Boswell's Vault

This was a breakout column for me - many people I spoke to later told me that they had been introduced to my writing through this particular effort. If you know my writing now, you know that I have made a career out of criticizing people when they need to be criticized - but back then nobody was brave or stupid enough to criticize the industry, or its riders, in print.

This was also the first 'two-part' column, something that became standard practice for me in the following year. The columns grew... and grew... and grew... until people told me it took them two study hall periods to read them! The current, 1500-1800 word BMX Basics format was adopted to keep those folks from wasting two study halls in a row...

Welcome back! In addition to a salute to Larry "Turbo Red" Bivins, terror of the 39 Cruiser class and no relation to Michael Bivins, this month's column contains a participatory exercise. This may be tougher for some of you than others, so bear with me.

First, relax and sit down. Got it? Okay, let us progress: As I describe a scene, visualize it completely, and attempt to get a feel for the emotions involved. Ready? Okay...SCENE #1: You are a nine-year-old boy. (Like I said, this will be tougher for some of you than others.) This is your first race at your local track. As you wheel your (fill in name of cheap department store bike) into a practice lane, you are very, very nervous. This will be your first time ever on a BMX track in full gear with seven other guys. You're next in line to get on the gate, scared as heck and wishing somebody would encourage you or at least smile at you. (Are you with me still? Think of how tall the average nine-year-old is. Think of his field of vision.)

As you are fearfully pushing your bike up the staging hill, you are SHOVED! to the side by two 19 Experts. One of them accidentally knocks you and your bike over and off the ramp on his way up to taking your spot on the gate. "Sorry buddy," he says, laughing. You've cut your hand on your pedal. You're trapped under your bike and can't move. Everybody is laughing at you, including the jerk who shoved you aside. You want to quit...

I really can't go on any further with this. There is no Scene #2 to visualize. This is reality for hundreds of legitimately registered NBL riders in the younger classes. This sucks. Worse yet, it's my fault, and the fault of my peer group. When I was younger and smaller and racing indoor tracks, I never said a word to the older and bigger guys about stuff like that. I just hoped it wouldn't happen to me, and I knew for sure that when I got a little older, I wouldn't be the kind of guy who shoved kids around in staging, who drank or smoked around the track, or who abused the track or its officials. And, to be truthful, I'm not. But a lot of the guys I race against are.

Believe me, I don't like throwing away a perfectly good column to get up on my soapbox when I could be reminiscing in print about the '87 Christmas National pre-race. It's just that I have no other choice. There is a group of guys my age ruining the sport for other riders and I'm tired of it. Here's an example: Dude, an older rider, never helps out at the track. Instead, he rides it while work is in progress, making it difficult for everyone. When people ask him for advice, or when younger riders could use a little help, Dude ignores them. He's sponsored; what does he care about these little squids? Might as well just push them aside. During practice, he shoves people out of his way and cuts the track. He is verbally abusive to track officials and to parents.

Sounds like a real tough guy, huh? He's not-where riders his own size are concerned. Feed him an elbow in a moto and watch him quit that stuff real quick. He's a coward who picks on little kids because he is scared to deal with the other guys in his class. I'd put his name right here in capital letters but the description applies to so many riders I'd just as soon have them all think I mean them personally. There is no shortage of egomaniac 17X, Super, and Pro riders, especially on the national level. A jerk like Dude is an embarrassment to the sport for several reasons. One of them is that his conduct keeps other riders who might contribute more to the sport than Dude does out of it.

Another reason has to do with the image of BMX in America at large. It's not that great. A professional rider in BMX cannot afford to be a crybaby like some other pro athletes because his conduct is very likely to be viewed as endemic to the sport, not as a personal problem. If some baseball player attacks a fan, people place the blame where it belongs-on the player. If an A Pro drinks or curses around the track, these same spectators, who wouldn't dream of blaming baseball for a single player's actions, and who know nothing about racing, chalk it up to the whole BMX "thing". As a friend of mine (who must remain nameless, Scott that was for Jill, the editor's, benefit ) says, "People have this image of BMX as some kind of outlaw sport, where there is no control of the racing environment. Nor, in the image the public has of the sport, is there any consideration given to safety matters. However, when one compares the safety record of BMX to nearly every other youth sport, BMX is shown to be safer in all aspects of injury prevention and treatment."

That's true, but all it takes to keep a kid out of the sport is for his parents to see some older rider knock a 9 Beginner down on the track or in staging. When a negative image like that is shoved in the public's face, all the statistics in the world will do no good.I realize that BMX is not synchronized swimming. A fair amount of the sport's older riders are fairly rough and nasty dudes who have never attended a school of etiquette. That has nothing to do with it. To be a credit to yourself and to BMX, you don't have to cut your hair, drive a Rolls-Royce, or wear a Perry Ellis suit between motos at the nationals. There are some guys around my local track who are a real asset to the sport despite, or because of, their individuality. For example: Teddy, a local Super Cruiser rider, (Ted Sloan, who has since retired - JB) is generally acknowledged to be a couple bricks short of a load by most who know him. He can also really handle a bike. Teddy has enough talent that one might expect him to be a jerk, but he isn't. Night after night, Teddy is at the local track presenting a positive image. He doesn't drink or smoke at the track-he simply takes a hellaciously fast line around it, over and over.

