There Can Only Be One Trail Master By Mike Rosania At Isnare.com Ezine Articles

Hah! I laugh in the face of any man who thinks he can usurp my position as trail master, master of the trails!

Pride, hubris if you will, can be a nasty trait. I wrecked my whole ride because I was too proud to listen to my competitor’s advice.

I like off-roading. It’s my life. Growing up my father was a big fan of motor sports; my mom, not so much. Every time dad walked into the house with a bleeding leg or broken hand from a riding accident, my mom would say, “Those stupid machines will be the death of you Neddy.” I guess she was right, because he passed away a year ago from an unfortunate motorcycle accident. God bless his soul. We actually etched one of his famous sayings on the tombstone. It reads, “I love the smell of two-stroke in the morning.” That’s what he used to say when we’d cruise around the lake on our motor boat.

I’ve been into 4 wheel off-roading ever since I was 14. My dad used to drive me to a nice big open space like our rival high school’s football field and where we’d do doughnuts. I still remember the first time he took me driving. School had been cancelled because it was snowing. My dad asked if I wanted to go for a cruise in the Jeep. I grabbed my jacket and we took off. We finally got to the field and I remember my dad turned, and looked me up and down. “Son,” he said, “Today you become a man.” He pulled the keys from the ignition and put them in my hands. “Shoot, pa. Are you serious?” I asked, trying to hide my excitement. No words—he just shot me a wink.

When I got behind the steering wheel, I remember my feet couldn’t reach the pedals so we slide the seat up all the way, till it couldn’t get any closer. And from that moment I was hooked. I pushed the gas hard, with my right foot, sending the wheels spinning. As I started to get the feel of the pedals, I became more confident and whipped around the field faster and faster. I was having such a good time, but apparently it’s illegal to drive on school property and without a license. Sure, we had a few court fees and had to do a bit of community service, but it was worth it. Since then I have bought my own Jeep Wrangler and have been competing in the professional off road circuit.

Unfortunately, a recent accident has landed me out of commission. I was unstoppable. I was confident, some may say cocky. The point is, before the competition Big Chuck Masterson, who happens to be my main competition, was eyeballing my ride. He then comes over and tells me I shouldn’t compete because my shocks looked worn. Oh come on. Does he really need me to forfeit to win? There’s no way I was losing without a fight.

Finally it was my turn. In the competition, drivers must traverse down a narrow, mountain path while navigating over various obstacles—anything from pebbles to massive boulders. As I came into the first turn, I was going to a little fast and my front right tire hit hard into a boulder. Rather than absorbing the impact, my shock exploded, sending my Jeep tumbling down the mountain. A destroyed Jeep and twelve broken bones later, I learned my lesson. If I had only listened to Big Chuck I would have been back in action.

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