Watkins father suffers from Lou Gehrig's Disease, which is also referred to as ALS. This disease greatly affects a persons' mobility and their ability to eat and speak, while leaving their mind largely untouched. Due to Watkins close relationship with his father, it was not hard for him to decide on a way to improve his fathers life.

Together with his project partners, professor Stephen Sundarrao, and other individuals who use electric wheelchairs, Watkins constructed a very sturdy base aptly named the Tank. The Tank is a five foot by five foot device that features 2 rugged ATV wheels in front that make it very versatile. Coming it at around 150 pounds, almost any electric power wheelchair can be placed on top of the Tank. It is then locked in place and the electric wheelchair actually does all of the work.

Jim Watkins, Travis's father, is very happy with the Tank and it has allowed him to goto the beach and pretty much anywhere else he wants.

Travis has since put the Tank into production and with the help of Sundarro, they have established a company called Rehab Ideas, which also offers other devices that the students have created to help improve the lives of people living with disabilities. Work began last month on 400 of these devices, which will cost around $5000.

I'm so excited I feel a little bit sick. I've waited just over a year to sort out getting these motorcycles picked up and now they are on their way. The company doing the delivery are the aptly named - Motorcycle Delivery - who were recommended by a load of people on the Classic Bike forum and I'm really impressed with the service so far. I had tried to arrange to pick the bikes up myself but since I don't have a suitable car let alone, a two bike trailer I was really stumped.

Well I am stumped no more as the motorbikes are on their way.

I'll have to do a longer post later when they have arrived but for now have a read about one of the bikes being delivered - Classic trials bike

BlackBerry Storm. Anatomia Humana, a tecnologia a favor da ciência. Os mais vendidos (do mundo). UpHill, que merda é essa? E Antitelemarketing. Sim, esse é o catado do dia.

• BlackBerry ganha versão com tela sensível ao toque
  Seguindo a tendência da concorrência, a RIM está lançando um BlackBerry Touch. Agora, na minha opnião, os usuários BalckBerry não procuram este tipo de recurso. Estou enganado?
• "Google Earth" da anatomia permite explorar o corpo humano
  Achei muito legal este aplicativo, não sei se o pessoal, da área de saúde, conhece. Mas parece ser uma mão na roda.
• Os 25 carros mais vendidos da história
  Quais carros você acham que devem estar na lista? Não vale o Fusca (rs).
• Você conhece o UpHill?
  UpHill é uma modalidade extreme para veículos 4x4, onde o objetivo é subir "barrancos" muito íngremes. Eu achei bem legal! Mas não colocaria meu 4x4, para brincar nesta modalidade.
• SP cria cadastro antitelemarketing
  Esta foi a lei mais legal dos útimos tempos! Pena que é apenas para os paulistas. Lista Antitelemarketing? Vou me cadastrar agora!

"I love my xj, cauze it takes me whetever I want to go.... lots of power...no problem during water crossing..( always keep your Jeep original... ) and NO PROBLEMO AMIGO!!!"

You're a brave man, Luis.

Prosiaczki, żołnierze, dzieci, kobiety żądne jędrnych ciał, mój pies i wiele innych mniej lub bardziej ujawnionych osobników na off-roadowcach kończąc.



Tych ostatnich nie porywa wizja gładkiego ciała po bliskim spotkaniu z szarą, częstokroć śmierdzącą mazią, czy właściwości lecznicze błota - porywa ich wizja spełnienia, jakie daje ostra walka z przyrodą i maszyną, częstokroć odbywana na terenach błotnych.

Co więcej, off-roadowcy masowo błoto produkują i z wielką radością bawią się wracając do niego raz po raz. Wyprodukować błoto można bardzo łatwo. Wystarczy teren nieutwardzony, lekko zwilżony dowolnym opadem, przejechać kilka razy tam i z powrotem maszyną. Oczywiście, jak szybko to zrobimy będzie zależało od szerokości opon i ich bieżnika, mocy silnika wagi samochodu, przepuszczalności podłoża i zacięcia kierownika maszyny.



