When Quinn Redeker tells you to “sit ?n spin,” it’s not an insult but rather a Motor School lesson. (Photos by Kevin Wing)

When I was 9, I spent every single day riding my dirtbike in the hills north of Los Angeles with all my delinquent buddies. Rain or shine, light or dark, we burned so much premix I?m pretty sure they will find traces of Golden Spectro two-cycle oil in my tissue if they ever do an autopsy on me.

But these days, I just don?t get seat time like I used to. Yes, I was a motor cop and rode with my buddies every day, but that was different because it was merely the platform for a host of other responsibilities: traffic enforcement, collision investigation, emergency patrol support, and so on. It lacked that element of exploration, freedom, and discovery you get when there are no strings attached.
And the worst thing" When I finally do get time to hit the track, tackle some challenging single-track, or sign up for a local club race, I have these painful moments of reckoning that my skills are nowhere near their peak. So there I am trying to enjoy an experience muddled by a crappier version of myself. I try to maintain a glass-half-full mentality, but I swear every time I take my eyes off that damn glass, it loses a little more water.

But I?ve been doing some proactive things around the house to slow the leak, and trust me, they?re helping. What types of things" I?ll give you a hint, they all revolve around one primary goa...