I’m always nervous when walking into a room full of people, even when I haven’t been admitted under false pretenses, so I popped a breath mint… well the first one I swallowed like a pill, nerves I’m sure, or habit. Mint 2 and 3 dropped in my lap, the 4th I absentmindedly ground up in a spoon and snorted. That hurt! Meanwhile mint 2 and 3 then started dissolving in the humidity of my crotch causing more discomfort and the beginning of an embarrassing stain.
A NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM By Charlie Williams
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ast October, The International Motocross Museum took one more step to becoming a reality. It kinda started backwards, first the contents were gathered THEN a building. Actually, it all started 40 years ago when MX enthusiast Terry Good started collecting bikes. Not just bikes, but THE bikes. Championship winning bikes, prototype works bikes, bikes with deep heritage and pedigree. Terry estimates his collection and dream needs 100,000 square feet of building. And there is the catch. Good has assembled the bikes and related memorabilia… the actual bricks and mortar, not so much. A small selection of bikes were on display at the fundraiser I attended October 3 2021. It was a fancy affair, $500 a seat and up. Bit rich for my blood, but the room was filled to capacity. Somehow I had begged my way in by making wild promises and steep boasts. Fortunately the evening was so good and entertaining that my claim to being able to deadlift a 1959 BSA never came to surface.
Legs crossed, eyes crossed and sneezing incessantly in a COVID-paranoid crowd of old geezers… um, legends and heroes from around the motocross world, I poured the rest of the mints in my mouth and chewed manically creating a white foam. Overkill perhaps, but short of Sno Bol extra strength toilet cleaner, there is no better way to cut through the cheap Cuban coffee, root grade tobacco and the off-gassing of dying organs, blood and life’s internal barnacles. I spent the afternoon mingling and struggling to make small talk with strangers. Remember, I sweat like a soaker hose and I’m foaming at the mouth. It’s the hormone injections Dr. Mengele gives me that causes the sweating or rather “sheeting.” When I walk near a blue light, the radioactive chemo shows up green and I glow. The hormones have caused huge swelling and inflammation to the point I don’t have any wrinkles and the glowing green water just rolls over me like I’m the Michelin Man, but not the pure white one. Instead, picture cold bacon grease with a fountain of Monster Energy with armpit warts. A brave or lonely patron asked what I flew? “Stand by or Stowaway” I replied. Not the answer he was looking for. Turns out this group owns airplanes, one guy has a B-25 or something giant, old and expensive, John Gregory and Bob Hannah have both landed in a tree, add my friend Al Youngwerth of Rekluse fame and I know three people who parked planes in trees! Vic Krause, aka Mr. Know it All then showed up and ran down a list of planes he owned. Visiting Vic was a great treat for me, he had been a fixture in the magazine business during my most formative years, so I’ve naively looked up to him and he’s always complimented my ramblings which is what old buddies do for each other especially when you’re the lowest rung on the ladder. My new friend walked off during a shower of F bombs and lip foam and left me staring at the very bikes I had studied in the old magazines as a kid. The actual bikes! With the guys who wrote the magazines! The guys who built the bikes and the fans. There were about 30 bikes on display for the evenings show, plus lots of old memorabilia and riders!
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Two notables were Sir Geoff Smith 1964 and 1965 World Motocross Champion — What a gracious guest, he arrived early with his wife and was approachable and welcoming all day — and Barry Higgins. He is an AMA