By: Jason Giacchino
Email: offthepegs@atvsource.com

All Work and No Play

Despite what is turning out to be quite a mild New York winter, the obligatory swamping out of my practice track is indeed present. So exactly how would I define “swamping out”? Well, my boots had to be taken off outside and my cover-alls are now stiff as a board (also having been removed before being allowed indoors). One would think that an acre plot of soil and trees would require minimum human intervention to sustain itself over the months of winter, but alas tree limbs come down, puddles widen, jumps flatten, and boulders begin to expose themselves. By the time the last of the glaciers melt away into muddy ponds, the real work of the riding season begins while the death sentence of my boots is carried out.

Like every year, I spend the off-season recruiting fellow riders to aid in the labor intensive task of repairing the track. And like every year, everyone agrees to help until the actual day arrives and suddenly there are more excuses flying around than in your average high school nurse’s office. I don’t mean to insinuate that my fellow riding buddies are lazy, but if man kind still had to hunt for food, these guys would starve. After tolerating an earful of poor excuses, worse even than the stuff I come up with after coming in last place, all that remained was a track in need of maintenance, a few garden impalements, and my cousin (Mike) and I. Never mind the lack of heavy equipment, two strapping young lads with determination can compensate for nearly any deficit. And so it came to pass (as they say in fairy tales) that Mike and I wasted an entire Saturday in the mud.

8AM- I nearly woke up with intentions to call Mike to get the day underway.

10:30AM- He finally calls me to get the day underway.

11AM- I finally get up after having a dream that we already repaired the track.

11:39AM- It is colder than it looks outside despite the shining sun. I conclude we’re going to need coffee.

12:30PM- We arrive to the track hopped up on a breakfast of Starbucks coffee and Cheez-It’s. We stare at the track with our hands on our hips, exhaling and sighing in unison.

1PM- I select my shovel and begin packing the jump faces while the soft mud slowly gurgles around my ankles. Thanks to my dream, it is the second time today I’ve done this.

2PM- It takes our combined strength and 45 minutes to drag a fallen tree off the rear straight away.

2:45PM- We take a breather, sitting on the very log we just finished dragging.

3PM- The sky begins to darken, we can see our breath rolling in the bitter breeze working its way across the leafless tree branches. “It looks like we’re in for a stor...” Mike attempts to say.

3:01PM- Before we have time to pack up and seek the shelter of the truck, the sky unloads a fury of freezing rain and tiny balls of ice that bounce along the ground.

3:02PM- I grab the shovel and the rake (since we had to borrow them in the first place) while Mike loses his right boot to the mud. We deem the day a total failure, lick our wounds, and return toward civilization.

3:05PM- We’re on the road, watching the street lights come on through the intermittent slapping of the windshield wipers. Mike and I agree that we may have rushed the season a bit. “It feels strange,” Mike adds, “to operate the pedals without a shoe.” I nod in agreement, it probably does.

3:45PM- After a hosing off with ice cold water, I’m finally deemed worthy to return indoors but only if the boots and clothing remain outside. I don’t like the apparent enjoyment in my girlfriend’s grin while she’s hosing me off.

3:50PM- Mike calls.
“Think I’ll ever see my boot again?” he asks.
“Oh sure,” I reply, “probably as roost when I pass you this season, better wear your chest protector.”
“Well it’ll all be worth it the first good day of practice.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself. Although I have to admit I’m not used to being defeated after a day at the track without a single quad present.