dead man riding

I've found a new trick to progressing one's riding. Motivation thru threat of The Reaper. See, I've got this fear of commercial air travel. When I was a little kid I flew a lot. As I got older I got to thinking about things. I realized that just because a dude has little wings pinned to his chest and his boxers smell like stewardess doesn't necessarily mean he isn't a fuckin' whack job. How do I know that his wife didn't just dump him for the proverbial milkman and he's ready to lawn dart me and the rest of the cattle into mama earth just to make that bitch of his pay? (actually then she would have the milkman AND his life insurance but you know how dudes don't think) I know. This is a stupid fuckin' phobia. Millions of people fly every day and live to tell about it. ...the ones whose planes actually take off and land safely anyway. When they do crash how many folks get to pop that little door open and slide down that inflatable slide? Riiiight. That shit happens. .......... Anyway, what I was originally saying, progression. I've gotta fly to Houston for some stupid engineering forum this Thursday (Nov 2nd). Down and back in one day. Luckily I get to race both motorcycles AND atv's this coming weekend (Nove 4th & 5th) and I'm pumped about that. I can't remember that last time I've even ridden a "real" motorcycle. So this weekend I got to ride with my bro's on our little private piece of land and had a blast. Spent some time getting comfy on the YZ450 I'll be racing. I got so comfortable that I found a gap jump I hadn't hit before. How big? Well, like any guy forced to give you a length without actually measuring I'm gonna err on the side of making me look cool. I think it was around 50-60 ft. Not big by any means on a regular race track. but when you're jumping out of one ditch and over another, you've got an unprepped take off about the width of your tire, the run-up requires dodging a tree or two, and coming up short isn't an option...that distant looks a little more...manly. I rolled over it a couple of times and HERE is where the whole "progression through fear" comes in. I figured I had 2 choices.

#1: I could puss out, not hit it, and die in a plane crash without having done it.

#2: I could hit it, eat shit, and maybe get hurt bad enough that I wouldn't have to fly on Thursday.

Wow. I wish it was this easy to decide what I want at Arbys. This was a no-brainer. I went for it. First one came up just a tad short and caught my rear wheel on the vertical wall of the far side of the ditch. My right wrist and ankle felt it but I rode out of it. I then had to hit it again immediately. The longer you wait the harder it is. I hit it again, this time a little with a little more balls, and was over it easily. Whew! It felt good to push myself. Now if I'm sharing a bottle of vodka with The Reaper at least I can do it with my head a little higher. Shit.


1 comment:

kevin said...

My fear's not nearly as big as yours; but when I'm on my way to Vegas next week and we're flying over the Grand Canyon my stomach will be grinding in worry.

BTW, I call your bikes if you go for the BIG yard sale!