Why?
At the time I signed up for American Supercamp late last year, I was enjoying dualsporting and wanted to see if I
could take my skill up a level. The depth of my dirt training was a five minute segment on a
motorcycle TV show that Dave Despain hosted before motorcycling fell even further out of favor and his show became
the car-centric
"Wind Tunnel."
At $600 for a two-day class, American Supercamp is not exactly bargain basement cheap, but their web site said they provided
dinner and all the water I could drink so that sealed the deal for me. I had heard some praises about this class
but never any specific details so I had no idea what to expect.
Two courses were being offered at Colton: non-racer and racer. I wanted to enroll in the non-racer school but
because of a work conflict, I had to take the racer school. According to
their web site there's not a huge
difference between the two, but being entirely untrained, I was a little concerned that the racer school would
be above my skills.
Day One
The mailing I had received said the class time ran from 3:00 pm. to 11:00 pm. Night classes?
Interesting. I drove up a little early since I didn't know where the Honda Rider Education Center was at, and it's
a good thing I did. The directions on the flyer I received, although followed to the best of my ability, did not
lead me to their doorstep. I got the chance to tour Colton and even visit Grand Terrace before I found the place.
I didn't know what to do so I just hung out in the parking lot and stared at the little dirt course. Upon first
impression, it didn't seem too exciting. As it got closer to 3:00, an instructor came out and cruised the
lot to look for people like me sitting around, not knowing what to do. He said to come into the classroom (I
didn't know there was one) so I wandered into the building and found the room where others were waiting.
After signing the usual legal forms, Danny Walker had us all introduce ourselves before going into some detail
about what we'd be doing in the class. It seemed like most everybody had solid dirt riding experience, if not also
dirt racing experience. There were a handful of us pavement people hoping that with our moderate level of
track experience we'd step up pretty quickly.
One of Danny's main points was to not overdo it on the first day because we'd be doing a lot of riding that we'd
feel when the night was over, and that the next day would be even harder. P-sha...I just snorted. I work out
almost daily and muscle pain from some silly little amount of riding was not going to be descending upon my lithe bones. Danny
talked about a groin muscle that we
didn't know we had that we would soon know we had. He wasn't kidding. So far as I can tell, it's a muscle that evolved over millions of years for the very
specific purpose of allowing dirtbikers to stick their leg out at an angle. If there's any other purpose for that
muscle, no one knows what it is. Seven hours after poo-pooing Danny's
warning, I was using my hands to lift my legs in and out of the truck.
The first drill was a simple oval. Well, it should've been simple. I learned immediately that
street technique is completely different from dirt technique and over and over and over I kept doing everything
wrong. For me, the whole evening was about overcoming what was burned into my mind as a pavement rider.
After the first few sessions I was pretty frustrated and thought about not going back the next day. It wasn't even
so much I was riding really poorly, but the way I wanted to handle the bike in the dirt was not the way the
instructors wanted it done. I was constantly being yelled at to get my outer elbow up, get my inner arm down, get my
ass up on the seat, get harder on the rear brake, get up against the tank, get into the slouch position, get get get. It was like having someone shouting at me to change how I walked after having done
it the same way for four decades. O-v-e-r-l-o-a-d.
About the yelling: It's not bad yelling. It's just yelling because the news has to be delivered at a volume one
can hear over a gaggle of XR100s, so there's a little military feel to it. There was one bullhorn in use and there's
no mistaking your name when delivered through such an amplification device. One of the instructors would also have
a long stick so if necessary, you'd get your elbow tapped to get it up. Another instructor on a bike might also
ride up behind you and slap your elbow or push on your hip to make you think about your position. The
student-teacher interaction was fairly high.
What is a rear brake? Motorcycles have them? And you're supposed to push down really hard on it when changing
directions in the dirt? The things I was
learning. All this time in the dirt I've been turning with some weird front-end tuck-and-recover process. In the
flyer they recommend smooth soled boots, not dirt boots, and for good reason. Because you have to quickly
slide your foot on and off the brake, the dirt boot catches on the footpeg. I had to lift my foot on and off the
brake; near the end of the day I couldn't brake any more from fatigue and started cheating by going back to the
front brake. And after the mud drills, the cleats on a standard dirt boot is caked with mud and your feet feel an extra
ten pounds heavier. The dirt track racers had a horror movie shuffle because of the metal plate they put
on their left boot. Every time one walked by on the concrete it was a slow and sinister CLUNK-grind, CLUNK-grind,
CLUNK-grind. The methodical gait said, "I'm coming for you pavement people with my claw hand..."
