G Man Looks at 2012

It's that time of the year that most of us set some admirable goals we hope to accomplish in the New Year.  Most people avow to eat better, get some exercise or give up some bad habit or vice.  By March they give up and resort to their more comfortable life style.  But, at least they try and must be encouraged to continue to seek continued improvement.   Super Heroes such as G Man support this ritual.  However, super human beings also have weaknesses and must continue to seek improvement.  In this vain G Man would like to share his results from 2011 and goals for 2012 in order to encourage his fans and followers to become better people and serve the G Man creed of Truth, Justice and the Texas Way.

In 2011 G Man announced his retirement from active Super Hero status and sought to accomplish the following:
  
Goal #l:  See as many baseball games as possible
Result:  Attended 56 games including one in Wrigley Field and one Astro game that included a complete tour of the Minute Maid Park facilities arranged by long time friends Barbara and Gene Coleman.

Dr. Gene Coleman, Houston Astros
Col. Buster Coats, USMC Retired

Goal #2: Ride my motorcycle more.
Result:  Only rode about 1500 miles. Failed to make sufficient improvement in this area.

Goal #3:  Go to work everyday if I felt like it. 
Result:  Went to work every scheduled day.  Only one day of those days did not meet criteria.

Overall evaluation:   Satisfactory. 

For 2012 G Man plans to keep Goals #1 and #2 and add the following goal for the coming year.

Goal #3:  Establish and adhere to a healthier lifestyle.

Goal #4:  Activate plan to name Hwy 105, "GMan Super Hero Highway".

G Man will continue to provide periodic progress reports on the above.  In addition, he will continue to host his Super Hero Fantasy Camps.  If anyone is interested feel free to contact Super Hero Consultant, Bobcat at lrcats@aol.com.

Happy New Year to all and remember help your neighbor.

It's Only Bench Racing Now

Restored 1976 250WR Husqvarna

While working at DuPont in the late 1990s I got to know a skilled welder and mechanic, Joe Wright.  Joe was a motocross racer in his younger days.  Periodically we would spend time "bench racing".  Joe was a Penton rider and I had told him about my old Husky in the barn.  During our periodic discussions Joe would suggest that I should get the old bike restored.  Since it had not been ridden in nearly 20 years and had been completely underwater in a couple of floods that completely engulfed the barn, I didn't give it much thought.  One day in 2003 Joe again brought up subject.  I asked him if he wanted to do it and to my surprise, he said, "Yes!".  

Several weeks later I loaded the sad looking bike and took it too him.  I fully expected Joe to say, "My bad, take it back home".  Joe worked on the bike in his free time and would occasionally call to get my approval to do something.   After about a year, it was ready to go.  After taking turns kick starting and pushing it down the street, it fired up.  Ah, Man, that two cycle ring a ding sound and smell of burning premix fuel got my adrenaline going.  

During that year I had been given an incentive opportunity to retire.  I had planned to work a couple of more years, but the offer was too good to turn down.  The timeline to my retirement and the final stages of the restoration were running parallel.  By the time I retired I had no hobbies.  I had given up golf, running, racquetball and stamp collecting.  I didn't hunt or fish. Facebook, fantasy football and blogging weren't in my future.  My kids were grown.  I had sold all of my rental property.  I needed a hobby  Why not dirt biking?  I had taken the Husky on a couple of rides, but I knew I didn't want to tear it up.  So a found a good deal on a "new" Suzuki DR350. 

Keep in mind I had not ridden since 1982.  Dirt Bike technology had progressed significantly during the last 20 years.  I rode the bike around the neighborhood and hit some of the short trails around the house.  I did manage to lay the bike down by the bayou when I hit a log I failed to see.  I did get a pretty nasty burn on my leg.   This bike was much faster, heavier and the seat height greater than my Husky. 