Prostszą sprawą jest przeobrażenie większej lub mniejszej kałuży, znajdującej się na trasie przejazdu miłośników błota, w idealny teren do spełniania swoich fantazji.

W tych fantazjach główną rolę odgrywa zdecydowanie maszyna. Nie jakiś zwykły pojazd z napędem na 4 łapy (4x4). Maszyna musi być: mocna, możliwie ztuningowana oraz wyoklejana naklejkami . Naklejki są pewnego rodzaju znakiem rozpoznawczym maszyn, które nie stoją w garażach, ani też nie jeżdżą tylko równiutkimi szosami naszego kraju (chociaż jeżeli jakość naszych dróg się nie poprawi, to za kilka lat najbardziej ekonomicznym pojazdem ze względu na podwozie i zawieszenie, będą właśnie samochód terenowy), a uczestniczą w coraz to liczniej organizowanych różnego rodzaju zlotach, rajdach, spotkaniach i towarzyskich przejażdżkach w terenie.



Tuning wykonany na potrzeby jazd po prawdziwym terenie to drugi, po naklejkach - element, który pozwala zwykłemu śmiertelnikowi poznać, że pan maszyny poważnie traktuje możliwości jakie daje mu potwór, którego sam stworzył. Nie ekonomiczne jest i nie praktyczne bowiem, zakładanie specjalnych opon do terenu z myślą o jeździe po lepszej lub gorszej jakości asfalcie. Szybko się one ścierają i spowalniają jazdę. Nie ekonomiczne jest zakładanie wyciągarki w ogóle. Nie przydaje się ona nawet gdy zimą napotykamy samochody leżące w rowach i nie mogące z nich wyjechać. Takie operacje wymagają z reguły użycia taśmy i reduktora wyłącznie. Nie ma sensu też podnoszenie mostów czy inne tego typu akcje. Podwyższone są po prostu nie przydatne poza terenem. Najważniejsza aczkolwiek nie ostatnia rzecz, która wyróżnia poważne podejście do maszyn jest ilość błota na masce.



Im brudniejsza maszyna, tym dumniejszy pan.

Jednakże, tych 'niewtajemniczonych' ostrzegę, przed pochopnym wyrażaniem uznania dla panów maszyn tylko brudnych. Okazało się, że dostępny jest na rynku produkt (masowo ignorowany przez fanatyków jazd terenowych), który rozwiązuje problem konieczności szukania błota czy własnoręcznego go tworzenia.

Sprayonmud dzięki niemu teraz każdy może mieć obłocony samochód, nie wyjeżdżając nawet z garażu. Jest ono przeznaczone dla właścicieli aut z napędem 4x4, którzy chcieliby nadać swoim samochodom bardziej autentycznie 'terenowy' wygląd. Producent zastrzega, że produkt nie jest przeznaczony do pokrywania tablic rejestracyjnych w celu uniknięcia złapania przez radar, ale...



Chociaż off-road jest coraz bardziej popularnym sposobem na spędzanie wolnego czasu, to jednak w Polsce nie ma takiej popularności jak wyścigi szutrowe. Z pewnością koszt maszyn oraz zamykające się tereny na których można go uprawiać, są jednym z czynników małej popularności. Z drugiej jednak - w miarę zamknięte środowisko ludzi go praktykujących. Częstokroć tajne (z uwagi na zakazy obowiązujące na większości terenów) jazdy, zloty, specyficzne słownictwo i wyraźne akcentowana niechęć do wszelkiego rodzaju 'plastików' toczących się dumnie po drogach, stanowi swego rodzaju zaporę przed przedostawaniem się 'żółtodziobów' w skład środowiska.

