How to Accept That You’re Not as Fast as Your Friends

A few of you know that I spent the summer back in my homeland of New England, catching up with the Northeast lifestyle and reminding myself why people from there are better than other people. Great times were had and the world started to make sense again escaping the hustle of southern California. But the journey wasn’t all great. Knowing that New England had spent the winter buried under about 50 feet of sweet Colombian white, I figured that I’d be running laps around all my amigos. Keep in mind, New England has some rippers that you never hear much about, since the sport is essentially landlocked out there. Sure, everyone knows Jimmy D, but guys like Robby Marshall and Mike Sottile and all the Jones Bros can ride the shit out of a dirtbike. Still, I figured that I’d come back and be showing them what’s up, because I’m the shit, and it’s time everyone else fucking knows it. Unfortunately, such was not the case. They are all still faster than me. Like, by a lot. I grew sad, each day at the track yet another reminder that even though I have been riding year-round while these fuckboys have been drinking beers and planning on who they’d eat first should a Donner Party situation come about, they are still faster than me. What the fuck, Jesus? Why do you torment me so? Alas, I am resilient, and I have managed to come to terms with my status in life. Since I know that many of you deal with the same pain, I have decided to document just how I did it.

Hang out with slower friends
I think this is super obvious, but go get some slower friends for your roster. It works off the exact same principle of girls who hang with ugly friends They don’t have to be the best man at your wedding or the arbitrator at your divorce, but just have them around. I got this guy, let’s call him Matt. He’s a ginger AND shit on a dirtbike. I mean, the universe really hates this fucker. His style on a bike screams “I’ve pissed myself on the shortbus a few times.” Great to have around, because I look like Ricky Carmichael’s and Kevin Windham’s moto-inclined love-baby around this dude. So go get yourself a Matt.

Have more Twitter/Instagram followers than them, and constantly remind everyone
The basic bitch rule: Twitter/Instagram is life, and even though having a following on social media means nothing for 99.9% of users on there, it is a huge judgment factor of your value as a human being. Beat me by 30 seconds that moto? Doesn’t matter, I have more Twitter followers than you, chief. If my Twitter following equated to dollars, I’ve got like way more theoretical money than you. You can also talk about how many chicks you have banged, provided that you know the number is more than theirs. It’s how I win arguments with 14-year olds every single time – “Whatever BRO, I’ve fucked more chicks than you.” Check and mate.

Blame the bike
An absolute classic, dating back to the era of the Roman Empire when chariot racers had “mechanical issues”. It is the absolute beauty of being in a motorsport – the machine can always take the blame. My bike isn’t as fast as yours; my suspension wasn’t working right; my throttle literally will not turn as far as yours. Boom, reputation salvaged. And don’t worry, no one will figure out that you actually just lack talent and the ability to cope with that lack of talent.

People say cheaters never win, but those people are the ones that think the world is filled with gumdrops and happiness, and that goodwill towards mankind is all that we need to survive. Total lunatics. Get out there, and start cutting the track. It’s really easy to do in practice, and during the stopwatch nationals that you and your friends have, you will be miraculously chopping 10 seconds a lap off your times and have all of your friends with their jaws on the ground while you walk away with their bitch. Just like that, alpha male status retained. If you’re in a race, just wait for a back section of the track to make your move. Happens all the time and the officials are always too occupied with which flag to wave to see anything.


BRO’s Take on the 2015 Motocross des Nations

Prologue: Another one that I’m a broken record about…Probably the only time I am not for the American version is with the title of MXdN. Fuck that Motocross of Nations garbage (pronounced “garbaj”). It is and always will be Motocross des Nations. And that’s “des” pronounced like “day”. If you pronounce it “dez”, I want to stick a ka-nife in your ignorant fucking chest. Ok, on to the blog.

I’ve always thought the Motocross des Nations was the coolest race. Probably because it’s the one race that combines two of my favorite pastimes: motocross, and rooting for America/hating place that aren’t America. At MXdN, I’m not xenophobic; I’m a goddamn patriot.