Recalling the excitement from thirty years earlier, I decided to enter a family enduro sponsored by the Houston Trail Riders in Sam Houston National Forest.  I bought a new helmet and boots, found an old jersey, kidney belt and shoulder pads.  We spent the night near Conroe and headed to the staging area early in the morning.  They even had an over 60 class.  As hard as I tried I could not get the bike to start.  So, we volunteered to help out the organizers and went home that afternoon.

Two weeks later Linda and I went back to Sam Houston to do some play riding.  I had some maps of the park.  It was a beautiful day.  Linda brought her books and I took off alone on some trails.  The woods trails were dry and not too difficult.  I knew I was old and out of shape and on a machine well above my current level.  I started out slowly just wanting to enjoy the woods and the feel of the bike between my legs.  The more I rode, the more my confidence returned.  Pretty soon I was riding over my head, washed out on a berm and hit the ground pretty hard.  My leg was sore but not a show stopper.  I got back to the truck and still felt good.  I told my wife I was going to make another loop.
I got lost.  It turned out I crossed a paved road and mistook it for the one we came on.  By now my groin was starting to really ache.  I stopped a few times to check my map and each time the groin was hurting more and more.  It was getting really difficult to start the bike.  I finally found someone to give me directions to get back.  By now I had covered 50 miles and I wasn't sure how many miles I could get out of a tank of gas.  I finally got back and I was hurting so bad, I had to get help to load the bike on the trailer.  Linda drove home.

The next day I could barely walk.  I went to the doctor and I has some major soft tissue tears to the groin muscle.  I was pretty much confined to the house for the next month.  After recovering, I had to try it again.  I took the new bike and the Husky to a local motocross track.  No one was there, so I decided to ride anyway.  Well, next day I was back at the doctor after falling again.   I had a broken thumb and rib.  I concluded the new bike was too heavy and powerful for me.  In addition, I was not in very good shape nor very coordinated any more.  It was then that I decided to buy my first street bike. 

Several years later, while recovering from my first knee replacement, I answered an employment ad at a local motorcycle dealership.  Four years later I am still working there part time.  I love going to work everyday.  Only problem I keep buying toys. 

On Any Sunday

Enduro riding is not much of a spectator sport. You don't ride laps. They are a point to point course.
If you want to watch someone, you had to go to a particular spot and wait for your favorite rider to pass, then go to the next point.  You might get to watch your rider two or three times on the course.  Therefore, my family pit crew would have to find something to do for four hours waiting on me to make it to the finish and go home.  With three young kids, it became less fun for my wife.  She found it was a lot more comfortable to take the kids to Lake Winnepesaukah and then come home, rather than entertaining them in some remote area of the South. 

By 1976 I had made friends with riders from all parts of the country with a similar enthusiasms to mine.  So I began to make the trips alone or with a local friend that just wanted to get out of town.  By this time I was a serious competitor.  I had a chance at every event to "trophy".  I even began training to improve my performance.  I started running distances at a local track and increased weight training.

I had purchased a new 250WR Husqvarna. At the time it was one of the most competitive enduro bikes.  The Japanese bikes were starting to become more and more popular as the European bike numbers dwindled.  Still, the Husqvarna and Penton were the dominant bikes "On any  Sunday".

Water crossing near Anderson, SC. Note Honda rider getting passed

By now I was able to finish every race I entered without being disqualified.  I was adept at keeping time.  My main weakness was riding in real muddy conditions and long, tight woods trails.  These were the sections that I lost time and usually determine whether I would trophy.  During 1976 and 1977 I collected about a dozen trophies,  numerous plaques and medals.  My best finish was second in my class in the Talladega National Forest Enduro.  I got some thirds and fourths and even got a trophy for finishing 13th at an Athens, GA event.

