Rising up over the machine gun sounds of motorcycle exhaust
and dirt and beer the sasquatch voice of Ray Gordon growls some undecipherable
words. A reptilian on a dirt bike weaves through the crowd flipping me the
bird, as I find my lips pursed to the end of a Jim Beam bottle, the only thing
keeping me consistently on the right path to insanity. With more tattoo ink and
alcohol in their veins than blood and water the encampment is a myriad of
costumed and leather bound motor junkies. The smell of too much beef grilling
near a monster van, kids squealing as they bomb between tents on mini bikes, a barb
wired fence that keeps Danger Ehren and his gang imprisoned from the rest of
the masses, and all the while Thor Drake laughs like a child as he rides a
slice of pizza with ape hangers around the Castle Rock flat track. This was the
epicenter and home for Dirt Quake USA
a place where any bike and anyone can express their urges and desires to race
and be free. -David Frost-
