Redbull and Candy

So here I am again, so far past a proper time of day and well into an improper time of night. If I had a real deadline I would be beyond it, and probably unemployed. Lucky for me Joe has twin babies, and will be too tired to realize until it no longer really matters. Hell, I think the dirty clothes from the trip are still in the hamper. A week ago tomorrow we made the trip to Las Vegas. Las-effing-Vegas, city of lights and neon, where there should be no water, yet great man made lakes reside. Where fire erupts from volcano’s so heated you can feel it from the far side of the strip. And tomorrow, tomorrow we leave again, this time for Arizona. I should have written this the day we got back, maybe even started while we were still there. As is there won’t be any pictures until later, I’m sure Joe will add them as he see’s fit anyway. I’ve decided its not my responsibility this time.

We were going to Vegas for the Yamaha Champions Riders School, YCRS from here on out. Photography as usual, nothing fancy involving video cameras, or a fellow named Kevin. So we loaded up, filled our cooler full of redbull and candy and made a bee line south. There really isn’t much appropriate to say about the drive past it was long, and the smell of cow feces reminds Joe of his happy childhood. Its better perhaps not to investigate that one, just accept it for truth. Its earthy, well grounded.

We didn’t arrive till far too late to interrupt a friends slumber, so we slept in the Element. I woke up confused, which is not really unusual when you pass out in a cold car with nothing but a sweatshirt and a beanie over your eyes to keep you warm. Lucky as we are there was a truck stop nearby for breakfast and wet wipes showers. Nothing quiet like eggs from a big carton and chewy potato hash to make you feel good about the coming day.

Back, however, to point, the YCRS. I would at very least call it eye opening, all the information that is shared through that school. This wasn’t some crowded college classroom, the students packed in like fish in a tin, no this was smaller, much more intimate. It was stressed early on that everybody would receive special attention, as to get exactly what they needed to ride better, ride faster. They, the instructors, learned names, pasts, jobs, made persons from strangers. Hell, by the end of the day they might even be bordering along the lines of friend.

They held nothing back, no bit of information was held off limits, something I found incredibly impressive. This was not the type of school where you learned one day to brake, then the next to throttle, no you are given it all. Let everything slowly soak in, then try to apply it, being reminded when need be the technical side of how. True, its a lot of information to take in, but it strikes me that this way you actually have a full blueprint on how to ride, even if parts won’t make sense till later on. Points were driven home with some very memorable actions, examples by the instructors, usually on how to do things incorrectly. Then there was the van ride, but that’s not something that can really be described, only experienced. It was fun.

Its a difficult write to do, this one, I wouldn’t want to post up a full lesson plan. Ken and Nick would beat me with broken R6 bits. I don’t want that.

I will make one mention of the strip, even on a Thursday night, it was more active than most places. We saw an episode of Cops being filmed, and found some Soju. That is all

The drive home was much the same as the drive there, fueled by redbull, coffee, and obnoxious music. Only one incident with an officer of the law, one that left me backwards standing on my head, but in the end he wished us well, and told us not to get robbed. Hours and hours of driving, a bit of snow, a bit of sleet, and a bit of sideways RallEment. Tonight we go twice as far…is it tonight? Wait…what day is it? Damn. We bring our bikes this time. Arizona, then Vegas again.

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