The enduro season ran from September through May of the next year.  A lot of time the weather was just cold.  I remember riding in East Tennessee on a nice 60 degree day, but it had been cold and snowy prior to that day.  When you got on the east side of the mountain snow and ice were still on the course.  One such ride was a 150 mile one day trial that started in Maryville, TN and went through the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.  During the course of the event you were in North Carolina as well as Tennessee.  It was extremely cold, but as long as you were riding hard your body heat was up and you didn't notice it.  The race finished up on a mountain and you had a ten mile ride just to get back to the staging area.  This was the time you should be able to relax.  However, When I started back down blisters on my had burst and I was bleeding through my gloves.   My rear end was raw from bouncing on the seat.  When I stood up on the pegs, my hands hurt.  When I sat on the seat, my butt hurt.  It was a long ten miles down the mountain.  I got a bronze plaque for that ride.

Another ride outside Greenville, SC I was doing well.  With about 10 miles to go, I had only lost about 8 points and was heading for another finish.  I was riding on a power line right of way with long sloping hills.  I had passed another rider at the top of one hill and was jumping the erosion humps with precision.  Suddenly I hit one but, there were two  humps. In an instant panic, I backed off the throttle before the rear wheel was airborne and quickly did a nose dive and flipped over the handle bars with the Husky running over me.  I was a little shook, but only had some sore ribs.  The rider I had passed earlier caught up, stopped and asked if I was OK.  The crash must have been spectacular as the other rider turned around and went back up the hill.  I restarted my bike and took off.  When I got to the bottom a water filled ditch had to be crossed.  With my confidence gone and chest hurting, I laid the bike down in the water, drowning out my bike.  As I pulled it out of the ditch, I looked up to see an ambulance making its way down the slope.  They were coming for me.  The paramedic checked me out, put a band aid on my nose and sent me on my way.  I finished out of the money that day.

By now, I was a decent rider and didn't fall very much.  But, when I did it was spectacular.  One fall took the hide off my arm from my elbow to my wrist.  Another time I fell on my shoulder.  That was the only time I went to the doctor and it was the emergency room, but nothing was broken.  The little finger on my right hand stayed swollen from clipping small trees in tight woods sections.  It was only after I quit riding did it get well.

By the end of 1977 I had cut back on the number of events.  My boys had started playing sports and I was coaching or watching their activities.  In addition,  my training had led me to increase my running.  I began to enter some 10K events.  By the time I moved back to Texas in late 1979, I rode only a couple events each year. 

After moving to Texas I had some neighbors that rode and I entered 8 or 10 enduros on the Texas circuit.  I had lost some interest as running had become a higher priority.  My last enduro was an enduro in Terlingua, TX in 1982.   I parked my Husky in the barn and it remained there for twenty years. 

The Last Enduro in the snow: Terlingua,Texas

Most Memorable Christmas

What was your most memorable Christmas?  I spent the first 22 Christmas' in Grapevine, Texas.  My parents moved to Beaumont in 1950, but all of our family still lived in and around Grapevine.  We always spent Christmas Eve at my Paternal Grandparents home and Christmas Day with my Mother's family.  It was usually cold and my brother and I would sleep in the feather bed on the "sleeping porch".

Grandmother, Granddad Wright and Cry Baby

We got to open the presents when we got up Christmas morning. My Grandfather had this old clock that chimed every hour.  We would go to bed early so we could get up early and open the gifts.  Seven o'clock was the magic time.

If I awoke during the night I would listen for the clock.  If it chimed six times, I knew I had only an hour left.  The clock also chimed one time on each half hour.  One time I awoke during the night and was in bed waiting for the chime.  Eventually it chimed.  One "bong", oh no.  I didn't know what time it was. I was afraid to get up and wake my parents until I knew what time it was.  So I just willed myself to stay awake for the next chime.  Surely it would ring seven times.  In thirty more minutes, it chimed again. One "bong".  Since I was pretty good at logic, I deducted that it was either one or one-thirty.  I went back to sleep.