--

extreme_teambuilding_incentive_off-road


Artykuł pochodzi z serwisu www.Artelis.pl

In general, you can find ATV tires from the same party that the SUV or ATV - as he is affectionately called sold. Some of these places are companies such as Suzuki, Yamaha, among others. Other times, you can find on different tires VTT pages on the Internet. However, no matter where you decide to take on tires, you should be able to return defective tires without affecting your statutory rights.

O X1 é baseado na plataforma do Série 3, e não na do Série 1 como se pensava anteriormente. Com comprimento de 4,45m, suspeita-se que os outros integrantes da família X de off-roads da BMW irão aumentar, afinal, em termos de tamanho, o X1 está bastante próximo do X3. Ainda não foram divulgadas informações mecânicas sobre o utilitário: aparentemente, este conceito apresentado apenas adianta as linhas de design do modelo.

Por Pedro H. Kotowicz

O novo modelo é aproximadamente 11 cm mais curto que o X3, que se localiza logo acima do X1 em seu segmento. O entre-eixos é de 2,76 m e o comprimento, de 4,45 m. Outros detalhes não foram divulgados, mas devem ser conhecidos em breve.

Por Pedro H. Kotowicz

High Dynamic Range (HDR) is a set of techniques that allows a greater dynamic range of exposures (the range of values between light and dark areas) than normal digital imaging techniques. The intention of HDR is to accurately represent the wide range of intensity levels found in real scenes ranging from direct sunlight to shadows. If we add little bit more abstract elements or small objects can be really unique.

Pseudo HDR: 1 CR2 picture, 5 different exposure, size 1200x800 clear without objects 

Keep'it:simple.

svealien

Time to get dirty!  If you've ever wanted to take a Tacoma or FJ Cruiser off-road BEFORE you make your buying decision, now's your chance!  October 3-5, 2008 at the Fairplex in Pomona.

The Toyota Trail Teams are fininshing up the 2008 season.  Visit the Pomona Fall Off-Road Expo for your chance to test drive a Toyota Tacoma or FJ Cruiser on one of the toughest obstacle courses you will ever see.  

Tickets are very reasonably priced and info is available at: https://tickets.offroadexpo.com/tickets.aspx?sh=506

Hope to see you this weekend!

My grandfather officially (and finally) retired in April 2007.  A week after his retirement ceremony, my grandmother was found unconscious on the floor of their house, and had to be rushed to the hospital.

I went to my boss-at-the-time, my usually unshakable lip quivering.  "I have to go home for a few days," I said.  "I need to be there with them."

The man who taught me that family must always come before work didn't need any more explanation.  "Take as much time as you need; we'll figure it out when you get back," he assured me.

I drove the Green Bean on the long lonely road to McAllen, just me and the dogs on the trip for the second time in as many weeks.  I knew I didn't have to go.  My grandmother had been released from the hospital the next day, albeit without any real diagnosis.  But I saw the next year ahead of me--hurricane season, planning the wedding--and I knew how fast time would rush by.  I wanted to spend time with my grandmother and grandfather, to learn their unspoken and unwritten histories, before it was too late.

I went to their house the first full day I was home.  I couldn't wait to talk about their pasts--what it was like when they first got married, how hard it was when my grandfather was basically the only doctor in Starr County, what things were like for women in south Texas in the 40's and 50's, what my mom was like as a kid.  I even brought doughnuts.

I got nothing.  Despite all my pushy, open-ended questions about the past, my grandmother and grandfather kept talking about the present.  Seated around their solid oak dining room table, surrounded by wood-paneled walls bearing pictures of them meeting astronauts and former presidents, they fussed about my grandfather's papers and photographs in the attic and how something needed to be done about them before it got too hot to go up there.  They told me about one of their good friends affiliated with a major Texas university, and how he had just been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and didn't have much time to live.  They talked about my mom and her six crazy dogs (and yes, I know my mom is reading this).  The talked a lot, but only about things going on right now.