Let’s just Tarantino this and start with the end: USA did not win. It’s the fourth straight year that we have shown up and not taken the trophy, our worst losing streak since the first year we won the race in 1981 (since USA didn’t show up in 2001 or 2004). But I’m not jumping off any bridges anytime soon, so sorry to spoil your party, commies. This year was different; different from the shellacking we got in Belgium, and the losses in Germany and Latvia, too. This was the best American team we have seen in a very long time. They rode like champions, and deserve to be champions.

USA scored 16 points for second place, which has not happened in I don’t even know how long. 16 points would have been good for the win at every MXdN from 2006-2014. The last team to score better than that was USA in 2005, at the same track, with 15 points. I said it before that 9 times out of 10, this team with that performance would win. This just happened to be that one stupid, idiot outlier.

Somehow, France took a break from their crepes and cigarettes to score 14 points, the best Motocross des Nations performance since 1996, when USA won on 9 points. But I don’t know if there has ever been an MXdN where two teams performed so well. It’s almost always a matter of limiting the disasters at this race – with three riders, one suffering through two motos against 450s on a 250F, having five moto finishes in strong position is a hugely tall order.

I knew coming into this race that France was the favorite, so I had actually made piece with Team USA not winning before the race started. Not that I didn’t believe in them, but with Paulin, Musquin and Febvre on home soil, a win honestly didn’t seem possible. When Barcia won the first moto and Martin scored a fifth, my patriot boner definitely started to rise. The chants were beginning in my head, whispers at first, but growing louder: “usa…usa…Usa…USa…USA…USA!”

But then came Febvre. Having just watched him run circles around Glen Helen, the only Euro not only near our boys, but passing them, I knew he was essentially unstoppable. And he was, although Cooper’s valiant effort in the Open+MX2 moto deserves a medal of honor. When he went for that block pass, I almost passed out from blood rushing out of my head to lower portions of my body. That was not a dirty move; that was the move of a young man who wants to bring gold home to his country. A lot of the Euros are all butt-hurt about block passing. Eat shit, that’s racing. He didn’t deliberately go for Febvre’s wheel; he just went for the block. Any real racer understands that. Webby, the stars and stripes has your back, kid.

My hat goes off to all of Team USA and Team France. Those were the statistically-best performances at the MXdN in this decade. Barcia wins MXGP, Martin takes a 5-5 on the 250F, and Webb jumps up to the 450 and sticks a wheel in on the world champion. Hold your heads high and your middle fingers up, BROs, for you are the best Team USA we have had in the last four years.


My Real Life Fan Experiences: Ricky Carmichael

This post is going to be a little different. Just a moment ago, I was editing a short piece about Ricky Carmichael for META Volume 004 (Go subscribe, you cheap fuck). The words that accompany just about any article about RC were of course featured – “greatest of all time.” That statement is still powerful for me, because I believe it. I sincerely believe that Ricky Carmichael was the greatest motocross racer of all time. I started getting all nostalgic and shit, reminiscing on the first time I ever saw RC ride, and I decided that I wanted to start writing about my experiences with some of the sport’s greats as a young fan, attending the Southwick Nationals of years past, when I was nobody, just a quiet young kid who was afraid to talk to people, rather than a slightly loud gentleman who is still afraid to talk to people.

Ricky Carmichael, as told by BRO

The first time I ever saw Ricky Carmichael in person was in 1998, his second year as a professional, and the first year I ever attended a pro race. Southwick was an absolute cesspool that year, still I think the muddiest I ever saw that track. It was also that year that Carmichael’s bike shit the bed in moto one, handing the win to Dowdy. I ran back to the pits as RC and crew returned to the truck before the checkered flag even flew. I remember I was basically the only one standing at the rig, and Carmichael was pissed. I watched him walk into the truck and whip his Bell into the wall as he walked out of my sight, white with anger (and genetics, of course). I didn’t think he was a cry-baby; he was just an 18-year old who was pissed off. I could see that losing just that one moto was the worst thing in the world to him.

