Growing up in motocross, I was never one of the richest kids on the line. While a lot of my competitors showed up with multiple bikes and a monster motorhome, I arrived with a single KX60 or RM80, which was usually towed by an old Toyota hatchback or a Chevy Luv truck (we had three of those over the years.) I always had one set of gear, and I wore it until it was just too drafty.

As a result, I spent a lot of time envying other kids. I’d often walk around and stare at the tricked-out KX60s elsewhere in the pits. They’d have cool lengthened swingarms, shiny plated pipes and, every now and then, a front disc brake (this was when KX60s came with drums.) At the big amateur races, I was always stunned by how many kids had so much expensive stuff. I remember gawking at Ricky Carmichael’s trick KXs and custom Fox gear at the World Mini Grand Prix in 1992 and wondering, What must it feel like to go to the line with all that?

My inferiority complex stayed with me as I got older. Ironically, one of the most prized motocross items of my younger days--my custom-painted helmet--turned into my least favorite when I reached my teens. The helmet in question was painted with my childhood nickname, “Bobcat”, on the back, and picture of that animal on the top. It also featured a lot of pink in the design scheme. This was fine when I had it done at the age of 11--pink was big in 1992, after all--but by time I was 15 in 1996, it had lost all traces of coolness.

Embarrassed by the tastes of the 11-year-old me, I desperately wanted a new lid. I wanted to put the pink-helmet chapter of my life behind me, but new helmets were not cheap. And, since there was nothing functionally wrong with the helmet, replacing it was not at the top of my parent’s list of priorities. So I did what I could to reduce the lameness factor of my old helmet.

Covering up the Bobcat picture on the top was out of the question. It was just too big, and besides that, I still had a soft spot for the fierce cat on top of my helmet, no matter how much I had outgrown the nickname. But I could cover up the word “Bobcat” on the back if I tried hard enough. So that’s what I did. Hidden behind a Michael’s Reno sticker, it was still obvious that a word, which stretched past some of the sticker’s boundaries, lay beneath the surface. But to anyone who had not seen the helmet before, the word was illegible. That was enough for me. Or at least it had to be.

Looking back at the anxieties of my youth, I am a little embarrassed. Not because I wore pink helmets or came to the races in rusty pick-ups, but because I sometimes pitied myself for having to do so. In retrospect, much of my adult personality was shaped by these experiences with thrift, and I think I am a better person because of it. Because I didn’t constantly get new things as a child, I still get excited about small items like new graphics or goggles. The relative humbleness of my youth as a racer has made me appreciative in ways I might never have been if I had gotten that disc-braked KX60 or the giant RV.

And even past that, I realize now that it’s a little absurd for anyone who owns any sort of dirt bike to feel sorry for themselves economically. In my case, though my bikes weren’t always brand new, they were always competitive and tuned very well, thanks to my dad’s proficiency as a mechanic. He never thought twice about giving countless hours to me and my motorcycles, and that was certainly more valuable than any amount of money he could have spent.

Searching the pits these days, all the abundance--the giant trucks, the multiple bikes, the new sets of gear for each moto--strikes me as a little excessive. While I’m not one to turn my nose up at the finer things in motocross if they’re offered, I wonder whether some of us wouldn’t do better to take a simpler approach. There’s something refreshing about coming to the track in a pick-up truck, or getting all the use you can out of a set of gear before tossing it. Habits like these cultivate appreciation and resourcefulness, and are surely good for your motocross soul.

I never had to contemplate this choice much, because pick-up trucks and worn gear have always played a part in my life--and probably always will. It seems sometimes you get things right without even knowing it.


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