Millville OMA National ‘MURDERCROSS’

Millville OMA National ‘MURDERCROSS’

By Alan Westerfield

Note: Alan is a full fledged participant in the OMA off-road series and a friend to us here at Dirt Bike Magazine. He has a way with the quill, and his editorial is refreshing and heart-felt. He?s been scribbling his diatribes for Darcy (Bill Gusse?s daughter, though we have not a clue how she came from his ornery carcass) over at the OMA and she?s been posting them on their website []for a while. She, the OMA and Alan have been kind enough to let us post his rants on our Website and for that we?re thankful. Enjoy.

Alan Westerfield
    The loan officer was discombobulating back and forth on whether or not to approve my request. ‘I can assure you ma’am, the loan will be used for the good of all. Most of the cash will be used to purchase fuel to get to Millville, MN for the OMA national while the rest of the money will be spent on T-shirts that sport my image. You see, I’m kind of like a big thing. Tom Webb and I are pretty tight nowadays.’ I explained as I pulled out my September claim to fame issue of Dirt Bike magazine. With a sigh of exhaustion she slid a pen over and requested that I ‘sign right here’. Cool but is this autograph for your son? I don’t have any posters but I can write something cool for him.
‘No sir, it’s a collateral agreement for your loan. Sign by the first X to relinquish your home, the second X is for your soul, and the third X is for your first born child provided you conveniently forget to pay us back. And by the way, who the heck is Tom Webb?!’ Not knowing Tom could have been the deal-breaker, but Millville was calling my name.    

Charlie Mullins
    Millville officially goes down in history as my eighth time on a motocross track. Jumps were taboo in my family, but it wasn’t always so. At the tender age of 16, I got my first taste of the land of milk and honey known as motocross. My steed was a 94 KDX 200 with the impressive inverted fork option that was available that year. Dad took my brother, friend Travis, and me to the local track to measure our talent. We discussed the dangers together while playing musical chairs around the port a johns and concluded that practice would be used to learn the track at a slow speed. The drop of the gate prompted a primal instinct in Mike and Travis to hold the bikes wide open. I proceeded with caution around the track to find Mike scrambling to free himself from an entangling mass of tires and banners; reminding me of a kitten caught in the fan belt of the family car on a cold winter morning. Soon I came upon Travis, lying beside the finish line jump with a broken wrist. I’m not sure if dad was protecting us or just embarrassed by our riding but just like that, our motocross days were over.   We would never see the bright stadium lights or experience the euphoria a scantily clad start girl can inflict on an adolescent. We were banished to a life in the woods, living on the twigs and berries (*reference to sponsorship opportunities) in the shadows of high flying motocross action. Destined to be hermit racers? scrap-eaters, exiled from civilization, we were bound to a life sentence participating in the underbelly of the sport we so loved.
    With that being said, you can understand the intimidation that took place when I laid eyes on the track. Fast-forward to Sunday- start time. 15 seconds before the drop of the flag, Phil Collins ‘I can feel it comin’ in the Air Tonight’ was playing over the speaker system. Was it a subliminal omen of future events? The roar of bikes soon drowned out everything else as we charged to the first turn. My corner speed gained a few positions, until we got to the first jump. Jimmy, Justin, Charlie, and more launched with beautiful form. My approach was stealthy and my intention pure. Mere feet from the point of no return, it hit me. The flashback included scenes from my own badly broken wrist from coming up short nearly four years ago. The feelings of being hurt and how my life off the track was affected (mostly work) filled the frame tubes on my Yamaha with lead and turned my blood to rust. She would not launch, giving me no choice but to use full power from both front and rear binders. Just like a strong willed youngster, you can make me eat the vegetables but you can’t make me like them. For myself, my ability, and my racing program, there is not nearly enough to gain and a lot to lose from taking chances on something your not quite comfortable with.