I remember Eric Johnson saying in Great Outdoors 2, from the 2003 season, that no one could beat Ricky Carmichael at Southwick. He was right. I never saw Ricky Carmichael get beat straight-up at Southwick, because it never happened. Even back in my preteen years, I would watch RC in practice and think to myself “That is the fastest Southwick rider on the planet. He’s right there, I can practically touch him.” To a kid like me, who rode a shitload of laps at that track, he was a god. I distinctly remember watching him effortless rip practice to shreds in 2001, his last year on Kawasaki, and thinking, “Remember this; burn this moment in your brain. This is more important than the other crap you care about.”

1999 was the first and only time that RC spoke a word to me. He was signing autographs at the PC rig. I was 10 years old, a short and crazy-shy 10-year old, at that. My dad pushed to the front of the crowd with me, pointing to me and yelling, “Hey Ricky, big fan right here.” Carmichael noticed, and looked me dead in the eyes saying, “Oh yeah? Awesome!” That was it; three words, four syllables. But it didn’t matter. To me at the time, it was pure, resolute poetry. I had a Pro Circuit hat that RC signed, one that I wore for probably a year straight after that. No matter how jaded I’ve become from seeing and hearing things behind the scenes, those are my moments with Ricky Carmichael that I always remember. And being at the beer tent at Loretta’s yelling at hot moms with him standing right next to me. That was tight, too.

I’ve got several more of these with different pro riders that I will write when I fucking feel like it.


Top 5 Racetrack Hook-up Spots for Your Sexual Bucket List

Just over a week ago, BRO returned to the race track after what has felt like far too long not being at the track for a good Saturday and Sunday of racing and kicking beers. How did I do? Let’s just say that you have no way of proving that the Yamaha bosses didn’t call me up and offer me a factory ride on the spot. Those are just facts, let’s move on. This blog is about something else, something that I had spent far too much time not thinking about recently. Cruising the pits after the motos was nostalgic as I watched so many young riders gloriously pursuing the one thing that matters to them more than racing: getting laid.

The doghouse/starter’s box
One of my personal favorites is the doghouse at the start. Not all tracks come equipped with the fully-enclosed setup, but in your travels you are most likely to encounter one. It’s a great spot, albeit relatively cramped. Pretty much guaranteed to be standing, so cardio endurance is going to be essential. But you race motocross, so you should have that covered unless you suck. If you can’t handle fucking in the doghouse, then you should not be racing moto, chief.

On the track
A staple of some major races stateside, fucking on the track is as American as apple pie and complaining about immigrants. As usual, discretion is key; while banging on the spectator jump is sweet, you can’t do it in broad daylight. This is where all those hours of Call of Duty will be valuable – stay out of sight, especially should the authorities roll through. Pick your spot, and be fairly quick about it. That’s pretty much standard issue for fucking at the track – it’s got to be a fast endeavor, so leave your stallion moves in the motorhome, and #VivaLaTTF.

The restaurant
I said “the restaurant” as an umbrella term – it basically means any standing structure actually at the track. Many facilities have food stands, restaurants, ice cream joints, meth labs, etc. Now, unless your track owners are nice and careless, those buildings are probably locked. While we all know how vehemently opposed I am to sneaking into places at racetracks, if you have to do it, you have to do it. Nothing says “good fucking” like a crowbar and ski masks. Fact.

In your competition’s motorhome
Are you down with OPP? If not, you should not be reading this blog, and I hate you. Of course, it’s possible to fuck in your main competition’s rig without it being his girl or his mom or something, but that would only taste slightly as sweet. Regardless, the whole idea of this bold move is that your competition needs to be preoccupied with something, ideally a moto. Maybe he is riding 250 today and you’re just in 450? Perfect, a solid 20 minutes of uninterrupted free time to make some nasty things and juices happen. Just make sure that his bike is dialed before that moto; worst case scenario, he grenades the motor and irately returns to the rig to find you pubes deep in his lady/mom. That’s an awkward convo that we all want to avoid.

On a bike
Obviously, you can do this just about anywhere, but at the track is so much sweeter. Just exercise some self-awareness when doing it – are you the end all, be all moto casanova? Then maybe on the bike is not for you. And don’t try it while actually riding the bike. That is some double black diamond/Keanu in The Matrix type shit. There’s no need to be a hero, because you’re already fucking the girl. Literally all of your motivation in life leads to that, and you’re already doing it. Good job, BRO.

