Committed
by Robert Beaupre

I realized a long time ago that quitting motocross is not an option for me. No matter what injuries, expenses, or poor performances I have been forced to endure, none have ever served as an effective deterrent from motocross. While it’s inappropriate to compare motocross with something as serious as alcoholism or drug abuse, there is definitely an element of dependency in my relationship to this sport. It is, in so many ways, an addiction.

I returned home from Fernley last Sunday frustrated. I had struggled all day to get into a groove on the track, and it showed in my results. As a racer of 18 years, this was nothing new to me. It is common for me to think back in disgust during the week over how I rode the weekend before, probably more common than for me to think back in satisfaction. To outside observers, this type of frustration might seem like a perfect reason to move on to a new, lower-stress pastime, like fishing, or an adult softball league. After all, when you factor in the costs and injury risks of motocross, few would agree that a pursuit that causes so much pain at such an expense could exist as a part of any healthy mindset.

But they’re wrong. Not about motocross compromising a healthy mindset, but merely on the assumption that it would make sense to move on. The pain that I receive from thinking about Fernley only makes me want to go back to the track, and somehow recover what I lost the weekend before (and many other weekends besides.) Even though I know it’s inevitable that I will repeat the same pattern of regret someday soon, I have to try not to. It’s like the gambler who keeps pulling money from his wallet, hoping that the next hand will mark the beginning of a phenomenal winning streak--but knowing that those dollars, too, will almost certainly end up in the hands of the house.

I often hear that the goal to have on a racetrack is to simply “have fun.” This is a ridiculous euphemism to those who endure a condition like mine. I do not race to “have fun” in the conventional sense, meaning that I do not seek the same mindless thrill that I find on a roller coaster. I race to feel as though I’ve accomplished something (a silly goal for an activity that requires you to go in circles, I know.) I want to know what it feels like to go a little bit faster, to jump a little bit farther, to line up at the next race a little bit more confident. Even if I never achieve the status of someone such as RC (the chances become slimmer by the day,) I want to do all I can with what I’ve been given, and know what it feels like to push myself over that next threshold.

For this same reason, I cannot get excited about things like jet skis, sand rails, or any of the other weekend-warrior toys that so many people find so much joy with. I only want my motorcycle, and another chance to improve on the past. Although I know there are good times to be had with friends at the lake, I still prefer anguish on a motorcycle to any other weekend activity. I know that this pursuit will bring expense, injury, and probably more frustration than pleasure, but it’s my fate, and it’s too late to change it now.

I have to admit, however, that I would never want it any other way. Activities such as motocross (and incidentally, writing) give a sense of elation and accomplishment when you do them well that nothing else offers. And while I’m sure that fishing and softball offer pleasures all their own, they will never replace the satisfaction that motocross offers me--no matter how rare that satisfaction might be.

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