Paul asked me to reveal the ten West Point Enduro Commandments, but I ain't got 'em all, and I'll tell you why. The Ten Commandments, engraved on platoon-sized Bufferin tablets, were handed down to Ron Pruitt on Hot Truck Hill by an angel who, according to Ron, looked a lot like Mike Lafferty in drag. Ron stuffed the ten Commandments into his Super Stuffer duffel bag, then aimed back downhill until he locked up his back wheel and stalled the engine on the wet clay slope slick enough to slide a spider. Ron pulled in the clutch to
ease off a little of the sideways, saw a straight shot between two rocks, and tried for an air start.
He dropped his ass on the seat and let the clutch fly, but all he heard was the back spring "squawwwk" because the rear tire was still pushing a bow wave of Vaseline-like clay. It was a good try, but dumb. He spilled, and on his way to the bottom he lost two spokes, two Commandments, two square inches of hide,
and turned a brand new box of staples into a 40 foot zipper. Now you know the true story on how he hurt his shoulder.
The Angel Lafferty instructed Ron to give the Commandments to "the worst among you.", so Ron ran me down at the hare scrambles course, which I was finishing in my normal manner, being towed out and dehydrated so badly that my wristwatch was down around my knuckles.
After Ron untied the tow rope, I croaked the same words I 'd been saying all afternoon, "Don't forget my helmet." When Ron developed a quizzical look on his face, I looked down at my shadow on the ground. Either I still had my helmet on, or my head had swelled up and my ears had dropped off.
The guy who towed me out asked me to point out my trailer so they could load up my bike for me, but I told them to just lean it against a tree until my brain got in gear because I was getting tired of hauling the thing out of the wrong trailer week after week.
Ron then handed me the tablets, saying "Take these and distribute them to the faithful." I took the darn things, but the only rider I know who is really faithful is a Husky rider from Cullman whose father-in-law is the chief of police and has him under 24 hour surveillance.
So, for the benefit of you sinners, here are the Commandments. Ron only found eight but that ain't bad after a 500 yard downhill crash.

First Commandment: Thou Shalt Turn Thy Fuel Petcock On Before Thy Float Bowl Sucks Wind.
Motorcycles can travel a considerable distance with the fuel Off, only to go quiet four feet from the top of a 95 foot climb, just as you're going for low gear and your buddy finally locates the start button on his video camera. It's wise to double-check the fuel tap after the first tenth of a mile at an enduro. Unscrupulous riders have been known to reach over and turn off fuel taps right on the starting line. Personally, I use a slotted curtain rod for this. If you're riding in the same event as Eric Green, you'd be wise to wire the tap open. Eric gets a thrill helping riders out of difficult situations, and shutting off their fuel tap at the same time.

Second Commandment: Thou Shalt Go As Fast As Thou Can Until Thou Art One Hour Late.
And when this happens, keep right on trucking anyway. Disqualified or not, you paid to ride the course and you should get your money's worth. Besides, you certainly need the experience. Concentrate first on finishing, because stamina and machine preparation are the building blocks to skill. Look around for a copy of Gary Barr's book, "The Joys Of Timekeeping", which lists 20 ways to win Low Score Finisher.

Third Commandment: Thou Shalt Honor Thy Dealer And His Parts Man.

A good dealer is a joy at trade-in time, and a good parts man is a joy when you misjudge the trade-in time. A good dealer is usually the oldest one in town because he makes enough profit to stay in business and gives good enough service to keep 'em coming back. Granted, the dealer in the converted Sunoco gas station will sell you a lower-priced motorcycle, but here's what's gonna happen when you fray a throttle cable on Friday: A) His phone has been disconnected. B) His four-year old brat will answer. C) He sold the last cable ten minutes ago, he says. D) They are on back-order.
The rider who has his foot in a bucket of ice cubes because he slid into a stump when his frayed throttle cable hung up will be looking for the highest-priced doctor he can find. Remember, you generally get what you pay for.

Fourth Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Spill.

This doesn't mean you can't fall off when riding just for fun. Hell, that's encouraged! It means you shouldn't spill in an enduro because then you're liable to get wrapped up in a ball with the four riders who were following you. There was a time when a bike would go down inside a 20 foot ball of dust and stay there.
Today, they've made the damn things so fast, and given them such long-legged suspensions, the bikes
usually come bounding out the far side of the dust ball like Olympic gymnasts doing floor exercises. The three-turn endo, once a rarity, is now almost a required exercise.

Fifth Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Chain Lube.
Especially at two-day events. Sometimes a rider will open a fresh can of chain lube at the finish line so he can spray his chain while it's still warm; said to be the most beneficial time. If the riders behind him start passing that can around, it won't touch ground again until it dies. And if you're finishing around number 156, be careful, because that can will be cold enough to freeze itself to your hand.

Sixth Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Weekend Wife.

Just stay with the problems you already have, and don't go looking for more. Generally speaking, the further away from the Porto-Potty you park, the fewer couples you find joined in holy Marvinmony.
Marvinmony is the type of relationship poor Lee Marvin got tagged with many years ago.

Seventh Commandment: Thou Shalt Keep Holy Thy Key Time.

If you have one of those old-fashioned timepieces with a sweep second hand, guard it with your life. These newer instruments that print out the time with lit-up numbers are as hard to set as the valves on a new Honda!

Eighth Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Commit Adult Tarry.

Adult tarry is when a grown man finds himself running early, and slows down on a narrow trail in a place where the trees grow real close together, you know, like all of West Point. Theoretically, no one should have to pass him. In reality, though, he will be overtaken by riders running late and trying desperately to make up
time. The rider committing adult tarry knows that if he moves off the trail for even a few seconds, he will then be faced with the prospect of a half-dozen turkeys in front of him riding at something less than the required average speed.

Wait. Ron just called. He was up on Hot Truck Hill again, banding mosquitoes for the Tennessee Mosquito Control Commission, and he found another Commandment.

Ninth Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Push Start Downhill On Wet Clay.