All that said, my most memorable Christmas occurred in 1958.  I was 14, my cousin, Tommy Simmons, was 12 and my brother, Bob, was 11.  I had obtained my driver's license the previous summer.  Daddy Wall let me drive his old Ford coupe.  There wasn't a lot to do in Grapevine, especially on Christmas Eve.  We decided to drive out to the lake.  Being adventurous, we went "trail blazing" leaving the dirt road and driving across the field. As luck would have it, we got stuck.  Several attempts of backing up and going forward only resulted in getting deeper in the muck.  I tried to jack the rear up and put boards under the wheel.  We could only find small boards and that plan was not working.  The sun had gone down and the light was fading.  We were already late for dinner at my Grandmothers, when my little brother who had been standing around watching, said,  "Jimmy, we need to get back"  It was at that moment that I found an appropriate use for many of the words I had heard other kids say in school.

We gave up and I walked to some one's house and called my Dad.  He came and got the car out.
It was not a Merry, Merry Christmas Eve.  I heard all of the chimes on the clock that night.



Going WFO in the Deep South

Riding my first Husqvarna, I entered as many enduros as I could.  Most of my weekend buddies had drifted away and the family would load up the van for a weekend trip to places like Ball Ground and Dahlonega, Georgia, Calhoun Falls, South Carolina, Big Stone Gap, Virginia, Cadiz, Kentucky, Sand Mountain, Alabama and all over Tennessee.  We would camp out at mostly primitive sites. Sometimes in less than perfect conditions.  At one race in Georgia we had pitched the tent along a ridge.  Linda and Jennifer were in the van and the boys and I were in the tent.  Some times during the night a scary thunderstorm came through.  All five of us ended up sleeping in the van.

One enduro I left home without my helmet.  I wanted to blame someone, but couldn't as it was my fault. A stranger loaned me a helmet and I did pretty well.  Another time Linda lost my jeans at the washteria and I had to wear my double knit bell bottoms to the staging area. 

In addition to trophies, all entrants received a patch for riding the enduro.  By 1975 I was starting to collect a number of patches, but had not won a trophy yet.  I had joined the Southeast Enduro Riders Association and the AMA.  I started as a C-Class rider and was building points.  There were very few National Enduros so it was hard to accumulate points when you were finishing 50th with the "Big Boys".





I finally started keeping time after I hit some check points HOT (early).  This required a strip chart with mileage and all the turns and terrain listed, an accurate watch and the ability to know how to convert 24mph to 0.2mile.  Paying attention to the time was not that difficult, riding well enough to make a difference was. 

My first trophy came on a hare scramble in North Alabama.  A Hare Scramble or Hare and Hound is a race. No time keeping, fastest time wins.  They are somewhat of a cross between motocross and enduros.  Usually fifty to 80 miles on a course made up of five to ten mile laps. It had been raining prior to the race and started snowing the morning of the event.  Three or four of my friends entered.  It was awful.  Mud and more mud.  It took forever to make a lap.  The organizers finally stopped the race.  I had gone about three laps but was ahead of all but two in my class.  Picking up a third place trophy.

The next day at work was miserable.  Since motorcycles were not popular with DuPont, I had managed to keep my hobby a secret at work.  When I showed up that Monday I looked and felt pretty bad.  My boss looked a me and said, "what's wrong"?  I replied, "Nothing".  He said, "You were out playing in the snow all day yesterday, weren't you".   I didn't have to lie, just said, "Yes Sir".

(In the picture I'm wearing a Honda jersey.  As I mentioned in previous blogs, I was cheap.  I never raced a Honda, but I needed a jersey and this one was on sale.)

Enduro participation was open to anyone regardless of ability.  Most were classed by motorcycle displacement.

Usually 125cc, 200cc, 250cc and Open.  You might be riding against a guy wearing cowboy boots and a plastic rain suit or a world class rider.  One such hare scrambled took place not far from home. 

