Of Creaking Knees And Buzzing Bees

As my time here in Austin, Texas comes to a close it’s an obvious time to look back on things. I’ve been out here to help Motorcycle Missions conduct some of their programs, as well as some general housekeeping stuff to keep their fleet of bikes in fighting trim. The results are more than the individual pieces though of course, and I leave with a desire to do more.

The whole point for me centers on my current philosophical inquiry: meaning and purpose. I’ve already defined them as the same, with purpose just being meaning over a sustained period of time. No need to dive into the speculative depths though. Years of doing whatever the heck I want for any (or no) reason is going to bring up the “what’s all this for” question, and it is a common one for people to address in their 40’s anyway.

And so, in the search for meaning and purpose comes the word “community.” A basic human need — to be seen, to feel of value, to “be” in a sense beyond merely existing — is so ingrained in our psyche’s it can actually be hard to notice. It’s intrinsic to the human experience. Motorcycle Missions is place that I find some of these things.

I can use my knowledge of spinning wrenches as well as fleet management to organize the different motorcycles they have. I can use my racing experience to help at the track, from set up and teardown to keeping bikes track-ready or just having a cold water available to riders coming off the track. I also ended up using my racing experience to actually race, which I wasn’t expecting.

Six raging horsepower

The Honda CRF125 is a kid’s dirt bike, plain and simple. It’s meant as the step up where a real clutch lever gets introduced, and the bike even comes in versions with different wheel sizes so shorter and taller kids can ride them. Having said that, some weirdos out there like to slap street tires on them and race on kart tracks. 

 

 

And no it’s not actually weird; Mini-Moto racing is a popular way for young kids with dreams of going pro to learn the basics, adults can race seriously but on a budget, or casual racers can have a bit of fun. Me? Well, I thought I was going to help out behind the scenes again, until a few days before the event.

Rather suddenly I was finding leathers that fit and meeting my teammate (Caleb) for a four-hour endurance race at Gulf Coast Karting, near Houston.  I hadn’t been on a race track since 2018, unless you want to count the Run What Ya Brung race or some off road rides. That meant I was a bit nervous, but I did at least know what I was doing.

I did about eight practice laps to make sure I knew which way the track went and that I physically could work the controls. Well, sort of. I’m 6’2″ and 225lbs and basically poured over the bike, which itself only weighed about 200lbs. Moving around on the bike was extremely difficult, and I suddenly felt a lot old than I am. That theme would only deepen once the green flag fell.

I took the first stint because I’m generally really good at starts. And hey, I still am. The only problem is the bike’s engine is stock, with less than 6-hp on tap. I blasted ahead to about 3rd place, caught 2nd gear, and got my head down as though it would somehow aerodynamically help at that speed. By the first corner I had been eaten alive by half the field and got my elbows out and ready for contact. This was much more like a swarm of bees than a line of thoroughbreds heading to the first turn, like I’m used to.

I made it through the first lap and things started to settle in, with most of the passing being me getting passed on the straight-away. But in less than five minutes, the leaders were already coming around to put me a lap down. And that’s how the rest of the race went: me trying to stay out of faster bike’s way, occasionally passing someone much slower than me, and trying to get comfortable.

 

 

Clearly I’m still a racer at heart though, because I started trying to push and see where the limits were. The tiny wheels make the bike handle more like a moped than a real race bike though, and the front in particular didn’t give much warning before letting go. I also really struggled to contort myself into the necessary position to help the bike through the corners, which was essential.

On a full sized bike, if you get tired, you can just sit on the seat and sort of “one-cheek” it through turns, not climbing off the bike completely but instead moving slightly to the inside of the turn. I tried that once during the race — right when the lead group passed me. I was actually keeping up with them in the super-tight section, and came railing out of a right-hander thinking pretty highly of myself.

That was the exact moment the footpeg mount decked out on the asphalt, levering weight off the front tire and putting my down on my hip and elbow. After a minute or so in the grass trying to get my helmet visor reattached I decided it wasn’t worth it to search for every last tenth of a second.

Honestly, I know from my years of racing that you need to go faster in the fast parts to lower your lap time, and going faster in the slow stuff is generally a good way to crash (or at least have close calls). Remembering this, I identified two important turns on the track where you “make the lap,” and both were left-handers. I started just trying to carry as much speed through those two turns as I could, and generally ignored the rest of the lap.

It seemed to work, as my lap time was dropping over time and I eventually began dragging my knee hard enough that I had to lean further and further off the bike. I could tell by where I was upshifting on the corner exists that I was carrying more speed out, so I worked on that, and finally got the call from the pit lane to come in and swap riders.

Not bad for a retiree

We ended up with a mid-pack finish, I think 15th overall. However, we were 2nd in our class, and actually got some kind of ribbon for it. Not bad. Caleb ran consistent times and managed not to crash at all. We managed two refuels without catching anything on fire or having a long delay. The bikes survived and so did we. Good show overall, yes?

 

Caleb (left) and I (2nd left) managed second-in-class.

 

It definitely reminded me how out of shape I’ve gotten though. At the same time I was also happy to find out my brain still worked at “racing speed,” even though this was a motorcycle that likely can’t hit 50-mph with me on top of it. Regardless of speed though, when you are leaned over hard and have the throttle wound up, and are threading between curbs and bumps, the brain needs to move at the speed of that reality.

It’s actually a place I feel more calm. See, my brain is usually moving at break-neck speed, to the point where the rest of the world around me feels out of sync and totally exhausting. When the world is in a panic though, it feels like everything slows down, the same way two airplanes in formation can look still, even though they are both moving at high speed. All speed is relative, even the mental kind.

Now what?

So then the real question…now what? I dunno, other than “carry on.” I took no big trip this year, anchoring in Kentucky and just poking around locally. That doesn’t leave me in need of an epic winter trip, but it does have me thinking about continuing more short trips through the winter. I’ll be back in Bisbee, and I owe a friend down in Baja a visit, so there’s one excuse to hit the road for a longer trip.

Not much excuse is needed for short trips though, as Bisbee has a huge amount of human history. The town itself of course is important, as it pulled more copper and silver than any mine in the area, and was an important hub for southern rail and the Butterfield Overland stage route. To the north is Tombstone, Arizona, so there’s plenty of history there.

 

These days I almost feel more comfortable behind the scenes, but I’m not against a chance to go fast when the opportunity presents itself.

 

Buffalo soldiers also had a lot to do in that area, since border security was a major concern during the Mexican Revolution. Geronimo also operated in the area, using the nearby Huachuca Mountains as a hideaway and transitional path to launch cross-border raids. These are sometimes called the Coronado Mountains (informally) because there is a monument to the Spanish explorer’s 1540AD crossing into what is now the American Southwest.

So yes, most of the dirt roads that seem to go nowhere are actually old roads from briefly lived mining towns, once-prominent ranches, or long-abandoned border outposts. It’s the type of terrain my Suzuki DR650 built for, especially once you add a large desert fuel tank. I also have my buddy John, who owns a DR650 as well as a sportier off-road bike, and he will be back for this winter to share some day rides.

I’m looking forward to being back in the Mule Mountains, as Bisbee has turned into the closest thing I have to a home these days. I have old friends and new, I have local haunts and watering holes, I can delve deep into the rich history of the area, and there’s plenty of history out there in the desert because of the Wild West era and the Mexican Revolution.

First thing first though, I’ll need to head back to Lexington for at least a few weeks. That will let me pick up the trailer and pack all my stuff, then I can work my way southwest before the cold comes in. The weather will dictate if that’s a “trip” in the classic sense, or just a long distance commute, bombing down the interstate with the destination being more important than the journey.