One of our exercises was the mud drill, in which the track was watered down to rob us of traction. If you've ever
ridden in mud, you know it's extremely slick and fairly unforgiving (our XR100s were outfitted with small knobbies
on the front and street rears to reduce traction that much more). Bad form in mud usually results in the bike
ending up on the ground. What the mud exercise actually taught me was that I was a very good bad rider. With all my
slipping and sliding, I kept it upright and even did some passing as a few of my peers squirted off in wrong
directions or ended up on the ground. I would never win a race, but if we were given points for staying upright in
spite of our lame selves, I think
I triumphed in that modest contest.
Another exercise was the one-handed drill. You kept your left hand planted on the gas cap and the point of this
was to show you how you need to get your lower body involved in the turns. This was an excellent drill that helped
drive home the point that the lower half of the body could play a big role in the steering.
Dinner was a much needed break. Being in the C group, we were always last up and that meant we were also last off
the course to get our dinner. Groups A and B were already enjoying themselves and I had expected to find most
everything picked over by the time we got there, which was the case of the last track day I attended. Much to my
pleasure, there was still plenty of food for the last group in. Eating well when starving was worth half the price
of admission.
After dinner we graduated from the oval to a U-shaped track. We took what we learned before dinner and kept
working on it. The instructors often had people pull over so they could point out what the student was doing
wrong. Normally I'm a calm and mellow person, but every time they pulled me over I'd start waving my arms around
like a monkey on crack. I knew I was going to be told something I should already be doing; that combined with the
adrenaline meant if I didn't wave my arms to dissipate the energy, I would've
exploded.
At the end of the first night I felt better about what I was doing. I was still having problems doing it all
correctly, but I felt like I was ready to come back the next day and try it again, as opposed to earlier in the
evening when I thought I was better off just giving up. Me defeatist? I just prefer to look at it as the path of
least resistance; don't resist giving up if you really suck.
Day Two
We started out the day in the classroom looking at some footage of road racers and their body position on the
bike. Of particular interest were Nicky Hayden and Eric Bostrom, two guys with dirt track upbringings. If they
could benefit from the same techniques being taught in this school, than certainly we dolts could learn a thing or
two. Point noted.
We picked up where we left off the night before with various drills. There was in particular a drill in which we
had to weave cones with one hand on the gas cap. If we hit a cone, we had to pull over and do ten push-ups. I
knocked one over, and an instructor behind me proceeded to hit it. I pulled over and asked the instructor, "Do I
do them?" figuring maybe I'd get a pass as a girl. He said, "Yes, and so do I." He said I could do girl push-ups
but I was so proud of the class for enforcing gender equality that I did the standard male version. There are a
few times in my life that I would've given anything for a picture, and that was one of them. Full motocross gear,
head-to-head with another helmeted guy, doing push-ups in the dirt. My mom would not have been proud.
After dinner the track configuration included a berm and a small jump – really more like a lump. Although not impressive in size, they did
add an element of fun to the course. We finished the evening on this course, which was good because it gave us the
chance to work on something repeatedly.
I forgot to mention that initially I was
disappointed there were three groups; it seemed like there'd be a lot of waiting. But I soon learned that the
drills were just tiring enough that the two-rotation break was perfect, especially nearing the end of the second
day, when all I wanted to do after each session was get off the bike and lay down on the hay bales.
I felt like I received exceptional attention from the instructors, but I'm not sure how much of it had to do with
the fact that I was one of three women in the class (technically I was the only woman, as the other two were
teenage girls). The young instructors may have seen The Graduate and cast me into the role of Mrs. Robinson. Or
maybe they have moms they'd love to see try so hard. Or maybe everyone got the same attention I did. I don't know
which is correct, but I was really happy with the staff. I would take the class again if I had $600 sitting
around.
I haven't been out on my dirtbike yet, but I have run some errands on my Monster. At first the Monster felt like a
Goldwing compared to the XR100s, but after a while it was back to its light self. I've never had a problem turning
my Monster, but it seemed like the class has helped me turn it that much more quickly. I think I'll need a few
long rides to see what the class has done for me on a broader scale. I'll let you know if I've made any
significant gains on my DRZ400 after I've had a chance to take it out.
The dogs enjoyed the class too. At least they enjoyed not being away from Mom all day. A little
American Supercamp chicken dinner was their reward for not tearing up my gear bag or pissing on my spare boots. |
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