There was a three race hare scramble series scheduled near East Brainerd, Tennessee.  I was still riding my 1974 Husky and getting better.  I planned to enter all three races.  The course was an 80mile run, made up of 10 eight mile laps.  It was a well laid out course, that included some rocky sections, a steep hill or two, a really fast open section, a creek crossing and around several turnip fields.   The first of the three races occurred on another one of those really rainy days.  By then most of the competitive riders rode either Husqvarna or Penton dirt bikes.  Penton's HQ was in Ohio and Husky had a major sales office outside Nashville.  At the start of the first race, I noticed that there were three Husky Factory sponsored riders.  Some "Big Boys" showed up for the local race.  The course was tough.  The turnip fields were getting muddier and muddier with each lap and the creek crossing was getting deeper.  That day I found out the difference between a world class rider and a Class C local yokel.   One of the factory riders lapped me twice.   I can remember "dog paddling" through the turnip patch when one of them blew by me.  I finished the race and actually got third in my class.  No trophy, but I was given $10 for my performance.  I had lost my amateur standing. 

A month later the second leg of the series was scheduled and Penton sent 11 factory riders to compete with Husqvarnas.  Two of the three Penton brothers were there and one of them was the overall winner. 

The third race was uneventful.  I do recall a kid riding a 125cc Hodaka passing me in a wide open field.  And Mike dragging a big rock that looked like Texas with his 50cc Honda mini bike. We went back the next week and got the rock.  It is in our flower bed today

I ended my Pro Career with a total winnings of  ..........Ten Dollars.

In 1976 I moved up in the amateur ranks.



The Early Enduros

An enduro is an off road motorcycle event.  The competitors try to average exactly 24mph over an all-terrain course.  The course varies from 60 miles to 150 miles with hidden check points along the way.   The course itself consists of varying degrees of difficulty.  To the seasoned rider they must stay within the speed limit and ride the really tough sections as fast as they can.  You lose one point for every minute you are late and accelerated points for being early.  The riders are classed by bike size and ranked by the fewest accumulated points.  Therefore, on a 70 mile course a competitor can expect to be riding three to four hours.

The time had come for my first enduro.  Mike Duke, Ron Satterfield and I spent the night near Knoxville in preparation for our first event.  The weather was terrible.  It had rained for two days and it did not look like it would let up for the race.  I had no idea what I was doing and just planned to ride as hard as I could.  Because of the rain, we bought plastic rain suits to try to stay dry.  When my time to start arrived I was eager to get going.  That eagerness lasted about two minutes.  The first leg was a woods trail section that was nothing but mud.  I had not ridden in much mud and spent a lot of time with my feet on the ground trying to keep moving forward.  After an hour I had made about seven miles and all that remained of my plastic suit was the duct tape I used to tape in too my boots.  Since I was an hour late at the first check point, I was disqualified and officially shown as a DNF.  Enduros were a lot tougher than play riding on Flat Top Mountain.

Since there was an enduro somewhere in the Southeast every other week, I had more chances to redeem my self.  I rode several more and just tried to ride as fast as I could, but, I still had not covered the entire distance.  Then we went to an enduro in Dallas, GA.  The weather was warm and dry.  I decided I was going to complete the entire event.  After about 60 miles I was so far behind that the check points were closed.  But I stayed the course and finished the entire 80 mile course.  When I got back to the staging area, my crew was waiting on me.  Everyone else had loaded up and left. 

The fun of riding, coupled with the competition was exhilarating.  I rode every chance I got.  By now my kids were 3, 5 and 7.  Mike and Garrett had their own bikes and Jennifer would be riding one within a year.  It was a family affair.  We would load up and go to a red dirt field and practice riding and jumping.  Linda had a 90cc Hodaka.  She abandoned the bike after a trip to Flat Top.  Heights still tend to bother her.

The runs were on all types of terrain.  You could expect to ride dirt roads, hills, rocks, power line easements, cross creeks and home made bridges, cow trails and extremely tight woods trails.  In a National Enduro in Montgomery Bell Park near Nashville, the course took you down the middle of a rock bottom creek for about a mile.  The tight woods were where the winners were usually determined.

