In the 1960’s young men pulled open-faced helmets over slicked hair, hopped on their motorcycles and headed for untamed terrain. They were
a small sub-culture of people. People who craved
the freedom of wide-open spaces and things that
go fast. They rode for the thrill of it. For feeling the
wind in their face, and the roost flying behind them.
In 1968 a young man named Don Rake and his
friends found the perfect spot for a motocross
track. Nestled beneath the Sierra Nevada mountains, amidst pine trees and hills, hidden from the
cares of the world, he cleared out a track in the
sand and a legacy of good times and fast racers
was born.
ridge suggests that today will bring shorts weather.
Familiar faces emerge as hushed greetings are exchanged, but it is still very quiet. The morning has
a sort of reverence to it. It buzzes with anticipation.
Soon the dark sky glows in brilliant gold. The morning sun smolders, spilling light that turns pink as it
melts into the dark places.
We are in Bear Country, and there are bears to be
won. Today will be a good day...
Forty se