A story

Today, almost went by without a post until another one of the daily topic ideas came to my email: Share a story

Racing hare scrambles growing up was always a process. We’d make our own ritual out of what gas stations to hit out of town, or which way to pack the camper full of food and supplies for two days. Pops and I would leave for the weekend with a spare one of everything and Vaseline without fail. The night before the race, we’d eat pasta and a few vienna wafers before passing out early. After the practice lap in the morning, we would scarf down one of his trackside “race egg” sandwiches and talk about the day’s strategy. We’d ride our bikes to the line early and pick out our starting spots. At the rider’s meeting, I’d listen to the number of laps while scoping the riders. Pops sometimes stayed at the truck making sure I had clean goggles and “got my gloves ready.” On the walk to the start, we would find pieces of ribbon or fold over some duct tape to hold back the kick starter. Sometimes I’d use a start box. Most of the time I’d get started on the first kick and be off. After each lap, sometimes 30 to 40 minutes later, I’d usually stop for a cold drink or a fresh set of goggles. I’d find my pit crew in the same place at each race, right after the chicane. At the end of two hours, I counted on a cold towel around my neck and an ice-cold Mountain Dew waiting at the bottom of the cooler at the truck…


2 Replies to “A story”

  1. Yes, those were the days. I always thought those family times with you and watching other families enjoying the same thing had to be the best in the world.
    It’s those little flashes of time that can drive your post forever. Write on.

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