We had a Ford Econoline van.  We would load my bike and head to then next enduro. Usually camping in a tent and/or sleeping in the van. By now I was riding well enough that I had to start paying attention to timekeeping.  I had traded my Suzuki for a Yamaha 175cc.  I had outgrown the the smaller bike and was trying to justify a more competitive model.  In 1974 the European manufacturers made the best bikes.  The top riders were riding Bultacos, Ossas, Maicos, Pentons and Husqvarnas.

When I got an unexpected raise, I convinced my wife that I needed a new Husqvarna, a WR 250.  

I was ready for the big time now. 

Keep the Rubber Side Down

Growing up in SE Texas I never rode a motorcycle.  Never even gave it much thought.   I played all types of competitive sports and was pretty much a "goody two-shoes".  Motorcycles were for the "Bad Boys".  After finishing college at Lamar U and moving to Chattanooga, I was working with some guys that had dirt bikes.  Every weekend they would talk about going to the abandon strip mine on Flat Top Mountain and how much fun it was.  I was about to finish graduate school and thought that might be fun.  At their encouragement I bought my first bike.   A Suzuki 185cc dual purpose off road motorcycle.  I had driven autos, pickups, tractors, dump trucks and pulled about every kind of farm implement you can imagine, but never ridden a two-wheeler. 

Being the cheap guy I was (and still am), I found the best buy in Huntsville, Alabama.  When I got the bike home, I decided to give it a try.  It started on the first kick and I started out the drive way, when I hit the road, I got the brake and clutch confused and laid it down.  I had driven it 15 feet and already wrecked it.  (I believe this is known as for foreshadowing in the literary world).   The guys had promised to pick me up the next morning and take me to the mountains.  The next day I was excited and pretty nervous to say the least.  I didn't have any motorcycle gear so I but on my old Wranglers and Justin cowboy boots.  At least I was in somewhat of a comfort zone.

We got to Flat Top Mountain and I was advised to remove the rear view mirrors, which I did.
I don't recall much of the details of the day, but I know that I had a blast.  The terrain was rough and muddy with a lot of hills and ridges.   My buddies liked to climb hills.  It was on these hills that I removed the rest of the unnecessary equipment on the bike.

When I returned home that evening, I was hooked.  I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew that I had found a hobby I would pursue for a long time.  From that time forward every day off was spent on some mountain trail.  I removed what was left of the non essential equipment.  I replaced the original trial tires with a full set of knobby tires.  I installed a larger rear sprocket in order to improve my hill climbing.  I even bought a pair of lineman boots to replace my Justins. I was starting to fit in. 

I found out some of my graduate school classmates rode and I made some trips with them.  It was a lot more popular than I ever realized.  The Chattanooga area was a great place for trail riding.  Within 20 miles of town you could ride in places in Tennessee, Alabama and Georgia.  When I wasn't on the ground with my face in the mud, I saw some beautiful scenery.

My riding skill level was improving with each trip to the wilderness.  It was on Flat Top Mountain that I did my first "Wheelie".  I rode up an incline and when I hit the flat surface I was riding on the rear wheel.  My co riders were impressed.  I didn't tell them that it was an accident and it scared the crap out of me. 

That little Suzuki was a reliable bike. Since most of the maintenance required was replacing parts that I had broken, I was able to do it myself.  I replaced the factory fenders with some Preston Petty plastic ones.  Levers and cables were damaged.  Foot pegs and shift levers straightened.

After trail riding for about a year, I was starting to feel competitive with my friends.  When we were riding trails,  I had to pass the guy in front of me.  Someone  suggested that we should enter a competitive event.  They knew about some Enduro coming up in the Smoky Mountain area near Knoxville.  I didn't know what that was, but I was going to find out sooner than I realized.