Page 47 - AZ Extreme - AEM Volume 8 Issue 2
P. 47

I Became a MotoCross Tour Guide
 It was time for my annual trip to Jefferson, Texas to attend the yearly Diamond Don’s AHRMA National
Vintage Motocross (which broke all existing records for this kind of race this year by having over 1000 entries – or nearly, depending on which promoter you talk to.) Most people go to a high school reunion, but I can’t do that because I went to high school in Okinawa, Japan . . . and yes, I did graduate with a degree in motocross. OK, so it wasn’t really a motocross degree, but since that’s pretty much all I did in high school, it will have to do for now. As a matter of fact, I was the President of the Motocross Club, all 15 guys.
So by now, I suspect you’re wondering why this article is entitled “motocross tour guide.” When my friend Tom Nugen and I first went to this race five years ago, it was just him and I,
meeting up with some other friends from Texas. Last year, it grew from Tom & I to include one guy from Okinawa and one from Wisconsin. I don’t know how this happened, but whatever . . . it happened. This year, we have Tom from Washington, Hirataka and his son from Okinawa, Ken Stapleton from Redding, CA (who I hadn’t seen for 40 years), and then to show I actually know somebody, I added Dave Boydstun from Mesa. If you ever want to know anything about Vintage motocross, just ask Dave, he’ll tell you. Boy, will he tell you! So we went from a car, to a mini-van, and now to a 12-passenger stretch super van.
To be honest, I thought this was going to be a pretty boring trip. After all, it’s just a bunch of old guys going to an old guy race, right? We arrived at the track on Thursday evening, after missing the all-you-can-eat taco and margarita party
(which was Dave and Tom’s fault, as they were the last guys we picked up.) As I wasn’t totally familiar with DFW airport (seeing as how there is NO Jefferson International Airport!), Tom was supposed to be the guide out of the airport. However, since he was deep into his second childhood, texting like a 13-year-old, we missed multiple turns and spent an extra hour trying to find our way out of Dallas. So let the games begin . . .
I’ve known Diamond Don for many years, and he’s only given me a pass on one occasion – after all those years of letting him and his large entourage from Texas into our Speedworld Vintage National. While we were in the signup room (with me attempting to get in free because I had let Don into Speedworld free all those years – and ultimately taking the girl into it!), Dave breezed
through because he’d already talked Don into a pass. Of course, it wasn’t really ALL free, as I still had to pick up my $300 for the weekend solid gold golf kart (which no fat man should be without.)
I don’t know how or who comes up with these plans, but Tom and I ended up being in charge of the food for the Saturday-night Pacers Club dinner (about 30 people). You can probably guess that I’m not gonna cook it! However, I know a guy who knew a guy who had one hell of a BBQ place in Jefferson (the Riverport BBQ, if you’re ever there – tell Steve I sent you.) On Friday evening, I hopped into the golf kart and went there to make sure things were all setup. As part of the checking,
we took four big pulled pork sandwiches back to camp. Funny thing though, only two of them made it back; I never did figure that out.
Friday was the cross-country part of the racing program, and pretty uneventful to us as none of our group was racing it. However, we’re starting to hear storm warnings for Friday night. About midnight, I could have sworn there was a freight train coming through our motel room. But as I’m old, I turned over and went back to sleep. When I get up in the morning, my cell phone was warning me to “Find Shelter Immediately – get in the tub with a mattress over you, because YOU COULD DIE” or words to that effect. Glad I slept through it. I was lucky - three times that night Ken’s CPAC machine shut off ‘coz the power went off.
We get up in the morning, the hotel’s second floor awning was down, blocking some doors. We’d obviously been hit with something powerful. The roads to the track were blocked with fallen trees. Since Dave Boydstun really likes to get the track early, he approached a guy named Butch Nance who was new to our group and told him he knew a back way to the track and would he give Dave a ride? The guy didn’t know Dave, and looked at him kind of funny, but we didn’t think anything about it and they took off. Turns out, the guy thought Dave was some local homeless rummy that lived in the area. The guy was very surprised at the end of the event during the awards ceremony when Diamond Don brought Dave up on the stage and acknowledged that Dave had
By Dan Matthews, with Hal Sanguinetti – Photos by Dan Matthews VOLUME 8 – ISSUE 1, 2018 47 VOLUME 8 – ISSUE 2 , 2018 47

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