Danger.

Get out.

Get the hell out.

Now.

While you can. While your heart beats and your head is clear. Fill your lungs with the air around you and go. This is dangerous.

Isn’t it?

There’s no denying the severity of this game we play. I know no one that can escape this ride completely unscathed.

Is the risk worth the reward?

Depends on who you ask.

While these first few lines sound like some sonnet of unrequited romances or the start of a made for Netflix thriller, I’m talking motocross, baby.

You ask any pee wee kid, C class super hero, Loretta’s Champ or +25 vet pro racer to trailer it up and walk away because of the risk and you’ll get mostly the same answer “Never.”

You don’t have to be twisting the throttle to be pulled into the dream. Motocross, ladies and gentleman isn’t for the weak at heart or the fragile families. Dirt bike life, it’s ups, downs and everything in between is a bit of a metaphor for some of life’s biggest questions.

Send it? Yep. Back down? Nope. Close your eyes and hope for the best? Sometimes that’s the answer in and of itself.

Any first timer at a larger local event can feel the collective energy. The vibes, wavelengths immaculate. There’s a hum in the air with the excitement and frenzy of the event. The sweet smells of race fuel and the previous night’s smouldering campfire can stir even the calmest of emotions.

But while the senses become energized there is still fact: This can irreparably damage you. This sport can kill you. Currently one of our local A class racers, someone I watched as young rider pick through the ranks is fighting to over come a devastating injury from Saturday morning. Our thoughts, prayers love and light go to you, Alex.

Hours after and 815 miles away my little brother would slam hard enough for a trackside nap. He’s one of the lucky ones.

Here’s the thing. I can tell you horror every story I know, of those whom have been maimed and marred. I can tell you every racer who’s name I’ve held in a printed memorial pamphlet.

Because.

Because after these stories of hurt and heartache are read, our energies still crave this; this adrenaline, this rush. These racers, these families - they acknowledge the risks and sail full speed into the unknown. Their calm and comfort is found in the fun.

The chase of the reward becomes the addiction. It’s less the actual attainment of some goal unsaid, it’s the way the tracks turn and twist and take you to some great destination of higher self and achievement. The feel of the drop of the earth beneath the wheels and the moment of return. It’s like a great roller coaster you get to drive.

It’s not just the riders that feel these moments, the families standing, fingers intwined in the chain links, murmuring affirmations of success for their racer, feeling each rut, bump and jump inside their pounding chests as if they were piloting their own bike.

So let me change my tune a bit. I know you won’t get gone from whatever this sport means to you. Instead of heeding my advice and running away, run towards what you want to achieve. Follow what your gut tells you. Chase what your mind wants to learn. Sometimes acknowledging the possible danger makes seeing the flying checkered flags just a bit more magical.

See You Sunday,

MotoMom