"I don't get it," I told David on the phone that night (he'd stayed in Austin for work).  "My grandmother always used to talk about the past--the people they knew in Roma and Rio Grande City, the first hospital, whatever.  Now, it's like they won't let go of the present.  I don't know.  Maybe they've move on from a stage of constantly complaining about aches and pains and mourning the good old days to a stage of just clinging to the present.  It's a level of accepting death that I'm not familiar with."

"Or maybe they just wanted to talk to you about stuff they thought you cared about," David said.

"But I kept asking questions.  I want to know about the past."

"If they don't want to talk about it, just enjoy whatever it is they want to talk about."

About a week after coming back to McAllen, I returned to Austin, driving the Bean under a brilliant blue sky, the wildflowers of south Texas in full bloom throughout the usually-barren hills of Highway 281.  I didn't feel that I had gained any real closure, and I definitely wasn't ready to say any sort of major good-byes to my grandparents; but our time together had been nice and they seemed as content as could be.  Maybe I didn't need some groundbreaking stories from the past in order to feel close to them or that I understood them.

Their health continued to deteriorate, as it does for most people in their 80s.  My grandmother's osteoporosis caused her to break five ribs when trying to open a sliding glass door; but as awful as that was, at least that condition was diagnosable.  These constant fainting spells had no root cause.  My mom called me on a nearly monthly basis to report that my grandmother had been taken to the emergency room for something or other, usually involving bleeding and/or fainting.  She was placed on oxygen and driving was forbidden for a while--a mixed blessing, as my grandfather was even less qualified to drive than she was.  She had been his chauffeur for decades, their giant white Grand Marquis sailing across Texas highways in leather-seated and faintly cigarette-stained comfort.  But no more.

I was lucky enough to see them at my bridal shower early in spring 2008--a small affair attended by my mom, her friends and some relatives.  I refused to let anyone play typical shower games, and we drank good wine, ate off the good silver and made excellent conversation as I opened box after box of Fiestaware.

My grandparents also managed to make the trip to Austin for David and my wedding this April.  I knew how frail they were and how exhausted they felt from the trip.  For months, I had asked our wedding photographer to take as many pictures as possible of them, which he did, with beautiful and moving results.  Despite his weakness and near-total loss of hearing, my grandfather made the most moving toast of the entire evening.  Despite her frailty, my grandmother wore a totally boss faux Chanel suit that was the envy of all who saw it.

David and I went back to McAllen when I had time off in June.  We had dinner with them one night.  Something was different by then.  Usually bitchy, catty and full of dramatic complaints, my grandmother had changed her tone to simply depressed.  Seeming suddenly tiny in her chair at my mother's enormous wooden dining room table (not unlike my grandparent's table), a pink striped button-down shirt hanging on her now-minuscule frame, she talked about how awful she felt and how she knew the end was near, and how she just wanted to give up.  We alternated between gently scoffing at her to try and break her mood, and being kind and sympathetic.  My grandfather couldn't hear her laments, but being stuck in the house all day with her, I'm sure he had become quite familiar with them.  The only thing that changed the mood was when the smaller of my two dogs began humping one of my mother's dogs under the table.

"What's she doing?" my grandfather asked, squinting through his glasses.

"I'm so sorry," I said, picking my 7-pound dog up and away from her amorous adventures.  "I didn't raise her that way."

Even my grandmother laughed.

The weekend after Hurricane Ike made landfall (and I had to attend a friend's wedding), my mom and stepfather came to Austin for another wedding.  Despite the stress of that week, I looked forward to seeing them.

That Thursday, the call came.

"Your grandmother's in the ICU," my mother said.  She went on to describe the extensive bleeding.  She text-messaged me the condition name.  I Googled it at work and was met with a photo of someone's colon.  Thanks, Wikipedia.

Despite alternating day and overnight shifts in the hospital with my grandfather, ensuring that someone was constantly by my grandmother's side, my mother and stepfather came to Austin that weekend.  They met David, my sister, a family friend and me for dinner at a posh downtown restaurant on Friday night, where she assured me that Grandma was going home from the hospital soon.

