Ricky Diaz | Clockwork

As the sun set on a Sunday evening I found myself driving on the 60 eastbound with a shit eating grin. My van reeked of sweaty riding gear. I could hear the gas can bouncing back and forth as a result of it being completely empty. As I was wiping the dirt out from the corners of my eyes I was already figuring out in my head what I needed to get done during the week for the next adventure with my dirtbike. I had just spent sun up to sun down in Ocotillo wells on Saturday only to wake up and pin it to Beaumont the following day to get after it some more; I had not completed the adventure I was on and I was already looking for the next one, why? I knew everything that I just did to my bike the week prior would have to be done all over again. My brain then started racing as I thought about how many times I’ve performed the same routine with dirtbikes over the course of 19 years. I never realized how mundane the work that goes into this sport really is. I don’t think any of us do. At the end of the day, we do it without question just as the time on the clock keeps ticking.