Story by Quinn Redeker | Photos by Kevin Wing
According to the wise and all-knowing Google, the fountain of youth doesn’t exist. Well, there is a popular historical attraction called the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park in St. Augustine, Florida, but the rest is myth and legend. That is, until now, because I’ve found it. No, it’s not a glowing stream or hidden spring guarded by Russian mystics deep in the Siberian forest. It’s even better. Stop rolling your eyes and pay attention.
Before my big reveal, let’s start with a question: What does it mean to be young again? I’m not talking about reliving the carefree experience of Mom driving you and your friends to the mall so you can brain freeze on Orange Julius but rather the thoughts and feelings you had while going through life. I’m going to go ahead and answer that: Being young again means we are regularly bombarded with things like fear, excitement, nervousness, hope, joy, frustration, novelty, and misery. When we were young, we didn’t know any better, and thanks to our curiosity (and ignorance), we put ourselves out into the world so we could try new things, have new experiences, and drink from the firehose of life. It was good, it was bad, it was messy, it was glorious. And we all miss the chaotic magic of it every single day.
Today I’m going to hand over the keys to the time machine. To get that magic back, all we have to do is sign up for a friendly local motorcycle competition. Give me a minute to connect a few dots before you tune me out. Let’s do a little mental exercise: Sit down, close your eyes, and imagine you are sitting on the starting line of a 35-rider motorcycle race. Your bike is vibrating under you, your palms are sweaty, you can’t hear anything outside of the engines screaming around you, and the flagman is sharply pointing at you to confirm you’re ready to race.
How does this exercise make you feel? Maybe a little scared? Some nerves? A smidge of intimidation? Now the flag drops and everybody takes off. You blow a few shifts because you forgot to breathe, but after a few laps you hit your stride, pass some other riders, and smartly stay away from chaos. You find your rhythm. You’re getting more tired with each lap, but you’re hanging in there and surprising yourself. Then, like an oasis appearing in the desert, the checkered flag flies and you cross the finish line.
What a wild journey. Within the span of 15 minutes, you experienced fear, excitement, joy, nervousness, hope, discomfort, accomplishment, and a massive helping of personal growth. See that clever bridge I just built?
But hey, I get it, you just ride for fun. Besides, competing is far too dangerous at your age, not to mention you don’t have the time, money, or proper equipment, you don’t know where to sign up, and on and on. Trust me, I understand, because you sound just like me back when I was 42 years old working as a police detective. I was married, raising a family, and working on my career. Basically, I was living that C.S. Lewis quote, “When I became a man, I put away childish things.” I became safe and predictable, and although I was content, I was disconnected from the kid who had the courage and guts that got me here in the first place.
But around that same time, I was inspired by another quote: “Tomorrow is not a promise. Do what you can while you can.” This quote came from a cantankerous 75-year-old motocross buddy of mine, and he was ringing the alarm bells directly in my face. He warned me to challenge myself, to get uncomfortable, and to sign up for a vintage motocross race. Two days later, having finished my first race on a borrowed 1974 CZ 250, I realized he gifted me a sip from the fountain of youth.
Listen, I’m not telling you to quit your job, fly to Italy, and jump on the grid at Mugello with a bunch of 20-somethings. I’m talking about participating in age-appropriate events, with gainfully employed folks who, like you, love motorcycles and the community they foster. Is competition hard? Sure, but that’s the point. It’s an accomplishment you just can’t get on your Sunday ride with friends. It’s an opportunity to scare and surprise yourself; to walk away feeling empowered like you haven’t felt since middle school. Is it dangerous? Well, during a 2 a.m. SWAT briefing, I started choking while eating an apple and almost passed out, so I think risk is relative. Compared to the street riding you already do, a closed course is likely less risky, especially in a vintage race setting.
I know new things can be awkward at first, but that’s why you have your old buddy Quinn here to get you started. First off, we need to get you an American Motorcyclist Association membership if you don’t already have one. There are lots of clubs and events promoted in the AMA’s American Motorcyclist magazine. One we want to focus on is the American Historic Racing Motorcycle Association for vintage racing. Whether you’re into roadracing, motocross, dirt track, cross-country, or trials, AHRMA puts on an event for you. If you fancy police-style rodeos like the ones I regularly compete in, just type “police motorcycle competition 2026” into Google and you’ll find a list of upcoming events.
I grew up racing motocross, so when I got back into racing in mid-life, I headed over to the Old School Scrambles Racing Group at Glen Helen Raceway in San Bernardino, California. It was perfect for getting my feet wet (dirty?) because OSSRG utilizes an off-road truck course for all its races, making it far safer and easier to get around than a full-on MX course. In fact, I met loads of men and women who took up racing for the first time there. Then I started to branch out and race other events, like the Scott Burnworth SoCal Vintage MX Series. The tracks were great, the racers were welcoming, and the Burnworth family was, well, a family. But no matter what club or track I raced, they all filled me with nerves, doubt, fear, butterflies, and a massive sense of personal accomplishment with every drop of the gate. Most importantly, I had racing buddies that experienced it with me, so race weekends were filled with team bonding and gave me a powerful dose of endorphins that no Sunday ride could ever provide.
If you’re having an internal dialogue right now to talk yourself out of it, stop! Life will always provide a schedule that’s too full and without enough time to do the things you want to do but are also afraid of. Stop thinking you aren’t fast enough, tough enough, fit enough, or skilled enough, and just sign up for a race. Need a bike? Find one on Facebook Marketplace. Waiting for that nagging knee injury from 1987 to go away? It won’t, so get on with it. Just figure it out and get it done, because the sooner you scare yourself, get frustrated, fail miserably, and challenge yourself to get back up and finish the race, the sooner you will be reunited with that amazing 12-year-old kid who triumphantly brought you to the place you are today. And based on my experience, I can tell you they can’t wait to get to see you again.
Quinn wears Schuberth helmets, Richa apparel, Lee Parks Design gloves, and Indie Ridge boots. Find out more at Quinn’s website, PoliceMotorTraining.com. Send feedback to rider@ridermagazine.com.