"What the hell was wrong with her?" I asked.

She shrugged.  "She keeps having 'mini-strokes,' which are like strokes but more mild," she responded.  "They're not sure what's causing them."

The evening--and the wine--wore on.  My mother asked me what we were doing for the holidays, nearly yelling due to the high volume of sound in the restaurant.  Leaning close to her own near-deaf ears, I said that we were going to stay home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas because we were broke from the wedding and the upcoming honeymoon (we paid for most of the wedding and were paying for all of the honeymoon ourselves), and that we were using all of my time off from work for the year on the honeymoon.  "But we're inviting David's family up here for Thanksgiving," I said over my glass of pinot grigio.  "Wait--oh my God--y'all should come too!  You totally should!"

"Sweetie, I can't," my mom said with a patient smile.  "I have to cook for the whole family, remember?"

I waved my hand.  "Fuck 'em.  They can fend for themselves for one year.  Y'all should come up.  We're going to get a bar-b-que turkey from Rudy's.  And you should bring Grandma and Grandpa!"

Her smile turned sad.  "Sweetie, they can't drive anymore.  They can't travel anymore at all."

"Well, you can drive 'em!  You said that you drove them to San Antonio a few weeks ago, right?   Grandma got all mad that you passed the liquor store without going in, and y'all hit the hotel bar in the evening [Editor's note: this is totally true].  You drove 'em to San Antonio; you can drive 'em up here for Thanksgiving!  I know they're kind of a pain in the car for long distances, but it would be sooo much fun!"

"Sarah," she said, "they aren't going to be traveling any more, ever again.  They're too weak for it."

I stared at her in silence, the wine muffling my ability to fully digest her words.

She shrugged outlandishly, her burnt-orange pashmina dramatically draped around her arms and her strands of faux pearls gleaming against her leopard-print top.  "What are you going to do?" she said especially loudly.  "I mean, they're getting to the end.  That's just how it is.  I've accepted it, and you need to accept it too."

I didn't know what to say for a while, which I'm sure bugged her.  She gets very annoyed when I get emotional.

A line from one of the many Ben Folds songs I had been playing recently began echoing through my head.  "Magic," a song from Ben Folds Five's last group album and perhaps one of the saddest songs of all time, is about a sick friend finally finding peace through dying.  "I knew you'd be gone as soon as you could," Ben gently sings as his piano chords dance around the room, adding, "And I hoped you would."

"No," I thought to myself, knowing how selfish it was.  "I'm not ready to wish them good-bye yet. She may be at peace with it, but I'm not ready to let them go yet. There's still time. There must still be time."

I stayed silent for a while, playing with my food, before I spoke up again.  "Well, David and I really want to come down to McAllen, maybe in January when I get more time off.  Do you think they'll still be around then?"

"I'm sure they will be, sweetie," she said, patting my hand.  "They're fine.  They have a little bit of time left in them."

We could see that you weren't yourself,
And the lines on your face did tell
It's just as well
You'd never be yourself again.

The Hurricane Ike response was very taxing.  And that is a sentiment coming from someone who has worked in emergency management for most of the past three years. Hurricane Dolly's threatening (and, thankfully, sparing of) my family and Hurricane Gustav's severe impact on my work schedule had both exhausted me, albeit in very different ways.  But Ike dragged out a rainbow of emotions.

The stress of Ike's landfall was interrupted by the stress of traveling to and from a dear friend's wedding, knowing that I would be called on to revisit (literally) an office from my EM past shortly after my plane touched back down in Austin.  The last time I entered this office, I was a good, docile girl wanting to please everyone.  I saw myself as a diplomat, an ambassador for my agency; and I behaved as a respectable diplomat should.  I would park the Green Bean at the end of the lot whenever possible in courteous deference to the people who would have to spend days and nights in the office, knowing that my little car and I would go home at the most within 13 hours.

