I was talking to a friend the other day when he mentioned how nostalgic certain scents could be. As he said this, I thought of campfires, cologne, coffee, and apple pie. I asked what he was referring to. He replied, “The smell of a 2-stroke engine just started up. There’s nothing like it!” I was forced to agree. If you’ve ever ridden dirt bikes or ATVs (otherwise known as trikes and quads) in the 80s and 90s, you’re most certainly familiar with their very distinct type of smoke. The only other exhaust that holds anywhere near the aforementioned nostalgia is the smell of a diesel truck warming up on a cold winter’s morning. I’d have to say though, dirt bikes and quads – nothing brings me back quite like the smell of their exhaust. Why? Because it once led to so much more than just a bike idling in a driveway. It always led to adventure and a day’s worth of gloriously good times.
There was no shortage of great places to ride in Brewster. The reservoir, the watershed, Albie’s field, Porter’s field, and probably many more than I can’t recall at the moment. While I wasn’t one of the privileged few who owned a brand new dirt bike or 4-wheeler, I was one who owned a second-hand dirt bike. And then another one and another one. At this point, I’m not even sure how many I’ve owned, but there were a few and they were all awesome. Yes, they were older and broke down a lot, but yes, they ran and they got me through. And as many of my still-friends can easily attest to today, we all enjoyed incredible childhoods – mostly owing to the fact that we knew how to ride and we knew how to fix things. Oh yeah, and that we were presented with our choice of the best, albeit the most illegal, riding spots anywhere. If I had to guess and if I asked my friends right now, I’d say and they’d likely agree that the reservoir was the probably the most diverse and entertaining landscape for off-roading. The watershed would most likely come in second. I’ll discuss the watershed more below.
I’m fully aware of how weird the names are for riding spots among the various towns around the country. I’m not sure how these areas earned their names, but alas, these names were what they were given. Near my cousin’s house in Bethel, there was an area named, “Mystery.” It was a mystery how that name came about, but if a person were interested in sand and riding through and over dunes, that would be the place to go. And in Danbury, there was a place named, “Super 7.” Both Mystery as well as Super 7 have since been built upon. Folks now walk out of their houses and offices and step on once sacred and hallowed riding grounds. It’s a shame really. Sort of depressing to think about how these magnificently wooded pieces of property that were so famous for recreational use have since been destroyed for yet more homes and commercial buildings. Everything was illegal to ride upon anyway, so I don’t want to complain too much. Still though, as I creep on our old stomping grounds via Google Earth, I can’t help but get discouraged as I reflect upon the fact that they’re now gone, never to be visited by teenagers and young 20-something year-olds again. No more dirt bikes and no more quads. Not that people ride much in my home town anymore anyway. I guess the times my friends and I loved so much were a part of a larger bygone era. That’s the way it is, I suppose. The watershed is still there though and if I were to ever visit my home town and if I were to somehow find myself sitting on a dirt bike or quad on Brewster Hill Road, I’d most definitely ride that sucker down the hill into the field, just for old time’s sake. I’d love that.
Pete lived right off Brewster Hill Road. His house was usually where we all met before venturing off to either the reservoir or the watershed. It was also his driveway I referred to above, where I mentioned the nostalgic scent of two-stroke smoke burning through the many FMF exhausts. FMF was an exhaust brand back then – it probably still is, although I’m not sure 2-stroke off-road vehicles exist anymore. As for the times we met up at Pete’s, they were invigorating, especially if there was snow on the ground. Somehow the snow made our adventures seem so much more legitimate, rather than the alternative. Rob and I would ride from my house on Sunset, Frank would come flying up the driveway on his quad, Gary would buzz around the corner, pulling a wheelie on his trike, and somehow, Herman would already be there on his RM125. Russell and Chris would be waiting down at Porter’s field doing donuts in the snow, anticipating our arrival. And arrive we would, after cruising down Brewster Hill, riding side-saddle, as if that method was somehow more legal than riding with both legs over the seat.
The hill would level out and just past a tiny stream, we’d make a right into the woods. A few hundred feet and then a stone wall. Over the stone wall was Porter’s field and if we made a left, the woods would dissipate and the fields would appear and we’d ride through three or four of them and then through a somewhat windy trail straight into the watershed zone. That’s where the fun began, as if it wasn’t just as much fun making it to the destination.
As I sit here and type, I can’t recall why we valued the watershed property so much more than we valued the fields that preceded it. Most likely because the fields were a means to an end and weren’t focused on as much. In addition, the watershed offered seclusion as well as one large jump. So if a guy wanted to ride in peace and launch off a jump, that guy would be perfectly content doing so at the watershed. Just as another friend of ours, Dave, was content in doing so on his 1985 Honda XR600 – one of the most reliable and badass bikes of the 80s. Yes, it was a 4-stroke, but a really good one.
Frank and Pete had, by far, the best quads out of anyone and even perhaps the best on the planet. 1986 and 1988 Honda TRX250Rs, respectively. Otherwise known as the Fourtrax 250R, this quad was a short-lived (1986-1989), yet, rambunctious and absolutely, shall we say, stimulating, machine. I’ll show you an example of the 1988 below.
As far as the rest of us, I’m not even sure what we rode. I owned a Suzuki RM80, a Honda CR125, and a Suzuki RM125 through the years. What I rode to the watershed remains fuzzy. Rob owned some sort of Kawasaki KDX dirt bikes. Herman had the RM125 I mentioned above and Gary rode a Yamaha trike. Russell and Chris rode a Suzuki QuadSport LT230 and a Honda ATC200, respectively. If I remember correctly, both had trouble starting, always. For some reason. I can’t really remember why.
I’m not sure what else I can tell you about riding at the watershed beyond the fact that it consumed the thoughts of many of us for years upon years. I used to ride a lot down there with my cousin, Joey, after I sold him my RM80. I’d ride one of my 125s and he’d fly by me cruising at what seemed like 100 miles per hour. In reality, he was traveling only around 35, but being so close to the ground and so exposed to the elements, that slow speed seemed a heck of a lot faster. Joey and I used to ride at Albie’s a lot as well. Until we both sold our bikes and pretty much gave up that type of activity. After we began driving cars, the allure of the off-road machine began to fade and honestly, I can’t remember what it was I last owned or where it was I last rode. Another shame – to lose those types of memories to time. But again, at least I’ll remember the watershed, the reservoir, Albie’s, and the others. Well, as much as I can recall, anyway.