And to all of you ladies and gentlemen who have accomplished each of these at the track, I bow to you. Remember that song by Nas, “The World is Yours”? It’s about you.


Guy Unsuccessfully Trying to Take A Selfie While High-Fiving Dude at the Track Gets Absolutely Rocked and It’s Hilarious

So much LOL happening right now. I am super excited about this video, for multiple reasons. First of all, this is a just outcome for any man who takes a selfie. Men should never take selfies, ever. Yes, I have done it before, but usually to make a funny snapchat video/I’m trying to convince a girl to do sex to me. But I will gladly sacrifice those if it means an end to male selfies altogether. Even female selfies are way, WAY overdone, but at least some girls have the good sense to take them while naked/wearing yoga pants. Second, this guy is only doing this as a selfie because he thinks that will make him look cool. Like “Oh BRO, I wasn’t on board with this high five thing, but since you’re doing it while taping yourself AND looking at the camera, I am all in. That shit’s on fleek.” No dude, you just suck; you’re the friend who doesn’t ride dirtbikes and still has nothing better to do than go to the track and be annoying. And now you’re wearing a 250F like it’s a parrot on your shoulder. Have fun with that skidplate. Jesus took the handlebars and guided that thing right into your shot, so I hope you’re happy.

I’ve never understood the fascination with selfies. I feel like people who take them are just trying to convince themselves and the world around them that they are doing more than they are actually doing, just like girls who take pictures of themselves doing yoga at the beach. Rad, you’re at the beach and the sun is setting, and you are standing on one leg while holding your other foot in the air, just like every single white girl before you. Or maybe you are hiking and you found a rock. Again, you are not actually doing much, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but you are trying to convince yourself that you are a super active person and not boring or basic, desperately so, I might add. This guy pretty much realized, “You know what? I didn’t do shit today, like have fun or get a job, so I’ll just take this stupid fucking video of myself being stupid.” Just keep in mind that if you have to take photos of yourself, there’s a good chance it’s because no one else on the planet wants to take a photo of you and your ugliness.

Hey everyone, look how much fun I'm having!

Thoughts With Eazy

Life BRO Tip: How To Get Laid If You Woke Up One Day And Were NOT A Professional Motocross Rider

There’s all sorts of perks that come along with becoming a professional motocross rider, but I think we can all agree that the extended network of females acquired being in that spotlight might just take the cake. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen them – the goofiest, most awkward dude you know, up to his eyeballs in straight 10′s to choose from, all because he rips on a dirt bike. We’ve touched on the subject of moto hoes and their logic on this site a few times, but what I am trying to focus on here, is more so the concept of racers that truly only get laid because they are now pro, and considered somewhat of a celebrity in our small world.

Now, I’m not saying that every Supercross rider only gets laid because he does the triples. Not at all. You take a guy like Kevin Windham, and he’s still stealing your girl without ever even looking at a motorcycle. You show up to the bar, K-Dub’s there, you lose that battle. You lose that battle eleven times out of ten. Because he’s just a smooth, classy and down to earth guy. The same cannot be said for the MANY of the rest of the field. I look at a lot of these guys, and when I hear the list of some of the girls that they have taken down, I am truly baffled. With public education being non-existent for a lot of them, you can’t convince me that these jockeys can pull outside of moto. There’s no way. But that’s why we are here to help. So BROs, here’s how to get laid if you woke up one day, and were not a professional Supercross rider…

Daily Routine: “BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” Holy hell, it’s 6 AM, and time to wake up for work. And you are not a pro anymore. Time to go work a regular job, and talk to people (andddd you’re dead), and make shit money (although you might be used to that, unless you’re Roczen or something. What up, Ken? One love). Now it’s time to learn how to pull ladies.