As soon as I drove into the office's parking lot that Sunday, I felt like the all-Mexican-American bad-ass I had once been.  With the stereo blasting, I dodged a series of orange cones and parked Oliver among the important cars near the entrance.

But it wasn't long before stress and tension seeped into my previously sealed-off veneer.  I had to contact my boss for direction over a strategic misstep.  Now, that kind of thing happens at every job.  What destroyed me was that, for the first time in my disaster response career, I couldn't move past my mistakes.  I had lost my nerve.

When I finally left the building and crawled into Oliver's driver seat, the evening sky had turned to night, with stars scattered behind the buzzing parking lot lamps.  I laid my head on the steering wheel as tears fell.  Emergency management had been my life, until I realized that my life needed to be with David and my dogs and my friends and family.  But when I gave it up, I also gave up the only real professional success and confidence I've ever known--and I don't know how to get those back.

Street light shines through the shades,
Casting lines on the floor, and lines on his face;
He reflects on the day.

As the response wore on, I thought about what it was that I really missed about my previous work life.  It wasn't the concept of helping people amidst bureaucracy--both my last program and my current place of employment offer that warm and fuzzy feeling.  It wasn't the occasional, intoxicating rush of power (though that was always nice).  And it wasn't necessarily the people--quite the opposite there.  My new co-workers are amazing, wonderful people who have grown quite dear to me in the last few months, while some of my former co-workers, well, weren't.

But I eventually realized it was the people--a very specific group of warm, dedicated people whose lives really were lived in service to others, many of whom I may never see again. The former mentors who always laughed at my stupid jokes, praised me when I succeeded and encouraged me even when I failed. The former boss whose affable personality and wise leadership endeared him to everyone, and who kept reminding me that family must always come first. The colleagues who never appeared to doubt that I too deserved a seat at the planning table. The employees who voiced their support of me, even when I was wondering how I was going to get everything done right.  The strong, brilliant women from other agencies who became my most reliable and knowledgeable colleagues, then became some of my most fun and entertaining friends.  The charming man I met at my last conference, whose vast knowledge and experience--combined with his kindness to me--make me miss him after meeting him once, and wishing that I could work every day with him.

But the person I miss most of all is the light who was there when all other lights went out.

Our working relationship began inauspiciously, but morphed into one of the strongest, most dependable friendships I have ever had.  Working with him was more than fun; it was an honor.  He taught me how emergency management should run, and will hopefully run one day.  Though I could never be as level-headed, forward-thinking and smooth-talking as he was, I learned the truest and most important traits of leadership by watching him in closed-door meetings, listening to him on the conference calls that went on for hours and observing how he interacted with the scary-ass people in utmost charge.

A true friend to David as well as me, he was at our wedding.  And when he told me that he'd fallen in love with a wonderful woman, and that they were moving for both of their jobs and to be closer to his family, I hugged him and celebrated with him and sincerely wished him nothing but happiness, refusing to mourn the loss of my disaster response comrade and friend.  After all, we still keep in touch.  We e-mail and call and will see each other the next time he's in town.

As the emotional and physical intensity of the Ike response swept around me the rest of that week, I kept playing one particular song over and over again.  Ben Folds is perfect music for autumn, with Folds' nostalgic storytelling lyrics and his sweet, familiar melancholy piano playing.  I'd never been especially fond of the mournful waltz "Fred Jones Part 2," but it kept creeping into my head.  Despite the Sirius hip-hop channel blazing through the speakers, I thought about "Fred Jones" as I drove Oliver to work, the sky a palette of gentle blues, striking pinks and searing oranges and yellows as the sun rose.  I played "Fred Jones" as I sat in a hotel room, resting before my friend's wedding.  And I put "Fred Jones" on repeat on my bathroom stereo, both when I was applying my make-up while still trying to stay conscious in the morning and when I was getting ready to shower and go to sleep at night.  I kept wanting to hear it, over and over again, and I couldn't figure out why.

