Been watching the Olympics and got bored at work and started digging around for some old BMXers I used to race with. Ran into a couple of names on this site that I recognized. So thought I would dive on in. Been off the track about 20 years now. But still remember those days very well. Grew up racing in South Tx at the age of about 12. Raced for about 6 years and got decent at it.. Of course racing every weekend against one of the top riders in the nation will surely make you better.

Anyway looking forward to chatting with yall..

I jotted this down the other day.. Thought I would share it with yall.

The Great Race.

Thanksgiving Weekend 1984 Oklahoma City, OK

The Race of Champions (ROC) at the Grand Nationals every year was a chance for BMXer's to flaunt thier stuff. To be labled the #1 Rider in thier class for the next year. I was a 13 year old boy who had just started his racing career about a year ago. I was classified an an Intermediate, not good enough to be an expert yet, but still naive enough to think I was anything other than ordinary. The ROC was a race you had to quailify for, so my Dad and I attened several events around Texas in an attempt to make the cut. Finally that summer in DFW we made it. Now we knew we could have a shot to race in the BIG race this year. Training began in earnest, at least what we thought was training. We knew it would not be easy, people prepared all year long for this race. Many of them would throw local wins just to still be classified as a Novice or Intermediate to gain an advantage in this race. Not I.. The timing was right. I had almost amounted 10 wins and was legal for the ROC in November. When the race got sorted out there were about 70 13 YO intermediates I would compete against from all over the country. Some I knew, some I did not. This field had to cut to 8 for the final. So there were about 10 heat races which lead to quarter finals, then to semi finals, and then the finals. I made it through those rounds pretty easy, and in no time I was getting the pep talk from my Dad on how to handle the pressure. Lane choice was always a big deal.. No one wanted the outside lane, because you were so close the wall and had to out pedal the other 7 riders to the first turn just to have a shot. Well as luck would have it, I got lane 8. Nervousness turned to fear and the thought that I might disappoint my Dad and have a poor showing. As I pushed my bike into lane 8 and steadied my self on the pedals, I could hear the spectators oohing and ahhing over the Chrome Hutch that I hovered above. But I had to concetrate on the gate, the caller and the lights. From lane 8 your start had to be perfect. A split second to early and your over the handelbars, too late and your chances for a win or even a good showing are all but gone. I hear the starters voice. "Riders Ready", "Watch the Lights". As I looked up to see the Red light that, at any second will be turning green and release 8 teen age boys onto a 45 second sprint, I tried to anticpate when that light would turn. I had to time it just right. The seconds felt like hours and just when I thought the light was about to turn, I lunged forward. Too soon, my momentum took me almost over the handlebars. As I tried to quickly gather myself. I looked up and saw the other riders heading over the first jump and into the turn. I thought this is it, 4 months of traveling, training, hotels and meals on the road would lead to an 8th place finish. My Dad would not be happy, surely I would hear about this for years. A nervous teen is now a scared young boy afraid of his Dad's reaction. I thought, I have to go get going.. I can't just quit.. That will make it worse, embarrass my Dad in the stands if I just turn around and walk off the track. So I got back on the pedals and started to try and catch the guys in front of me. The next 45 seconds was a blur. All I can remember is passing 2 guys on the back straight away, then another in the 2nd turn, and another over the table top jump. I would at least make a good showing. But I kept pushing harder and harder. I don't remember the last part of the race. All I remember was crossing the finish line and the track official handing me the first place trophy. I knew it was a mistake, no way had I won. I tried to give it back to him, but he insisted. Just then reality sinks in. The annoucer voice comes back to me. "First Place goes to Chad Winkler". I had won. I had won. As I head off the track with my Trophy and the BIG Orange Number 1 Plate, I run into my Dad who was walking to the finish line. No hugs from him, no congratulations, no way to go son.. Just "What happened on that start?". A son looking for his Father's approval was crushed.

A few weeks later. I was at the house of one of my BMX buddies. He was at the race with me, but was in another class. His dad always taped his races and he wanted to know if I wanted to watch them. I said sure. Well on this occasion his Dad happened to tape my race too. This was great. I would get to see the whole thing. How I came all the way through the pack to win. I sat down eager to see the whole race unfold. Then the starter's words come out of the TV's speaker. "Riders Ready", "Watch the Lights". As I watch my self fall, I hear a familar voice just off camea, It was my Dad! His voice was in the background, cussing, filled with anger and dissapointment at my fall. I was torn between wanting to turn off the TV to avoid going through that dissapointment again and to actually see the finish. But suddenly something happened to my Dad's voice as I got back on the pedals. I heard a faint "Go Chad", then another from him. Each time I a passed someone his voice got louder and his excitement grew. As I watched my self cross the finish line, I could hear my Dad jumping and screaming at the top of his lungs just off camera. Finally the approval a son so longed.

For the next year, everytime I climbed in the gate, the annoucer would look up and see the Big Orange Number 1 plate and say from lane so and so "Race of Champions number 1, Chad Winkler" and in the back of my mind, I could hear my Dad screaming at the top of his lungs in approval.

Weclome and great story!

Thant's cool, welcome aboard Chad,

you building anything?

Hey Chad, welcome to the dark side.

I can relate to your story. My father only ever came to watch me race once and I think it only because my mum put the hard word on him. He'd prefer to watch my brothers playing football than watch me ride my bike. Anyway, I made sure I won every heat that day and ended up with a first place trophy. My dad didn't say a real lot afterwards, but my mum later told me that during every race I was in he was on his feet yelling and cheering. Even though that wasn't my biggest win it's the one I cherish the most.

Nah.. Just memories..

Great story and welcome!



Give 'em a few minutes.....