“Just for Fun”

The Fly Racing Blog

By Rodney Summers

The latest Fly Racing Blog entry was submitted by Rodney Summers, the father of Team Green’s #444 Justin Summers. His first person eyewitness account was painfully penned after his recent participation in the unofficial “Old Guy Pit Bike Championship of the World.”

I was invited to do a local "old guy" pit bike race this past weekend. Me and all my old racing buddies sitting around, remembering the good old days, and ending it all with a harmless and "just for fun" pit bike race. No "big race" stress like when we go racing with Justin. No rushing to staging 10 times in one day, no filter changes, no washing bikes, and no hard work. I immediately said "Man, that sounds like a lot of fun...count me in." WHAT WAS I THINKING?

It's been years since I've ridden and I've NEVER even been on a pit bike, so why in the world did I think that this could possibly turn out well?   I guess I figured that everyone else would be just as out of shape and unprepared as I was and with all of us on pit bikes it would just be a day of good, clean fun (ha ha).

I roll up with Justin's KLX110 in the back of my truck and all my old buddies roll up with their big bore TTR125's.  I'm the only one with my knees in my chest every lap and with each passing lap of practice I get more and more aware of how old I really am. I can't even use the rear brake, due to the lack of movement that I have in my ankle (old injury). How am I going to slow this thing down? How am I going to jump that double and make the corner after it if I can't use my rear brake? All of a sudden, it occurs to me that this wasn't "just for fun" anymore. I was getting serious about all this. I wanted to win this little race just as bad as I wanted to win back in the "good old days." And that is what I planned to do, even if it killed me. And it almost did. 

Moto 1 was pretty exciting. I started out in 4th and was making my way to the front when on lap 3 of 5 I started to feel and overwhelming wave of nausea. I cannot remember the last time that I was this tired. Three laps on this track were not even 5 minutes. Am I really that out of shape? Is everyone else feeling the way that I feel right now? Surely they are. Regardless, I was determined to show these guys up. I was going to win this thing. 

I kept pushing and finally made the pass for the lead. I've never been so happy to see a checkered flag in my life! I felt like I’d just raced a 30-minute outdoor national and was so proud of myself. Then my wife—who thinks that me hardly being able to get off my bike and into my lawn chair—is the funniest thing she's ever seen, brings me back into reality and tells me that it was only an 8 minute moto. The main is 7 laps. How am I ever going to make it that long? Why aren't all the other guys about to pass out too? Have they been secretly training and getting ready for this little back yard race? Now I'm frustrated because although this was supposed to be "just for fun," I'm beginning to think that my chances of winning are slipping away and I am NOT leaving here with second. Little did I know all my friends were thinking the same thing.

I tried to play it off like I was fine, which didn't last long. The more water I drank the worse I felt and before I knew it, I was throwing up. My wife found this to be hilarious and even tried to videotape it.  A sick sense of humor is usually my forte but she was really enjoying my pain this time.

After I lost my lunch and puked up two bottles of water, I felt much better and was ready for the 2nd moto. I started out in 6th and had to work my way up again. I was doing really well and had passed into 2nd on on lap three. I could see myself claiming the one and only "old guy" pit bike championship when everything suddenly went wrong. I decided to start jumping this pretty big double on my little bitty 110, and although the jump wasn't that big of a deal, the following corner sure was because I have no downward movement in my ankle due to a pretty serious ankle and heel injury about eight years ago. In other words, pressing the rear brake was impossible, and until my fateful moment, I didn't really need the rear brake. I had just relied on gearing down and using a little front brake. But jumping the double put me into this turn WAY too fast and the desire to win the race over-rode my brain just long enough to forget that I couldn’t use my rear brake to slow down for this turn. So I was faced with a dilemma: should I fly off into the woods and hope a bush slows me down before a pine tree does? Or do I just try to make the turn anyway and see what happens?

My pride would not let me take the first option so I tried to make the turn anyway and ended up sliding all the way across the track on my side. All my friends passed me as I lay on the ground trying to crawl back to my feet. I was disgusted! I was in 2nd! I could have won! This sucks! I threw up for nothing! I wasn't just disappointed ... I was pissed. Not only was I not going to win, but now I was in last. The rest of my day was ruined. I wasn't going home as a winner, I was going home scraped up, bruised, and with an empty stomach.

Although one grows older, the youth within us remains the same. (You older guys know what I mean. The desire to win, the competitive nature that we grew up with.) Time does not change the fact that we all still want to be winners, and there is no race that can be done "just for fun."   The four days following the race were torture as my wife continually laughed at me as she watched me try to walk without pain. I was sore from head to toe and this was definitely one of those times where you ask yourself, "was it really worth it?" 

And it WAS. I had a great time hanging out with the old gang. We are all such great friends and the memories that we've made over the last 20 years will last a lifetime. That's the thing with this sport, every race is a new memory and every memory is cherished.