Then, one exhausted evening, leaning onto my make-up vanity with my head resting against the mirror, I sang "I'm sorry, Mr. Jones" over and over, and it finally clicked.  I wasn't just singing a song that was stuck in my head--I was singing to my friend whose last name happened to be Jones.  My friend who taught me so much still worked in emergency management, but I had left it.  He had moved away for a better life, but I felt like I'd abandoned him--and all the other people who had shown me respect and kindness.  I gained back my personal life, but my price is the knowledge that all of my work and efforts will soon be forgotten--if they haven't already.

"You can't think like that," David said.  "Everyone has to make their own choices in life.  No one who really knows you holds it against you."

Perhaps.  He speaks from experience, though.  Around the same time I did, he too left his beloved job and took another one with less travel and fewer hours.  We both have made sacrifices to spend more time at home and with each other.

"Besides, you're doing great at your new job.  They need you."

I sure hope so.

But even now, I keep watching and reading the news, focusing on the stories of the storm's devastation, the innocent pets and animals suffering and abandoned and the teams of first responders and voluntary agencies helping others through the crisis.  Even now, another rainbow of emotions has sprung forth and taken hold.

Emergency management was my life for a long time, and it has strongly influenced what I have become.  I know that leaving it was the right decision for me at the time.  But I will always look back and wish that I could have been stronger, and that I could have continued to work saving others' families instead of just choosing to save my own.

And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones,
And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones,
And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones,
It's time.

Úlitmamente se me está notando en exceso mi condición de trialero. Os confieso que llevo obsesionado con este deporte desde que era muy pequeño, once años más o menos, lo ha practicado y lo he amado, por su singularidad, individualidad y por motivarte a superarte a ti mismo constantemente... Bueno, al margen de filosofías, hoy quería comentar que durante este fin de semana se disputará la carrera más bonita, al menos para mi, de la temporada trialera: El Trial de las Naciones. La cita está teniendo lugar en La Rabassa, Andorra, unos parajes que ya han acogido varias pruebas del Mundial de Trial, y que por su condición de alta montaña y sus espectaculares paisajes bien merecen la visita.

Toni Bou, Adam Raga, Albert Cabestany y Jeroni Fajardo, entre los hombres, y Laia Sanz, Sandra Gómez y Mireia Conde, entre las mujeres (Carla Caldererer se lesionó recientemente), serán las personas que representen a España en este certamen. Nuestro país lleva nada menos que 14 victorias en la categoría masculina, y dos en la femenina; una cifra realmente imbatible por otros países.

El Trial de las Naciones comenzó en 1984 en la localidad de Mysceline (Polonia), como broche de oro a la temporada internacional y convocando una carrera en la que vencería el equipo más compenetrado, y no las puntuaciones individuales de cada piloto. En aquel año la formación que salió victoriosa fue la de Francia con Philippe Berlatier (Italjet), Gilles Burgat (Fantic), Fred Michaud (Fantic) el campeón del mundo Thierry Michaud (Fantic). Era la época dorada del trial galo, que lograría dos coronas más en el TDN, hasta que en 1985 Italia lograse su primera corona en esta prueba con Diego Bosis (Aprilia), Renato Chaberto (Beta), Carlo Franco (Beta) y Donato MIglio (Garelli). Escribir de estos pilotos me remonta a mi época de lector convulsivo de Moto Verde.

A España le llegaría el turno de imponerse en el Trial de las Naciones en 1989 con un "dream team" integrado por Jordi Tarrés (Beta), Amòs Bilbao (Fantic), Gabino Renales (Montesa) y Andreu Codina (Gas Gas)... Despues de esta victoria vendrían las de 1991, 1991, 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 1998, 2000 (con el trial de las naciones de Seva, en la patria chica de Alex Crivillé tras lograr el título de Campeón del Mundo en 500), 2001, 2004, 2005, 2006 y 2007.