was 10. I spent weekends, holidays and vacations with my dad. My dad would pick me up from school on Fridays, my bike prepped and ready to go in the back of the van with all of my race gear. We’d head straight to the racetrack from school. I raced Friday nights locally, went to Saddleback on Saturday and raced Saddleback, Carlsbad or locally on Sunday. They had races on Tuesdays nights for a while and we raced those, too. We would also race out of state if the local sanctioning bodies hosted a multi-state series.
Injuries were normal in motocross. Youngsters healed fast. Every time I got hurt my mom swore it was the last time she’d allow me to race. The first time I broke my wrist, it involved some growth plate bone or something. My mom was certain it would result in one normal length arm and one tyrannosaurus rex arm. She threatened my dad. Unfortunately, I re-broke the arm within a couple of weeks after getting the cast off. The third (or fourth) time I broke the same arm, I was up in Northern California racing in the intermediate class, in a multi-state series. It was only the third or fourth race of the series and I crashed hard and fractured the radius bone about 4” up from the wrist. When I stood up and looked at my arm, it was very obvious that it was broken. It was nearly a compound fracture with a serious bend in the forearm but no broken skin. My dad arrived at the yellow flag incident and told me to get back on the bike, that it didn’t look too bad
We called my mom from the emergency room at St. Agnes hospital and she swore that was it, I’d never race again. She insisted that I see my regular orthopedic surgeon at UCLA when we get back from upstate. They set my arm, casted it and sent me home. I was at UCLA the next morning for an evaluation. My right arm still has a very noticeable bend in the forearm.
My mom threatened my father with great bodily injury if he ever put me on a motorcycle again. She really wanted to kill him. Six weeks later, my dad picked me up from Jr. High on a Friday; I had an appointment at UCLA to get my cast cut off and to get some final X-rays. When I jumped in the van, I could smell Av-gas and Klotz pre-mix. My bike and all my race gear was in the van. We headed to the racetrack straight from the hospital after they cut my cast off
I was a little rusty that night but still placed.I turned Pro not long after that. Took 2nd in my first Pro race, behind factory Suzuki rider John Whelchel. I didn’t crash often but when I did, I was usually in 6th gear. I don’t remember the crash that fractured my C3 but I know what happened because my racing partner and good friend was behind me. The resulting concussion wiped out a period of time from my memory. It was my 5th concussion. I didn’t care about the head injury, neither did my dad, but my mom was going to kill him.
My mom only ever saw me race once. She never saw the whole race. I holeshotted and blasted past the spot where she was standing and she got in her car and left crying
The next year, I hammered my right knee in a slow speed crash at Saddleback Park. ACL, MCL & meniscus. I recovered from that and about a year later suffered another concussion in another crash. Dr. Earhardt, my orthopedic surgeon had already been pleading with me to quit racing. He said one day I might bump my head and not fully recover. I quit racing later that year. Mom was right, some of the injuries stuck with me. My last knee surgery was in 2006 but was directly related to previous injuries sustained while racing.
I wouldn’t change one second of that time period in my life. Lots of great times racing with my dad and camping at racetracks with my friends. Some of my friends were paralyzed in crashes. Some have died early because of racing injuries. Mike Brown lost a leg and was nearly killed in a spectacular jump at a fair or something. We were fearless little men. I sure miss my parents.
Good times.