One commonality that I have seen with almost all professional racers is that they have confidence, and understandably so – they have risen to the top of their food chain; bested competitors big and small. Women respond to that. It’s going to be tougher to be confident as a regular schmuck, but it is not an impossible endeavor. What else were you good at before moto took over your life? Magic? Let’s just keep that one in the back pocket, that’s more built for a Hail Mary play. What made you somewhat charismatic at the racetrack was legitimately believing that you were the shit. The results were right there, pinned up on that giant wooden wall, and you had a 1-1. Winner, that’s you. Find where else in life you are getting a 1-1, which might very well be no where, in which case, start selling drugs. Coke chicks will do ANYTHING once the booger sugar comes to the party.

What to wear:

The great equalizer in the crusade to pick up women is money. If you’ve got it, you could be the ugliest pre-op Bruce Jenner in the game, and women will still lean in your direction. Have you seen that video of the guy claiming that having a Ferrari doesn’t help him pick up girls? Bullshit. If everything about that guy didn’t scream “date rape”, he would be up to his trust fund baby eyeballs in pussy. So if you don’t have money, but have a decent sense of style and loose concerns for your credit score, go rack up that debt and grab some nice threads. I personally can’t stand spending money on clothes, but I have seen it work a lot. Women think they dig that style, but really, they are just curious to find out how much money is in that bank account. They see the expensive clothes, which gives them probable cause to find out more, and for a one-nighter, you don’t give a fuck, so have at it.

Going to bars:

Since you no longer have 64,000+ followers backing your social media presence, it’s going to be a lot more difficult to trick girls into thinking you’re a big deal. Meaning, no one knows or cares who the fuck you are. Before, you’d have a thirsty moto ho sliding in your DM’s for a chance to get a slice of that ‘Rookie in the Spotlight-Pie’. Now as an Average Joe, you’ll actually have to go out and meet girls in public places, and most of the time, you’ll be required to make the first move. It sucks, but that’s the way the world works – feigning confidence like a motherfucker. This is where truly not giving a fuck is the most valuable mindset ever – going around and talking to every girl you see will lead to rejection probably 75-85% of the time, but that is NOT 100%, meaning that somewhere in that sea of socially-lubricated debutantes is a girl who will talk to you. With that said, let me introduce you to an essential tool in your future endeavors, called alcohol. You should be familiar with this elixir of the gods already – pro riders party, I know it. Once the rest of the world accepts it, our sport will be in a better place. But for those of you living the sheltered lifestyle of racing and traveling with your family every fucking weekend since you were 12, you should know that with the just the right amount of consumption, you could be well on your way to Poundtown. That is the essential key here. Figuring out what amount of booze to slam into you to achieve the calm and collected smooth-cat persona that the ladies find themselves oh-so attracted to, without going too over the top. Too many shots of Patron with the boys, and you’ll find yourself barking “What’s up, MAH” to anything with tits and two legs.

But for all you pro dudes reading this, here’s the awesome thing (for you, not for me. Fuck you guys): You are a pro. Good on ya, mate. While it might be difficult to explain exactly why women want you purely for that reason, it doesn’t draw away from the fact that women actually DO want you for that reason. So enjoy the fruits of your labor, BROs. And don’t do drugs, unless they help you get laid. In which case, do drugs.


This Poor Dude At Hangtown Had No Idea That He Was Picking A Fight With A UFC Fighter Until It Was Too Late

Stop the fight!! This is straight-up assault with a deadly weapon. This guy’s roundhouse used to steal lunch money from Chuck Norris’ roundhouse. Never in my life have I been more sincerely afraid of another human being. This guy is the crazy that crazy is scared of. Like, how does the other dude even walk around the pits after that? Keep your head on a swivel, BRO, because another earth-crunching roundhouse could be right around the corner.

Thanks to BROfficial reader Tyler for the vid link.


The Reign of Tyranny Continues: James Stewart Will NOT Race the Nationals

James Stewart Instagram
The news is in, and it sucks. Honestly, I had heard from some good sources that Stewart’s appeal would go through and he would be racing the Nationals this year, so this is a heavy blow. I hate it; I hate the fact that we are governed by regulating bodies that have no real interest in our sport in America. FIM has their hand in Supercross, but not in the outdoors. I was angry when I heard this because I did not know why James couldn’t race the Nationals. But apparently, the Nationals subscribe to regulations from USADA, which is basically a puppet for WADA. From what I understand, willingly allowing a suspended rider to ride the Nationals could result in legal action, and no one wants that. It appears that we are up shit’s creek on this.

