Motorcycles are a huge part of my life, I think it’s really embedded in my DNA. I grew up riding dirt bikes with my family and watched my dad and uncles pull wheelies, race each other, and yell “Yeeeehaaaw!” as they passed. When my father bought me my first dirt bike, I was in heaven. We would go to Supercross every year and I would always be sporting my jersey and riding gear.I think secretly I wanted to become a professional racer and ride motorcycles for a career. I mean, that idea still sounds pretty cool. Maybe this blog post will be a reevaluation of my life?
Anyway, me and my brother have started going on trips together the last two years and we’re slowly building up a good moto group. This summer we made it to Utah twice, both times were difficult but totally worth it. This last trip was a reminder how fragile situations can be without support.
We started our trip in Big Water, Utah, a small town just north of Lake Powell. Here we took off to Escalante, UT through mountains desert and extremely washed out washes from storm floods. We had a decent ride until we found ourselves at the last 10 miles of our 90 mile off road adventure. We were faced with rapid flooding that we needed to cross to reach the town. We made it through most of it but the last two were catastrophic. My brother and his friend ended up filling their dirt bike and quad engines full of water causing them to be stranded about 5 miles from town. I eventually “Buddy Pushed” them both into town and we shacked up in a hotel for the night.
The next day they found a mechanic who called himself The Doctor. I slept in while they dealt with their bikes and eventually went to The Doctor’s house to see their progress. The Doctor greeted me by saying “You must be the brother that didn’t fall” as he grinned and chuckled. He was definitely a character who had leathered skin, cut shirt, wallet chain, and a thick Detroit accent. His glasses always held reflections which made it almost impossible to see his eyes and he would often look off while he would be talking. His House was littered with motorcycle signs, parts, and tires nailed on the walls with locations of the individuals who have come and switched out their tires. This place is more than obsession, it’s like a shrine to motorcyclist and the culture.
I realized that The Doctor wasn’t physically working on the bikes and instead was charging my brother and his friend for his guidance because “they need to learn how to fix these things themselves”. It was great meeting him and talking about everything from Sturgis to UFO’s. He sent us on our way with parting gifts, little key chains he made and called “Road Warriors, well, Off Road Warriors for you guys”. I have it on my key chain now and it’s a constant reminder of him and the passion we share for motorcycles.
We set off only to have new problems as we summited the next mountain. The trip at this point was done because the damages to a bike were not fixable. We went into rescue mode, and after the day was done got off the mountain and drove home.
But besides the bad luck, each trip I take is another glimpse into finding that freedom where your mind transforms. At the end of the trails, we can look at each other with nothing but wide eyes, nods of agreement, and plenty of grins.
