Guest blog from Super Amanda Sundvor of Icon Motosports
By the time you are reading this, The Wild One will have been in the books for a few weeks, but you know what they say, ‘better late than dead.’ Well, guess what – I’m still here to tell the tale, and tell the tale I will.
It all started with a no-holds-barred race known as Dirt Quake, where flat trackin’ kook-crafts is the name of the game. You got a chopper? Rad, race it. Snowmobile? Even better, get it out there. It’s basically like the we-are-the-world of flat track where every ride is race-ready. Eventually, like every cool thing in the UK, it made its way stateside, and with the help of the folks at See See Motorcycles, we Yanks got a taste of the action. Fast forward a bit, Dirt Quake’s home remains near the Queen, and the exact same race lives on in the Pacific Northwest and is now called The Wild One. Sure, I left a lot of details out, but that’s not the story. Try to keep up. This is a story about a few of ICON Motosports’ finest, who braved the sweltering heat at a weekend motorcycle campout an hour north of their mothership, all in the name of a good time. Hello, my name is Amanda, and I’ll be your guide on this journey.
When ICON Motosports shows up to the party, you know we come correct – in old suspicious-looking vehicles that your parents warned you about. We rolled up to the track in Castle Rock, WA, in three Stranger-Danger mobiles ready for action and with enough candy to choke a horse. Your parents were right, kids. Steer clear of this lot.
Our space was established by displaying dominance through unwavering eye contact to all who approached our newly dubbed “ICON Pavilion.” We were tucked back in the corner of the area called “Sturgis 2 Camp”, which sounded like a threat, so we made ourselves at home. Also next to us were the Party Barn and the mini bike track. It’s the kind of place where bad decisions seemed reasonable at the time. Did I mention we were sponsors of this event? That’s pertinent to the story. Probably should’ve said that at the beginning. Well, we were, and we probably didn’t have to intimidate all those lovely people for a spot. It comes with the sponsorship, after all.
Now, we like to party, but don’t get us wrong. We can’t just form a semi-circle of ‘free tickle’ vans and call it a day. That ain’t us, babe. We’re here to enrich lives, and what better way than dirty popcorn and some motorcycle movies? We chose two gems from the ICON Cinema Club selects to screen. Viva Knievel!, the Evel Knievel movie you never knew you need in your life but absolutely do, and Mega Force, the love story written around a protagonist with pants so tight you can tell what religion he is. Tight pants and explosions. Lots and lots of explosions. Once we had the theatre set up, off to the races, we went.
On that particular weekend, it was probably 150 degrees Fahrenheit. I don’t know what that comes to in Celsius, but I’m surprised no one stroked out from the unforgiving sun and the copious amount of booze. This weekend was a marathon, so to speak, not a sprint. Only the most seasoned party-goers know when to hold them and when to drink some damn water. Seriously, drink water, people. It’s good for you.
This is the only photo I got of any racing; that’s engrossed I was, forgot to take more shots. This was right at the start of practice. I wasn’t thinking about you, the reader. Nay, I was thinking of me and me alone. The intoxicating smell of fuel filled the air, and the dirty oval foot-downin’ had begun. I couldn’t be bothered with taking photos; it was showtime.
I threw in this photo of a Goldwing to see if you were still paying attention.
When you get a hankerin’ for “motorcycle figure skating,” look no further than ICON. Our dudes were out there, letting loose on one of the few slabs of concrete. Some of the locals, looking for a show, swept it clean so the boys could do their thing. When ICON rider Sean Sets hit that Axel-Half Loop-Double Salchow, people lost their damn minds.
Everyone knows that old saying, 'you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.' Well, Sean Sets ended up making omelettes all the way onto the mini bike track. I tried to snap the photo right when he resembled a turtle on his back, but alas, he evaded my attempt.
Back in Sturgis 2 Camp, the mini bike track had been in full swing since sunrise, and as the day slipped into night, the effort increased.
To say the juice was loose would be the understatement of the century! These guys and gals were getting after it like they have been locked up for a year, and the carnage was plentiful. There seemed to be something that resembled organization until it descended into chaos and absolute madness. Burnouts and bruises; the track giveth, and the track taketh away.
As the nights trudged on, we fired up the ol’ projector and provided entertainment to those who still had a fire burning in their heart but didn’t want to stand. It was pretty late. Lovers and brothers alike flocked to our grass patches to be whisked away by stories that were no doubt born from a cocaine-fuelled writer’s circle; American classics.
This was a two-day event, but I am smashing both nights together like some dual timeline wormhole mind meld so you, the reader, can enjoy a linear narrative. You’re welcome.
Back at the ICON Pavilion, sleep was for another night. The funk jams were plentiful, and a hypnotic 4/4 time kept us bouncing in our chairs. Deep discussions about how people approach songwriting ensued for several hours, and the next thing you know, the sun was up.
Since I was still awake, I decided to make breakfast for those in our camp who chose slumber and were just coming to. Not just any breakfast though, it was the famous ICON Motosports, Alice in Chains Hot Dog Breakfast you’ve undoubtedly heard about by now.
Those who made the Cinema a place to rest their head from the night were gently roused with a hot dog to the tune of howls from AIC frontman Lane Stayley. Good morning; ICON loves you.
After every single hot dog was consumed, we packed up our bikes, said our goodbyes. The Wild One was over, and it was time to make our way back to Portland to wash the remanence of this banger off our hot bods. If we’re all still alive next year, we’ll be back. Hopefully, with our buddy Gary joining in the reindeer games.