Motocross

Knackered!

Knackered!

Jeffro’s back in action – the only trouble is, his mind says go but his body says no IF ANY of you out there are currently struggling to get any sleep, let Doctor Perrett advise you on a surefire remedy that’ll knock any hardcore insomniac out – ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin style. It’s simple really, just take these organic ingredients – one older brother (celebrating his birthday), half-a-dozen mates, MTV2, Television X, one magazine editor (for best results, large), one randy Sir Chubalot and one snoring girlfriend (optional but not to be taken with other ingredients) – then add cigarettes and alcohol (various lagers and Tia Maria) and blend in a small lounge for 12 hours. Let the mix ferment, carefully place into a truck and drive to an MX event of your choice. Once the intake of toxins makes you fell nauseous, race two gruelling motos around a rough-as-***k circuit. Follow this with a large roast dinner and several glasses of red wine and, trust me, you’ll be ready to hibernate until the spring. My good intentions for an early night before the first big race of the year – the KWS international – had gone up in smoke, just like the toaster nearly did at 3am. I was actually tucked up in bed at with my cocoa at 11pm but was stirred mid-dream by the commotion downstairs. Shame, I was dreaming my old maths teacher was having the A-Team tattooed on her throat and I’d have liked to have seen how that one panned out. Anyway, I was tempted to crawl downstairs and join in the celebrations but being tired and drunk is a suicidal mix. Restless, I stared at the ceiling until 4.30am. How could I pull the plug on my bro’s birthday? Nobody wants a hypocritical killjoy in ragged-out boxer shorts joining the party so after two hours sleep I’m just pleased to say I finished both Matchams motos – in fact, I was lucky to make the race at all. Trying to get any response from a pack of party animals at 6.30 in the morning isn’t easy, it’s like raiding a mortuary at dawn – and probably doesn’t smell too different either. Due to this I screamed the Fun Bus into the pits to find my fellow competitors all lined up on the startgate and raring to go. Luckily for me the ambulance was late arriving – it had probably been called out to my house to attend to the few I couldn’t help regain consciousness. Either way it was a blessing in disguise that enabled me to make practice in time, albeit without numbers on my bike. The closest race to my house that I’m ever likely to attend and I’m last to arrive – just like work really (although I’m only late for that because it kills my soul). The difference is the race was anything but soul destroying, just mentally and physically destructive. I went 15-13 which I was pleased with because I was hanging at the end of the second moto – I nearly crashed when my tongue got caught in the spokes. Did anyone notice? I was rider #259, not so much Bubba Stewart as Blubba Stewart. It was like my vertebrae had been removed. I’m happy to say loads of people witnessed my pain. Matchams was packed out with race fans and they must have been pleased they came because the meeting was a blinder and I’m sure the rest of the KWSMX series will be much the same. I spent most of the following week feeling like I’d been battered with a crowbar by a silverback gorilla. And just when I did come back to life it was off to Hawkstone Park for the big international. Proof that MX is addictive – why else would I endure more pain? A brief monsoon the previous night made the track real heavy going but, in a masochistic way, enjoyable. It’s cool having trail roosts of sand fall down the back of your neck. I had another good day and went home with positive vibes. I’m getting out of the traps fast and my speed is good, I’ve just gotta keep working on my fitness so I can make the starts count. But I’m moving the right way though, so hopefully by 2026 I’ll be champ! Thanks to those of you who have been cheering me on at the races, either that or you’re screaming abuse. It’s hard to tell because I’m usually humming the umpa lumpa song. I kept looking behind because when people are leaning over the fence shouting it usually means the leader’s about to lap me. Whatever the reason, the encouragement must have helped as I made it into the last race as promoter’s choice. I think Mr Ford has got it in for me – inflicting the pain of another moto. They actually made the effort of asking me if I was sure I wanted to go for it and five laps in I wish I hadn’t been so hasty. I tried hard but if I’d stayed out there I’d have been escorted home in an ambulance. It was messy – besides, I wanted to beat the queues at KFC. Man, they’re slow (perhaps I could get a job there). Jeffro