BEST OF JODY’S BOX: WHY I’M NOT AFRAID OF SHARKS… OR ALMOST ANYTHING ELSE

BY JODY WEISEL

I’ve had a lot of interests in my life, and motocross wasn’t the first one. From a young age I knew that I had the talent to never have to work at a 9-to-5 job for as long as I lived. I got this idea when a Boston Red Sox scout named Ted Lepcio came to my family house in Acton-Boxborough, Masachusetts, with a contract for me to sign when I was 16 years old. My father, who had played Triple A ball before World War II, had pulled strings with his old buddy to get me a deal to join the Red Sox’s Single-A team in some hick town. Actually, it was the Wellsville Red Sox in Wellsville, New York. It was 1964.

I refused to sign. I told my dad and the scout that I was through with baseball and wanted to become a professional surfer. They both assured me that there was no such thing. But I was sure that was where my future would lie. By 1966 I had a surfboard sponsor, Dewey Weber, and the wherewithal to travel from beach to beach in a nomadic search for the perfect 4-foot-and-under wave. I was lucky enough to sign with a small surfboard company that wanted to market my asymmetrical surfboard design. I got paid a living wage. Not a good wage, but I was just a surfer and didn’t need much. I also got a royalty on every asymmetrical surfboard sold. The problem? There weren’t a lot of people who wanted to buy an eccentric surfboard design. My surfboard empire didn’t crashed—it dwindled.

“NO, I JUST THINK IT’S A BIG OCEAN, JUST LIKE IT’S A BIG COUNTRY. I DON’T STOP AT EVERY BURGER KING I DRIVE BY TO GET A BURGER. MOST SHARKS ARE JUST PASSING BY ALSO.”

When people find out I’m a surfer, they always ask me the same question. “Aren’t you afraid of getting eaten by a shark?”

“No,” I reply.

“Why not?” they ask. “The evening news is full of shark-attack stories.”

“I’m pretty sure that a shark will attack someone else and not me.”

“Do you think you are invincible?”

“No, I just think it’s a big ocean, just like it’s a big country. I don’t stop at every Burger King I drive by to get a burger. Most sharks are just passing by also.”

Since my father was a U.S. Air Force pilot, both my brother and I became pilots too. I have always flown with great abandon, thinking of my plane as a dirt bike. I like to fly close to the ground and do rolls and Split S’s, but I never break any FAA rules (I swear). When people find out I’m a pilot, they always ask me the same question.

“Aren’t you afraid of crashing that expensive airplane of yours?”

“No,” I reply.

“Why not?” they ask. “Planes crash all the time. I see it in the paper every day.”

“I’ve got insurance on it, and if I crash it, I’ll just buy a new one.”

“What if you die in the crash?”

“Then I won’t buy a new one.”

“WELL, FOR ONE THING, WE ARE ALL GOING THE SAME DIRECTION AT PRETTY MUCH THE SAME SPEED. YOU CAN’T SAY THAT ABOUT THE FREEWAY.”

One day, while sitting in the water on an isolated beach waiting for a wave, I saw a kid riding his dirt bike in the sand dunes. I had ridden motorcycles before, as my family was into all mechanized things. At that instant, I saw the dirt bike as the ultimate expression of freedom. I packed my asymmetrical surfboard into my van, the same board I’m holding on this page, and bought a used Sachs 125. It was 1968. Little did I know it at the time, but I was just one of thousands, even millions, of teenagers who wanted to be motorcycle racers on the eve of the 1970s. When people find out I’m a motocross racer, they always ask me the same question.

“Aren’t you afraid of crashing and getting hurt?”

“No,” I reply.

“Why not?” they ask. “It seems very dangerous.”

“I’ve never thought of it as being dangerous,”I replied

“How can that be?” They asked.

“Well, for one thing, we are all going the same direction at pretty much the same speed. You can’t say that about the freeway, ” I replied

I think all motocross racers have the same feelings as I do. I’ve never gone to the starting line fearful about what might happen. I trust in my judgment more than my skill. I can’t control the actions of others, but I can be smart enough to ride within the very narrow window of my ability.

When people find out that I’ve never held a real job but have instead pursued my hobbies, they always ask me the same question.

“If you’re not afraid of getting hurt in the ocean, in your plane or on your bike, what are you afraid of?”

“That’s easy. A 104-mph fastball thrown by a nearsighted southpaw,” I reply.