If a local kid needs help with their bike or advice, Teddy helps them out. He encourages kids to avoid drugs and to take up racing. He doesn't preach or hassle riders, preferring to lead by example. He wins, and gets respect. Teddy may not be as fast as some of the idiots out there who are getting paid thousands of dollars to race on the national level, but while they are taking and taking from the sport, Teddy is giving back.Our sport is not self-perpetuating. It is up to us, the riders 17 and Over, to provide such a positive image that people want to start racing, not quit. If not, all the trophies and sponsorship money, or even signature frames, will not mean a thing because it will have been our actions that killed our sport.

If you are a rider, sponsored or not, who consistently damages the sport with your attitude, stop now. This sport exists not for you, or me, or even for a young Beginner, but for all of us. And it needs all of us to survive.

I dimly remember that I promised humor at the outset of my literary career here at Bicycles Today. There's been little of it in recent months, but I was recently amused beyond all reason by a fat man named Dallas, and I wanted to share it with you.Sometimes my work during the summer involves traveling. When I do travel to other cities, I always go to the local bike shops, which is usually fun, if only to see some of the terrible products rural bike dealers sell.

have, in other words, become an accidental tourist of the bike shop universe. So, when Michelle, the leading lady of my life, (and now, a decade later, known as "Mrs. Boswell" - JB) invited me to come visit her in sunny Mentor, Ohio for a weekend in June, I resolved to visit a bike shop or two. Saturday, June 8, I wandered into a Cleveland Schwinn dealership with Michelle, who is hip to BMX and not all that slow on a cruiser. I was greeted by a veritable behemoth (a fat dude) of a man wearing a blue shirt on which "Dallas" was sewn in script. I figured it was his name.

"Can I help you?" he asked, doubtfully.
"Yo, boyee," I declaimed, "do you carry Bicycles Today?"
"Never heard of it... not any magazine I've ever read... Who told you about something like that? It sounds made up," Dallas said smugly. Michelle told him briefly about the NBL and Bicycles Today. Dallas was unimpressed. "If you want the best BMX bike there is, it's right here," he said, pointing at a real piece of junk. "It's got oversized tubing... one piece cranks."
"It looks small and feels very heavy," I observed.
"Professional BMX race bikes are made as small as possible," Dallas informed me.
"But what about the S&M Hol..." I shut Michelle up before she could blow our cover.
"Could I buy the frame separately?" I asked, trying to unbolt the bike from the shop's rack.
"What do you mean by that?" Dallas asked, looking at me as if I were a small and ugly insect. "You can't buy the best frames and forks separately, and this is one of the best."
"Oh. Well, I have a BMX bike called a Boss," I said.
"Never heard of it," Dallas grinned. "It's not as good as this, I'll tell you."
"I don't know," I returned. "I got it at Kmart.""That's where Boss bikes are probably sold," Dallas belched.
"I really like this bike," I said, putting as much wonder into my voice as possible. "Can I ride it?" To be honest with my loyal readers, I was going to do a 180 bunnyhop over a trash can I saw sitting in the lot. Dallas must have sensed this, because he refused to let me ride it until I bought it. "But how do I know if it's right for me?" I queried.
"It's got kneesaver bars," Dallas told me, from the high perch of knowledge. "All race bikes have them."
"But what about the million-selling GT Pro Bars..." I had to get Michelle outta there before she told Dallas off. "Would you like to see a copy of BT?" I asked Dallas. "I have one in my car." "I probably don't have time to read that kind of stuff. It's all I can do to keep up with the major mags." I got my trusty copy from the VW nonetheless, and, tearing out my column and placing it in my pocket, handed the rest of the mag to Dallas, who let it drop on the counter. "You know," he said, "you really should be buying a mountain bike." With that, Dallas left us for a more promisinglooking yuppie couple and their underfed child.
"You know," Michelle said, "when it comes to BMX you don't know..." I dragged her out before she could feed Dallas a seatpost. Michelle is going to teach elementary school when she graduates. How can she be patient with little kids if she couldn't even stop from telling Dallas off? I don't know, dear reader, but we left the shop in a cloud of Pirelli smoke. Hey, all of you-support the shops that support the sport.

And to all the people at Cobra BMX's Race-Ohio on Saturday that recognized me and encouraged me, like Lee, Brian, et cetera, thanks a lot, and I promise to never say anything nasty about you as long as I get a check or money order for twentyfive dollars in the mail by July 15th. See ya'll next month!