Zwingle Harescramble

While most sane people were taking advantage of the time change and grabbing an extra hour of sleep, we were up at 4:45 5:45 4:45. Whatever. We were up. We are not sane. Especially when it comes to this motorcycle thing- which has taken over our life! It infiltrates my son’s daydreams, his school artwork, his journaling, his conversations, his YouTube viewings, his closet. My garage! At Saturday’s lunch, Ben and Bill had a conversation about bikes. And I understood every word of it!!!

Let’s skip ahead to the race, shall we? At this point, I’m thinking I might need therapy for this mania that has occurred. Or something. Fast forward a 3 hour drive, hot breakfast sandwiches, monkey muffins and a mug of coffee and we pull into another farmyard. A sigh emanates from Luke. He just knew it would be another farm race. Really though, every race except one has been a farm race. That is to say, you drive through some farmer’s yard to the fields in the back. Today we past barns full of dairy cows. As we drove through, I wondered about the farmer’s wife. What was she doing at that moment? Did she know we were all coming? Did her husband tell her? Was she panicking and cleaning all the bathrooms in case there weren’t any portables? Did she pack up and go to her mother’s? Did she ever have any inkling that this would be her life on that day she said yes to the cute 4-H boy and became Mrs. Farmer? I certainly never dreamed that I would be living in suburban Iowa, toting a trailer full of bikes hither thither with my family. I thought I would be married to a farmer. *GASP!* I could have been Mrs. Farmer and this could have been my farm people were driving through!!! (What?! Didn’t you read? I missed an hour of sleep!)

Thanks for the little therapy session.

Now, what are we talking about? Races.

Yes, races! Ben was debating over whether to race his 50 and try to snag some more points or to try out his 65 for one race because next year he’ll have to race the 65 class. He went to the motorcycle park with Bill Saturday morning to warm-up on his 50. He had picked to stay in the 50 class. But as luck would have it, the clutch blew and he now had to race the 65 if he was going to race at all. (At this point in my knowledge, I don’t know how a clutch can blow. I imagine it to be similar to when the brake line on a bike goes out. But sometimes my imagination gets away from me…)

It was a colder morning with a good wind so while Ben was going to be warm enough while he was racing, he was a little chilly while waiting.

The course had some good terrain- through a section of timber, under trees, slippery turns in the field, but after a lap or two, Ben got the hang of it and my heart stopped thumping so loudly. He loves riding his 65, but it is still a bigger bike and Ben has room to grow on it, so sometimes it can be more than he can handle. He was fine and if you ask him any differently, he’ll probably growl at you. He knows he can do it and if you’re going to pull that I’m-a-mom-and-I–like-to-be-concerned stuff, well, forget it!

He finished 10th of 12. And he got a trophy that’s an arm (the little rider on top of the trophy) taller than his largest trophy so far.

Bill’s race was going to be a fun one. Part of the course was set up in an Endurocross manner, with log crossings, tire obstacles and such. We were all really looking forward to that part. Bill’s start wasn’t that great (he thinks the clutch is going.) and he was feeling out of it, so it became a race to just ride and have fun.

For just pulling back and having fun, he still did well. 4th place!

And that, my friends, is the end of racing season. Somehow we went from deciding to try a few more races this year to racing every one. We went from Ben’s little 50cc TTR to a 50cc Senior KTM to a 65cc KTM. We went from not being to cross a log to tires and creek crossings. We went from not being able to ride a two-wheeler and tying your own shoes to two-wheels with a motor and tying. I know words like stoppies, roost, gnarly, and names like Ryan Dungey and David Knight. Even our neighbors know when it is racing weekend and text us to wish us good luck! (Thanks, Lisa, it still brings a smile to my face.)

See you in February, race fans!