By and large, I’m more than willing to take on a challenge if it involves racing. I’ve drag raced, road raced, autocrossed, canyon-carved on roads with Wile E. Coyote drops on the side, and I’ve got a past involving dirt bikes and Figure-8 racing. What’s left, airplanes? No…more motorcycle stuff. Look at classes such as Top Fuel Motorcycle, Pro Stock Bike, and the like…and know that you will never, ever see me straddling one of those machines EVER. Look…I’ll go run down desert roads in a UTV all day long no sweat and I’ll ride a motorcycle just fine. But there is something about a fat-tire bike that scares the ever-lovin’ shit out of me, and I can find you hours’ worth of footage showcasing why, in my head, that I’m almost guaranteed to start racking up free Travis Pastrana Rewards Points for every bone I break in the operation of a motorcycle.
Every form of racing has risks, natch. The Cadillac Limo could kiss some concrete at King of the Heap this winter, or the Chrysler could burp it’s transmission through the floor the next time I hit the local test and tune. But I’ve got a chance of leaving that scene more or less okay. If my luck runs out on a bike at speed, the only thing slowing my body down is my fat ass and the leather and body armor covering it as I skid to a stop. And that’s the best-case scenario, too. No, thank you…I’d rather go picking cactus fruit with no gloves.
So, that off of my chest, what’s the one form of racing you’d never take up? Rockbouncing? Land speed?
I have just seen my new example of craziest racing.
I almost drowned once, so no boat racing for me.
I’d race in almost anything. I would not PAY to race in an awful lot of conditions though. Turn left all day in NASCAR? No thanks. Anything with judges instead of timeclocks, like drifting? Notsomuch. Go freeze to death on a sled? Not interested. But if I had a free day to go play and someone would supply the machinery and place? Sure!
Well I did used to have a nitrous boosted drag bike and all but top fuel on dirt? Damn. Might have just found my limit!
Parking lot shopping cart racing. Always ends with spilled beer, a pissed off girdlfirend/spouse, and broken bones.
A long time ago, we raced creepers down a very steep, very curved, nicely paved driveway. It was winter, it was cold and mass consumption of adult beverages (even though we were not quite adults) may have contributed to a ruined winter coat that was a recent Christmas gift from my Mom.