So What Happened?*
Back in the Sixties the now-defunct American Motors ran an ad showing a meek and mild little Rambler sedan with the caption, "The only race we're interested in is the human race". In an era of 300 hp muscle cars they built a loyal clientele. Ramblers soldiered on running a world to work, to market, and to Scouts. Not quickly, not flashily, but they got the job done. In the parallel univene of the motorcyclist, small dependable bikes from Europe and Japan silently stole a market from the pompous factories of America and Britain. Suddenly you didn't have to be a certified mechanic or hard-core biker dude to join the sport. People from all walks of like looked at Vespas and Honda 90s and thought "yes, I can do that".
Thousands joined the sport because it was inexpensive and relatively easy to master on an automatic low-speed machine. The Seventies saw a surge in off-road motorcycling as now-experienced riders grew bored with the narrow bands of asphalt circling the globe and wandered into the wilderness. This demanded a mechanical metamorphosis that signalled huge profits in corporate board rooms. An eager public clamoured to see the new models each spring.
The DTs, Bighorns, Apaches, and SLs crowded every high school and factory parking lot. Just as street bikes became more refined and powerful, so did their off-road cousins. All seemed well. The public got what they wanted, and the majority of the factories kept up with the technological race and made money. Then everything got confused. Prices of new machines and gear outran the income of the casual or beginning rider. Insurance companies reacted to idiotic settlements by restrictions, high rates, and general inflexibility. Private and public lands were fenced and posted to prevent legal and environmental repercussions. Yet manufacturers continued to refine and specialize the machines in reply to a mesmerized but slowly decreasing base of customers who pressed their faces to showroom windows like sugar-addicted children at a candy store. Zoom ahead to the present. We now have narrow-focus machines of incredible quality and capability, carrying, sticker prices that would have dropped us like a knee to the groin just five years ago. Ontario has maybe half a dozen legal riding areas of any worth. Insurance is such a costly nuisance that most off-road bikers 'forget' to purchase it. The sport has lost the throngs of loyal common people that were its only hope in the battle to gain social acceptance.
So I hear you say, "I still ride, you do, too!" Yes, but we are simply not sane. Sit yourself in the shoes of your next-door neighbour and take a good hard look at this sport. In 1996, to live in Waterloo, as I do, and start the dirt-riding sport you think you need the following:
2) insurance and plate, about $300;
3) complete riding gear, maybe $1,000;
4) truck, or trailer and car, $500-$30,000;
5) yearly upkeep on all of the above.
Forget that your health is necessary to clothe, feed, educate, and house your family. You must have the best, and be the best. Or not. As Nike says, just do it. Buy a well-worn dual-purpose bike. Rebuild that clunker on a budget, and ride in jeans with an affordable helmet. Listen to your aging body and machine, and know your limits. Coast down a hill with the ignition off, and listen to the frogs and the birds. Beg the use of a farmer's maple bush in exchange for labour, and put miles on that beater going in deranged circles. Take your kids or the neighbours out for a riding lesson. Stop and speak to a horse rider or mountain biker about what a gorgeous day it is. Slow the competitive urges, let someone else lead so you can fall behind. Climb a hill, then dismount and look at your tracks. Did you need all that throttle and wheelspin, or were you just showing off to yourself? Just enjoy the sport and yourself to the fullest, but don't ruin the future for all of us. Introduce it to a new comer and experience the fun again through them. See you on the trail.