I cannot help but notice the uncanny differences between what is happening here and the exact reasons our forefathers rose up against the tyrannical reign of the British in the late 1700s. They would not stand for taxation without representation, and I feel like that is exactly what we are doing. We are being taxed of seeing the sport’s most talented rider on the track, with the infraction being a slip-up in paperwork. This is absurd, and I positively guarantee that absolutely no American input was taken into consideration in making their decision. WADA has been a disaster – from this absurd punishment, to the wait time on their decisions, which is enough to turn a man as grey as an Gandalf’s pubes. Let’s not also forget that WADA has been ineffective in stamping out drug use in the sport. We have riders ALLEGEDLY being caught by their teams with illicit substances. Let’s think about that: I don’t think that pro riders are dumb enough to risk being banned that easily, which means that they are confident that they will not get caught. WADA “setting an example” with James has been useless.

Unfortunately, I think the FIM and WADA knew in making this decision that Americans have an attention span the length of an Instagram video, so they know that no matter how pissed we are, it will all wash over pretty soon. So I encourage you not to forget how fucked we all got on this. I think the coolest thing that could happen (but I’m about 98% sure will NOT happen) is that James goes on the MXdN team this year and wipes the floor. I hope against hope that James does come back for the Nationals that he will be allowed to ride, and then we send him to France and he middle fingers the ever-loving shit out of everyone. It will not happen, but I will have a BROner the size of the Sear’s Tower if it does.

Now, I am not saying let’s all go grab our muskets and head to the FIM offices, although blasting through the door leading with the business end of a bayonet would probably be awesome, purely to see the look on their faces as the shit is literally scared out of them. I do think the FIM and WADA officials should see first hand how pissed off we all are, though. If you see them, do not hurt them, but maybe throw water on them or something, like you do with your dog when it does something bad. It’s not that it’s a bad dog – it’s just kind of dumb and didn’t really think at all about what it was doing. At all. I think if we all started going to the races with spray bottles filled with water, and just sprayed the FIM guys when we see them, that would send the right message. No, that’s bad!

Girls, you can help, too. I feel like all the FIM and WADA officials are creepy, old guys, almost like from a 1920s time warp. I am picturing Boardwalk Empire, but without the awesome gangster factor. Anyway, what I am getting at is they will try to fuck you, because all men on the planet who rise to a position of power are about 75% motivated by the idea that more girls will have sex with them. So if you find yourself in that position, getting hit on by the creepy FIM and WADA dudes, play along. Go back to their hotel room. I think there might be chains; scratch that, there will definitely be chains. They will want you to chain them up, like some freaky Euro shit. Do it. Once they are secure, say to them, “This is for James”, and just steal everything in their hotel room and walk out. You will have done your country a service. Viva la Revolution. Viva la JS7.


250F vs. 250 Two-Stroke, and Why Pro Racing Needs To Embrace Both

A photo posted by @brotocross on

Maybe you heard, maybe you didn’t because you don’t follow me on Instagram (dick), but BRO recently made the switch from 450s to 250s. “Oh Eazy, what 250, two stroke or four?” The answer, blissfully ignorant reader, is both. That’s right, I make the kind of fuck-you money that allows me to buy both a 2015 YZ250F and a 2015 YZ250. Now I’m here to talk about them, because unlike many writers in this business, I still actually ride.

I hate two-stroke nazis. Those “two-stroke or die” people always piss me off. If it has two wheels and a motor, odds are I’m going to enjoy it no matter what. Of course, that by no means should be read as “BRO hates two-strokes”. Every single time I ride the two-stroke, I say to myself, “I’m never riding the four-stroke again.” Then I ride the four-stroke, and every single time I think, “I love this fucking four-stroke.” The fact of the matter is that both bikes kick ass. The 250F is easy to ride, and once I had the thing dialed in, suspension-wise, I could ride the wheels off that motherfucker. What I love about the 250F is being able to go balls-to-the-wall and not have the consequences associated with a 450. They always say “Don’t override the bike,” but on a 250F, that’s kind of what you’re supposed to do. Kind of.

