This is the bike that I went to the Gary Bailey Motocross School with. It was at his home track in Axton, Virginia, the storied Lake Sugar Tree motocross park. David was there. I think that was the year that he was getting factory Kawasakis, but wasn't actually on the factory team. Due to no fault of the Bailey's, the week went quite poorly for me.

I had managed to get leave for a week in order to go to this school. I had just cashed my check and had over $200 in cash on me. I had paid for the four day school, but not the food and lodging. I was going to pay for that when I got there. As luck would have it, the wallet fell out of my pocket while I was in the bathroom on the ship (I guess head would be the correct sea fairing term for such a room, but I was never really into using those terms). By the time I discovered it was gone, (about 2 minutes after I left) and went back there, it was gone. Someone in an adjacent stall had his dream come true (the money falling from the sky dream, not the more common playboy

After only two hours of filling out forms and waiting, I was able to get a partial advance from my next paycheck. The budget for the week had gone from a rather robust at the time, $240, to a very tight $70. Instead of staying in the Bailey's comfortable rooms, eating their food, and hanging out with the other students, I was now going to have to sleep in my van and live off of peanut butter sandwiches and Gatorade for most of the week.

Towards the end of the first day, the kick starter stripped and would not stay on. It needed to be replaced and that wasn't going to happen. From that point on, when I stopped, I would have to park close to wherever I left the kick starter or towards the top of a hill. Sometimes, I would be the last one with my bike still running when Gary was getting ready to explain something. This irritated people and only gave them more ammunition for the "KTMs are junk " crusade. (You know who you are you New Jearsy living, 1981 Gary Bailey school going, Italians). The other bad part of this was that I would often miss the first few seconds of what he was trying to explain and would be the last one out when we started riding again.

On the last day, we were doing our morning trail ride. It was single file and the rule was that if you dabbed, you were supposed to go to the back of the line. I was in the back of the line (I think I may have been enforcing the rule more honestly than other people) when someone in front of me ran over a yellow jacket hive. By the time I got to that section of the trail, they were swarming. Two of them flew inside of full face helmet and stung me. They both got me on the same side of my face and instead of two lumps, the whole half of my face was swollen. It wasn't immediately noticeable. People that knew me would kind of look at me puzzled, knowing something wasn't quite the same, and then finally ask, "Is there something wrong with your face?"

The school ended Thursday and from there, I was going to a race. They had races both Saturday and Sunday. I was going to get there Friday. Thursday night, I couldn't sleep at the Bailey's anymore and couldn't camp at the track until Friday, so I slept on the side of the road (inside my van obviously). I had never had to sleep in the back with my bike before. It was taking up a lot of the space in my usual bed, but at least it wasn't stealing the covers.

On the way back, someone was following me through Richmond because he wasn't sure how to catch the road towards Norfolk ( he lived towards DC). I'm not sure if I ever had anyone follow me back from the races before or after that. I stopped at a 7-11 on the outskirts of Richmond to get something to drink. When I went to leave, my van would not start, despite our efforts at jumping it. He knew someone that raced that lived near by. They picked us up, took us back to their beautiful house and fed us. We couldn't get my van running so I caught a ride to Norfolk with my friend. I got in at about two in the morning and I had to get up at five. Nothing like getting back from your vacation four hours before you have to work, with a malformed face, broke, and your van 90 miles away and broken.

So what happened to the van, you ask? I got a ride to Richmond the next week and my van was fixed. The person who helped us owned a trucking company and sent a work truck over to fix it. I guess it need a new battery and alternator. He didn't want any money for fixing it. I'll always remember his generosity. It was no big deal to him, but I didn't know how I was going to pay for it. If Eubanks trucking is still in business, you should do business with them. If someone from there is reading this (like that's real likely), I'll put a link to your web page on my site (ooh boy, those 4 hits a day this site gets is really going to make your business take off). It wasn't the first time, I had experienced an act of kindness when my low budget got me in trouble. Looking back, I was very fortunate.

Back to the bike. Eventually, the stuff I learned at the school started to sink in and I got faster. Back then, most amateurs didn't use the clutch all the time like I learned to do, even A class guys. I was ahead of my time in clutch abuse. The bike seemed to handle it pretty well. I never had to change the plates. Towards the end of the season, I started trophying fairly regularly in B class. I stopped riding it when I got my new bike. I don't remember much about selling it other than the usual take a big loss, get less than I was hoping experience.