Gusse and friend
    Going into the woods, I think I was ahead of only one other rider – Aaron Branham. You don’t hear much from Aaron. His words are usually reserved, calculated, and unlike myself, free from excessive fodder. Non-the less, he is an accomplished racer, super nice guy, and a lot of fun to race with. Counting him out would be a mistake. We began a charge together, racing around an impressive riding Matt Dissell and a few others. I was soon on my own and finding a quick rhythmic pace. It wasn’t until lap two that I came upon the Texas Tornado- Matt Crouch. His pace was a comfortable one so we rode together and were having a great time. Matt’s red hair gives him enough in common with Ricky Carmichael to at least hit the doubles, while I stayed back to roll the tops. Unfortunately for Matt, his tire rolled off the rim, exposing his bib insert. Should have bought Tire Balls Matt. The rest of the race was similar to a Sunday trail ride for me. I tried to pop a few wheelies for the fans but could not hide my squid identity on the moto section. I found it very odd to lap a few riders who were doing doubles and sometimes even the big triple while you roll them like a novice. My kryptonite has been revealed.
I was surprised and quite satisfied to learn of my 6th place finish.

    The race was now over and the real challenge of getting four tired bodies back home was about to begin. We felt like pi?s that had been beaten but failed to bust. I took the wheel at about 7:30PM. At 11:30PM, monovision (a condition in which a tired body tries to close one eye to eliminate double vision.) sit in. A quick stop to a convenience store provided me with No-Dose, cappuccino, and a bag of Gardetto’s. Munching the delicious snack left me mumbling, ‘Umm breadsticks, Umm pretzels, Ummm crunchy brown things!’ Enticing a 45-minute conversation between Eric Vendor and I about ‘Just what are these crunchy brown things?’    At 2:00AM I popped more No-Dose to find my variety snack had left my breath emitting something you might find in a cat litter box. A 4:00AM fuel stop found me dizzy, confused, and unsafe to continue behind the wheel. ‘For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ The Detoxification process from a No-Dose sugar high is not a desirable feeling reminding me? ‘Drugs are Bad.’   As the sun was coming up over the little piece of hillbilly heaven I call home, we rolled into my driveway feeling like death- warmed over.

And now what you have all been waiting for
‘Random Late Night Rambling’ with Alan Westerfield

‘Time to get sponsorship resumes out. Pretty sure everything is covered except bikes, boots, gear, graphics, and goggles. Yep that pretty much covers it- should be easy’

‘When someone rolls a dice and it lands on two, why do they call it snake eyes instead of TWO?’

‘I think all gear is made in China now. Do they race in China? That must be why gear cost so much because of shipping. Wonder if I could make gear in KY’

‘If Louis and Clarke had dirt bikes, those would be some good trails!’

‘Deer X-ing, Next 10 miles. Stupid deer, can’t even read a stoplight.’

‘Vendor, where is the No-Dose, my jitter is wearing off!’

‘I don’t know what happened. I got the holeshot and nobody ever passed me. First five guys cut the coarse- no doubt about it.’

Mully gets dialed in

Bonus Track
CD Coming Soon.
‘It’s a long way to Minnesota’
To the tune of Johnny Cash

It’s a long way to Minnesota,
But we gotta go run that OMA (ooommmaaa)
Been bustin? my tail, all year long, just a writin? them stories and singing that song- that dark old loam is just a callin? my name, if I wad it on a triple
I’ll never be the same,
But it’s a long way to Minnesota,
Cause were gonna go run that OMA

We gotta load of fine folks, piled in this van, and just the fuel alone is gonna cost about a grand- Been chasin this dream for too long now, just call it quits, well I wouldn’t know how
Cause it’s a long way to Minnesotta,
But we gotta go run that OMA.

(Here?s where you really kick the song in gear- get loud)

But I tell ?em.
It’s a long way to Minnesota,
But we came here to run that OMA
We came here to run that OMA
We love to run that OMA
(Repeat and fade out)

Nice Smile Justin


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