The two-stroke is a different story. You do have to respect that machine, and the power delivery is so different from a four-stroke that there is much, much more technique involved in riding it. I initially would ride the thing like my 250F, and I sucked. Riding a two-stroke is a sweet symphony between rider and machine – there has to be a serious amount of mutual admiration in the relationship. My 250F is my bitch, I fucking rule that thing, chains and whips and safe-words, the whole nine. It’s so easy to ride. My two-stroke I have to really appreciate – take it out to dinner and make sure it knows that I love it and all that shit. Sometimes, I go and talk to it into the wee hours of the night, but that’s less from a riding standpoint and more because I’m an introverted weirdo. The two-stroke is my lady; the four-stroke is my side piece.

Of course, if both bikes are heaps of fun and deliciousness, the end-all question has to be this: which one am I faster on? I honestly don’t know. I have never brought both bikes to the track on the same day and compared lap times, mainly because I have not really cared to. I feel like I’m going faster on the 250F, because I’m pinned way more on that thing. But the two-stroke is clearly the faster bike, as far as top speed is concerned. For now, I’m content just having fun on both.

I definitely argued against 250 two-strokes being allowed to race 250Fs when the AMA made that rule change in the amateur ranks years ago. I thought the two-stroke was clearly faster and it was stupid to put two bikes in the same class when one clearly outperformed the other. Now, I’ve changed my tune. I still think a two-stroke 250 is faster than a 250F, and if we were drag racing and I’m on my 250F and Vin Diesel pulls up on a 250 two-stroke, I will have no choice but to formally protest. But on a motocross track, top speed is only a small piece of the puzzle. Like I said, the 250F is MUCH easier to ride, and because of that, riding one in a long moto could actually pose an advantage over a two-stroke.

The time has come to allow 250 two-strokes to race the 250 class in professional racing. The argument that the factories would not be happy might be valid, but it’s also stupid. Let’s break it down: Yamaha and KTM (and Husqvarna, I guess) make two-strokes, so they’d be thrilled. Honda and Kawasaki have the two premier 250 teams of the last five years, and even a factory 250 two-stroke would not definitively outperform the PC and GEICO bikes. Suzuki doesn’t even have a 250F team, so they can go fuck themselves (although I’m hearing a Suzuki team might be back for 2016. Whatever, somebody needs to go fuck themselves). What I am saying is that no team has the right to be upset about two-strokes being allowed to race in the 250 class. These idiotic politics are genuinely eroding the possibilities of good racing.

The thing is, even allowing two-strokes to race the 250 class would not stop the four-stroke domination. I guarantee that most riders would still choose to ride four-strokes. Canada and Australia have both made the change, and since then, the top five in points every year in both series has been mostly four-stroke (Kaven Benoit even raced both to win the Canadian title, which is pretty awesome). There is no valid reason to continue to keep the 250 class at pro races four-stroke only. Ok, this rant is over. I’m going to go ride dirtbikes. Maybe four-stroke, maybe two-stroke; either way, having more fun than you. Eazy out.


BRO’s Take on the State of Moto in California

I think everyone familiar with this blog knows that I come from New England, where the people are better than everyone else and are not afraid to make you aware of that fact. But for the past two years, I have lived in southern California, the motocross mecca. My pilgrimage was inspired by a number of reasons, paramount of which was the desire to ride all year long and to look at depressingly-gorgeous women (so hot that when I see them, I get depressed that I’m not doing things with them of a sexual nature). As I type this now, I am back in New England, staring at snow and gray skies, reflecting on my time thus far in California, reflections that I will share now.

