As someone who has spent over five decades immersed in the world of motorsports — and as a dedicated Supercross fan since the mid-1970s — it’s rare for a film to genuinely stop me in my tracks. But Pay Dirt, Paul Taublieb’s latest cinematic triumph, did exactly that. This film isn’t just a documentary — it’s a deeply human exploration of the raw, unfiltered realities behind the intoxicating, adrenaline-fueled world of Monster Energy Supercross.
From the opening moments, Pay Dirt pulls you in with an unflinching honesty that mirrors the sport itself — there’s nowhere to hide. The film feels like a confessional, where legends and unsung heroes alike share their triumphs, fears, and failures with remarkable vulnerability. These are people I’ve known — some as friends, some as villains, others as acquaintances, a few even as clients — but the depth of their stories, revealed through Taublieb’s lens, took me by surprise.
Supercross racers are my heroes because their raw talent is so openly apparent, and the risks they embrace are so extreme. It’s impossible not to admire their superhuman courage, gritty determination and absolute commitment to achieve greatness — which is also a perfect way describe those involved in making Pay Dirt. They clearly understand that racing isn’t just an entertainment-driven sport. Above all, it is an inspiration-driven culture powered by impossible dreams and boundless ambition to just go for it.
The segment featuring Ricky and Stephanie Johnson struck a personal chord. I knew them well in the 1990s and seeing their full-spectrum story told with such honesty, tenderness and respect brought a tear to my eye. Ricky’s fierce competitive spirit paired with Stephanie’s strong and loving guidance paints a picture of a partnership that transcends racing. This, along with every moving chapter of this amazing film, represents storytelling at its finest.
Equally powerful — and far more unsettling — was the opening scene appearance of Supercross founder, Mike Goodwin while incarcerated in a California prison. His presence on screen evoked a visceral reaction in me, taking me back to moments of fear and unease from decades ago. I was around Mike Goodwin in 1974 when he was a Formula Ford customer of the racing business I worked for, Pacific Formula, which also published FORMULA magazine — a publication I was deeply involved with at the beginning of my career.
Those early encounters left an indelible mark on me, and seeing his aged face and hearing his unmistakable voice again in Pay Dirt brought those primal reactions flooding back. Goodwin, of course, was later convicted of the brutal murders of Mickey Thompson and his wife, Trudy — a tragedy that shook the motorsports community to its core. Adding another layer of personal connection, Mickey’s son, Danny Thompson, has been a longtime friend of mine.