An Artist's Spark

Maybe what makes artists different is their ability to keep alive and visible to the world the spark that fires their soul, and the light that shines from it becomes their work.

I was musing on this as I left a meeting, and reflected on the things I left unsaid, the thoughts and feelings I had that remain unheard. They were sentiments that came straight from the flame in my soul. Why couldn't I let them out? What prevented me from giving them their due? That's simple: politics and business sense.

Having just been beat up for being a bit too real with my colleagues, I found myself editing my thoughts, even ones that seemed to me quite relevant.

And so perhaps this is the deal we all make - we keep the spark hidden, and the glow of our soul never sees the light of day, never shines for others to see. And at some point, for many folks, I suppose, it just sort of dies out.

So the challenge is, to keep the spark alive, to keep the flame aglowing, and to let that fire my passions and vision without leading to my destruction.

Razor Scooter Racing - new way to stay in shape?

[This was originally written as a series of posts on the CCS Forum, a discussion board for motorcycle roadracers. You can visit the forum here: http://www.ccsforum.com ].

It may seem hard to believe, but Razor scooter racing may be one of the best things you can do for off-season training. If that sounds crazy, or you think I'm pulling your leg, read on.

I bought my now-3.5-year-old nephew a Razor for his b-day this past summer so he could try to keep up with his two older sisters. In November Mom and Dad (his grand parents) hosted Thanksgiving at their house which is located on a small cul de sac. Only instead of the circle being wide open, it's got land in the middle of it, you know, like an oval race track.

So being a good uncle, and wanting to take full advantage of the 65 deg thanksgiving weekend weather, I thought I would encourage my neph/godson to take his Razor out for a lap around the "track" so he could show me his riding skills. His sisters joined in, and the next thing you know, I've got the three of them lined up and listening to me as I explain the basic rules of roadracing. Fifteen seconds was about all the time I had before one of them took off, the other two in hot pursuit.

After about, oh, five laps, Jake comes around and pretty much falls off his Razor into the grass, exhausted. Score one for Uncle T with the sister-in-law .

My nieces still had some gas left in them, and they cheered me on to join in the fun - "C'mon, Uncle Tom, you try it!" Wondering whether the tiny-looking device would hold up under my turkey-laden decidely-unchild-sized body, I hesitated for a moment, and then decided "what the heck." Caroline even offered to adjust the handle up for me, so I didn't have to race in a nearly-doubled-over hunch. So there we were, Caroline, Jennifer and I lined up and ready to launch. Caroline was assigned double duty as not only racer, but starter.

"One-two-three-GO!" And we're off. No one provided any details regarding race length, much less allowable equipment mods. But we were off like a shot anyway, and 8-year-old Caroline and younger Jennifer were both giggling with glee as we headed down the slight incline on the hole-shot toward T1, with Caroline clearly in the lead. I thought about dropping under her and stuffing her in the corner and started kicking harder, but still couldn't catch her. Coming off T1 (or NASCAR 2) the downhill becomes an uphill, the finish line is at the apex of T2, and it looked like Caroline was going to hold her lead.

But power ends up giving me the edge and I gain on her as we cross the line, and now it's half a scooter length as we head back down the hill. She's laughing at me, now, and taunting me - "I'm faster than you are, Uncle Tom". Between gasps I manage to sputter out to her, "There's more to racing than going fast."

Coming off T2 (NASCAR 4) I begin using some race strategy - I'm next to her on the inside, so I start walking her out toward the curb. I know she won't push back too hard - I'm bigger than her (hey, she's got nearly 40 years on me - I figure it's fair). Then as we head into T1, I dive in for the apex and exit wide, maintaining corner speed and flying up the hill. She's trying to follow, but runs wide, loses all her mo, and starts struggling up the hill to catch up.

At this point I could've just checked out, but I thought, what fun would that be? I'd end up exhausting myself, and have no more racing while I'm doing it. So I backed off a bit. And Caroline starts shrieking that little girl shriek - it's not really a scream, more like a giddy shrill squeal. This time she chooses an inside line coming off T2 so I can't walk her to the curb again as we head down the hill into 1. Smart girl. "You won't beat me now, Uncle Tom," she cries.

So she's got the inside and she's feeling pretty good about taking the corner and leading me up the hill. But this one is an easy one. She's got the inside line, and sets up for more of a radius turn, while I flare wide so I can dive into the apex, take a wide exit, and preserve the all-important mo as we head up the hill. And as a bonus, just for grins, I figured I could hit the apex tight and pinch her off to boot! MMMMWWWUUUWWWAAAHHH....(I know, I am an evil sh*t).

And it works - perfectly. I mean, Rossi perfect. I am a god. Poor Caroline is confused and demoralized. She can't understand how her ancient uncle could possibly be pulling her up the hill, with a clear lead and no hope now of recovery.

I figure it's a good learning opportunity for her - maybe upon further reflection she will - hopefully sooner than later - grasp the full meaning of the old saw I left her with: "Age and treachery generally overcome youth and enthusiasm." She collapses in the grass, I raise my arms in triumph, and make my way to the pits, chuckling to myself - "evil, Uncle Tom. Truly evil." But it sure was fun.

And then my older sister, Maggie, pipes up - hey, Tom, want to have a try with me?

"Uh oh" I say to myself. I've now got several laps in, and I'm feeling it a bit. Fortunately I've been mountain biking a good bit, so I at least have some conditioning. But that, alas, will be of little use to offset what my sister Maggie is bringing to the table. Although three years my senior, my sis happens to be an aerobics instructor. And marathoner. And, most recently, triathlete. Yup. And, altho she has no racing experience, she got the same competitive gene that I have. So this is going to be interesting.

The five board comes up, and she takes off on young Caroline's pink Razor, going for a couple warmup laps and checking her set up. The bars on these things are adjustable, and max high seems to work best for anyone over about four feet tall. Maggie figures this out quickly.

And now the one board is out, and Caroline is the starter, and we're off - it's a clean start and we're both pushing like mad as we head down the hill into one. I give Maggie the holeshot, figuring she's going to walk me up the hill and leave me in the weeds. "Man is she strong," I think to myself as I puff up the hill.

But I notice a bit of a wobble in her turning technique - she still hasn't gotten comfortable in the turns on these things - not surprising - they're kind of twitchy.

So on the second lap I power down the hill, not even worrying that she's on the inside line. I keep it wide and give one almighty push just before I tip it in and head for the apex. This propels me right over the top of her - she was slowing way down for the turn so we never even came close to colliding. Meanwhile I've got both feet on the scooter deck, and I'm just sailing, carving a nice, smooth arc around the turn. Then it's max power as we head up the hill. And she is toast. She can't believe it. I can't believe it. "How did you get up that HILL so fast?" she begs to know. "It doesn't look like much, but, man, it takes some oomph out of you to get up it."

I just laugh. "There's two things you need to know about racing, Mag. First, you need to know about going fast. And second, you need to know about racing!"

"Huh?" she asks. I just laugh. I'm done for the day, and as I give Jake his scooter back I have a big boy-was-that-fun grin on my face that's usually reserved for pitbike racing in the dirt on race weekends. I also realize how much my right thigh is burning from the isometric workout I just had - and what a workout it was. May have to organize some more of these races - just might keep me in shape during the off season.