Ethnography Essay

I will never forget the first time i hopped on a dirt bike. I was about 7 or 8 years old and after watching my older brother Matt ride in circles in our backyard for about an hour i decided it looked easy enough for me to try. So me, being the adventurous kid that I was, went outside and got on his Honda XR50. He taught me how to shift and to hit the kill switch in case of emergency. I clicked the gear up and took off, making it about 10 feet forward until the bike tipped over. I looked over at my older brother embarrassed, only to see him laughing at my expense. Ever since that day I was hooked and Freestyle riding became the thing to do for me and my brother.

As Matt got older, he got into racing Motocross which was a whole different level of riding. It involves a closed off-road circuit equipped with jumps, whoops, burms, sharp turns and riders traveling at very high speeds all to see who get to the finish line the fastest. For him, this was a whole different world and a completely different culture. As the years went on the trophy's in his room piled up and the terminology he used to describe his races became seemed like a different language.
So one day I decided to go to one of his races to see what it what all the fuss was about. Little did I know i was stepping foot into another world.

I sat and watched Matt make sure his bike was ready for the upcoming race, treating it like a new born baby. After loading it into the trailer he checked to make sure that he had all of his equipment. I was shocked to see how much gear he had to wear. He made sure he had his two helmets with goggles, an extra in case his first one broke. Then he packed his yellow racing jersey along with pants and boots. Over his outfit, the sport requires you to wear protective gear which made him look like an alien. He packed his plastic chest protector, elbow guards and a race collar which goes around your neck protecting a rider from breaking their neck. Along with those came knee and shin guards, (which look similar to a soccer players) a kidney belt, gloves and last but not least his boots. I helped him throw his equipment, gas/oil cans and a very heavy toolbox into the trailer and we headed out to Crow Hill Motor Sports Park in Templeton Mass.

As soon as we got there, the place was crowded and riders were all working on their bikes. I could hear the high pitched roar from the small arena as there was a two-stroke race going on. The races were split into two separate competitions, the 2-stroke circuit and the 4-stroke circuit. We parked in the half full parking lot and unloaded his Red, KTM SX 450. Matt left me to stay with the bike while he went and signed up for the upcoming race. I sat on the bike and started the engine and almost simultaneously a flock of teenagers with fox racing sweatshirts and flat brimmed hats came over to check out the bike. A skinny kid with a bunch of tattoos asked me what year the bike was so I told him it was made in 2004, he continued to ask a series of random questions about the bike and nodded silently after each answer. When Matt came back the crowd dispersed and he geared up for his race which started in about an hour.

To pass the time I walked around the outside of the arena to check out all of the dirt bikes that my brother would be racing. There were bikes of all makes and colors like blue Honda CRF's, red Yamaha YZ's, green KTM XC's, and even a pink Kawasaki KX. All I could think was this place is a dirt bike rider's dream. Some guys even had truck's that matched the color of their bike.

An announcement from a loudspeaker came on saying that it was almost time for the next event so all riders must report to the starting gate.

There were no seats in this arena so everyone gathered behind a yellow string, the place was filled with screaming parents and adrenaline junkies holding signs that read "Ride or Die" and "Race with your heart." It was a 8 lap race that took place on a 2 minute dirt track. The thing that i noticed first was a 15 foot jump with a 6 or 7 foot gap which had a checkered finish line above.

As the riders all found a spot at the starting gate the tension seemed to rise, they all started their bikes at once and a cloud of white smoke filled the air. You could smell the exhaust and the gasoline almost like sticking your nose in a muffler. The competitors all waited patiently with their eyes fixated on a set of lights signaling the start of the race. In what seemed like an eternity it went from blank, to yellow and then on to green and the bikes took off like a cannon. My heart skipped a beat as a few riders tipped over from being so bunched up but I realized none of them were Matt because I could see his green and black helmet in the middle of the pack. The riders were going around turns at such high speeds you were almost sure they would crash off course. The bikes were zipping past the crowd leaving a gust of wind behind and each person on their bike was shifting like their life depended on it.

Once the race was over, the top three times were awarded gold, silver and bronze medals which looked more like a rolled up piece of tinfoil tied onto a paper ribbon. But none of them seemed to care as long as they won. Matt finished 6th out of about 15 but seemed happy with his own performance.

We stayed and watched a few races after loading everything back onto the trailer. It was a very eye opening experience to see how many people were so passionate about the sport and I was surprised to find out how competitive it really is. I challenge anyone at any age to go to one of these motocross events and not get amped up after hearing 15 engines all roaring at the same time while each rider is lined up sitting on their bike waiting for the light to turn green.