A
small ยท
tosslehaired young
man was wearing an
old faded Team Husky Tshirt stood in the -lobby of
the Saddleback Holiday Inn. Sign
up for the Trans-AMA was going on
down the hall and a score of adolescent
moto freaks milled 'abou t in small shifting
groups hoping to catch a glimpse of. the .men
they'd pay to see tomorrow. The young man
had a day's stubble on his chin, a small package
of crackers picked up off of a restaurant table in
his hands and none of the dirt groupies paid any
attention to him.
He was distracted by an increasing crescendo
of whispers as the youthful mob pressed closer
to the hallway to catch sight of Tony DiStefano
and Kent Howerton coming up the carpeted
hall. The two professional motocrossers were
smiling and slowing to sign autographs here and
there. "Tony, Tony, you gonna win tomorrow?"
a freckled 14 year old would ask. The two
factory elite riders kept moving through the
throng until they saw the young Husqvarna
T-shirted man.
Howerton and DiStefano ' b rackete d the dark
haired man and with 60 saucer-eyed admirers
wishing it was them receiving all the attention,
the three stood joking and laughing for a few
minutes. Tony D. threw his arm over the man's
shoulders, swiftly reached down, crumbled his
treasured , crackers and jumped back in -m ock
terror. As the three ambled out the door in a
flurry of
