Even as the pits around me have turned to a maze of beige paneling, I have resisted the RV. Not even the persistent requests of my lovely wife have led me to reconsider RV ownership. I simply tell her that I have spent most of my racing life on the tailgate of a pickup, and I have no intention of walling myself up in a Winnebago anytime soon.

The reason why I reject the RV goes beyond the simple fact that they each cost a small fortune. Even if money were no object, I would still prefer my pick-up. While RVs offers air conditioning, satellite TV, and bathrooms that always have toilet paper, a pick-up immerses you in the race environment. A pit full of pick-up trucks and vans is like a motocross block party. A pit full of motorhomes is like an RV expo--minus the salesmen. Which would you rather attend?

In an age when cable television, the Internet, video games, and Ipods have turned neighbors into strangers, a motocross race is a genuine chance to re-engage with a real community. And better yet, the community at the races is filled with people who share a similar interest. But RVs allow riders and parents to become just as sheltered from the outside as they are at home, watching movies and taking air-conditioned naps when their time could be spent walking the track, cheering on friends, or lining the fence for the Pro race.

And let’s not forget the practical drawbacks of RVs. Besides the whole 7-miles-to-the gallon thing, there’s the sheer space that these machines occupy in the pits. Those of you that have been to Mammoth, or any other major amateur event, know that your hopes of finding a decent parking spot in the pits are nonexistent because of the rise of the RV. Unless you choose to arrive at an event two weeks in advance, it is inevitable that the prime real estate will already be occupied by a 32-foot motorhome towing a 24-foot trailer--containing two KX65s.

But this sort of thing is not limited to the amateur level. The big rigs of the factory teams have given riders the privacy of a rock star gone backstage. Just think: 10 years ago, you could pick up a pit pass at a national and watch the full inner workings of a factory race team unfold 15 feet in front of you. Back when even the biggest outfits used to work out of box vans, it was not uncommon to see a champion fuming over a poor performance in the back of the van after a race, or watch two factory stars talk lines before a moto. The pits were a living motocross exhibit! Today a rider only needs to retreat to the rider lounge for full privacy, emerging only for a sanitized autograph session from time to time.

In 1992, you could have watched the tension unfold firsthand in the factory Honda pits as Jeff Stanton and Jean Michel Bayle competed for supremacy on the track and within the team. But today, the closed door of the factory Honda rig would prevent such an unpolished sight from reaching the fans. I recall attending a supercross in 1988 and seeing a physical therapist (likely Dr. Jeff Spencer) attend to a shirtless Jeff Ward as he lay on a table in front of the Kawasaki pits. Ward was apparently in need of some treatment for an injury or just for preparation, and the doctor and Ward went about their business mere inches from where interested spectators gathered. The chances of such a scene today are scant.

I could go on about this, but I will let it suffice to say that the RV is, at best, another social obstruction in a world increasingly filled with social obstructions. While the alternatives to the RV do not provide the same comforts, they provide some things far more valuable: an uncut trip to the outside, and an unfiltered encounter with a community. Motocross is about people and experiences, and that extends beyond those found on the racetrack.

When I return home from Fernley this weekend, I will likely be either sunburned or wet from another Sunday on the tailgate of my ‘87 Mazda. My lips will be chapped, there will be sand in my hair, and I will carry a faint echo of the starting gate in my ears.

How can satellite TV compare to that?

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