Page 64 - Issue43

DEAN WILSON
450 SX / 12TH
IMAGE / LANGSTON WORDS / MATTINGLY DESIGN / WILSON
>> There are many deceivingly rough towns across the United States. You always here
or have heard in the past, the boroughs of large cities such as New York, Los Angeles, or even Compton, California that can be found in both movies and songs in popular culture. However, one place that lurks within the top of the charts, although something that most aren’t proud of, is that of East St.Louis; a part of the city that’s overshadowed by the bright lights and glamour of downtown, and filled with crime and low income, leaving anyone who chooses to walk through that part of town on their toes, watching their backs at all times. Dean Wilson now knows the feeling of being on alert; his analytical style leaves everything calculated, no stone is unturned when plots his moves through the field, as he knows danger can strike at any moment. It could be seen throughout both the qualifying and practice sessions, anytime he was behind someone, he could be found going a little off the brink, and taking unique lines; what appeared a little unusual to onlookers, was just his way of displaying his schematics he had lodged into his brain while viewing the course from the stands and during track walk. He was hopping feverishly up the dragon’s back all day, letting the swingarm clunk with every beat, all the while never letting off the throttle as he would hop off and onto the next one; words couldn’t attest how sketchy these obstacles were, yet his style made it look so easy. After the heat’s and semi’s had subsided, and
his abominable trek through the LCQ, the stomping of the gate as the introductions were an afterthought and the crowd was moving to a slow rise. The thirty-second board went sideways, all heads bowed in unison and the field all dove for that precious inside lane into the left hander. Stuck in a bit of chaos, he had to make moves, and quickly at that. If the skimming of whoops wasn’t working, he was found jumping through them; the over un- der, he was taking the wide line and cutting in, rather than vice versa. He had a bit of flat tracking skills, as his weight was shifted to the outside of the tank, his right elbow cocked at ninety degrees, and his left foot just grazing the stadium floor in the turn after the start. He was battling near the top 15, and looking to retain and move up as much as he could. He would shuffled with the eleventh through fourteenth positions, running out of tearoffs unfortunately with this tack of soil composition. With a slight bobble in the rhythm sections following the dragon’s back as the clock neared the 0:00 mark, eleventh looked to be just out of his grasp. He would cross the final flag in 12th, knowing he had more to give for the closing bit of this series.
64 GRITMOTO • APRIL 2, 2017