Motocross in California is massive; everyone knows that. From the Temecula area, there are at least five tracks within an hour’s drive, and it’s pretty much impossible to sit at a stop light for more than ten seconds without seeing a professional racer in his truck/rape van. But most of Temecula is a barren wasteland that a bunch of real estate big-wigs decided to cover in housing developments and shopping centers, so even though the moto is rampant out there, so is the population of shitty people. I lasted about 11 months there before I sought salvation in the beach cities, which are way better. The BRO culture of California’s Inland Empire (basically all of Riverside County) is truly horrifying and unbelievable. Thousands upon thousands of useless flat-brim, tattoo-laden assholes whose douchieness is only outclassed by their own insecurity, they are a bunch of idiots that are going nowhere fast. I’m not saying that everyone who wears a flat-brim and/or has tattoos is a douche, but everyone who has been out there knows that I am talking about a specific identity that exists in terribly high numbers. There are literally moto-douche clothing brands that are sustained solely off sales of black t-shirts and socks they make in that area; that’s how engrained this culture is.

Luckily, the BROs actually don’t go to the tracks too often, because they cannot ride for shit. They go to Glamis, or Ocotillo, and ride around for an hour not hitting any jumps, then start drinking and making fun of gay people. The tracks are usually a different story.

California motocross tracks are unique to pretty much anywhere I’ve ever been. SoCal gets almost no rain all year, and the tracks consequently suffer. All the hose water in the world cannot replace steady coats of rain, and the tracks are all a bony nightmare straight out of Breaking Bad by about 1pm. The tracks themselves have some decent layouts – I always enjoyed Pala, Cahuilla, and The Ranch for the most part – but the amount of dust and heat usually makes them bad places to be. You don’t hang out long after you are done riding at tracks there; you get the fuck out.

The riders on the track on an average practice day in California are something you will not find anywhere in the world. On a normal day, some of the fastest riders from every corner of the planet could all be riding. Top AMA guys alongside GP riders, Japanese riders, Australian riders, and everything in between. Cali residents are definitely spoiled in that regard – I would have shit my pants so hard they’d be in another area code if I saw a guy like Jeremy McGrath show up at the practice track when I was a kid.

Being at the track is a humbling experience in California. I ride the A class, and in New England am usually one of the fastest guys at the track on a practice day. In Cali, it is normal for several 15-year olds whose balls haven’t dropped yet to rip around me. That’s just the case of amateur motocross right now – the top ten B riders in the US could probably qualify top 20 for an outdoor national. It’s ok, though; I just tell myself that I have probably banged more women than those 15-year old clowns have, and move on, slowly raising my fist in victory.

But for every big name at the track, there are ten delusional sad-sacks that are convinced that they should be a pro motocross rider, though even a casual observer could tell them that they should not. People from all over the country make the trek to California to achieve their dream of being a pro, and all seem to have the blinders up as to where they actually stand in terms of speed and ability. Usually, they have some rich parents who would rather throw money at them than be in their presence, and they skate through life in attempt at becoming a pro – training programs, motos at the track, nutrition, they do it all. But even with everything, most of them will achieve nothing. The only problem I really have with it is that they grow to resent motocross, feeling that since they have devoted so much to the sport that it owes them something. Motocross owes you nothing, and if you dedicate yourself to it to the point where it becomes a chore, you should immediately quit. That is the heartbreaker of motocross in California – there are so many riders who clearly don’t enjoy it, yet come to the track three or four days a week. I want to grab them all by the throat and scream at them that they should be having fun, that there are riders all over the world who would kill to be riding in January. If you don’t pull out of your driveway on the way to the track with the eager anticipation of a kid walking down the steps on Christmas morning, then just quit; you are a toxic parasite on this sport, and you and everyone else will be better off if you leave.

Having said all of that, the freeriding in California is a completely different story. After a rain, riding out in Beaumont or Ocotillo Wells is the funnest experience one can have on a dirtbike. Infinite riding acres sprinkled with huge jumps, and no sign of a 30+2 anywhere in sight. It is where every day riding a dirtbike is like the first time you did it, and realized how much you loved it. Trust me when I say that if you bring a bike out to Cali, and it rains, do not miss out on a trip to the hills. But watch out for cops, and be respectful of the land you are riding. Being respectful to mother nature is badass as fuck.

I think I probably have a lot more to say, but this blog has surpassed the 1,000 word mark, and I know that most of you have an attention span not long enough to read the words “attention span”. If you actually read this far in the blog, tweet me this phrase: “Frig off, BRO”. Bet money that I’ve lost most of you by now. Eazy out.