Adapted from “Motomom Score Card,” by Robin Crutcher, 1997
There is an unidentifiable neural trigger that reacts to the olfactory receipts when getting a good whiff of Klotz mixed with race fuel and exhausted through a Bill’s pipe attached to a modified RM 85. The trigger in my brain makes contact and I immediately morph from mild mannered suburban housewife to MOTOMOM.
It is a secret that I have kept hidden for years, but now it is out in the open. Sure, you’ve seen me in my guise as a cookie baking, card carrying member of the PTA. But don’t let the Chevy crossover SUV (it gets 22mph for Cripe’s Sake!) or the Kathy Van Zealand quilted tote bag fool you. That look makes it possible for me to sit down with 4th grade teachers and convince them that MotoKid needs to cut school nearly weekly to ride or race.
I can honestly san that motocross racing does give quite the education. Take Geography for example. MotoKid can navigate MotoDad pulling the race hauler using the screen of a cracked iPhone 6 while simultaneously never closing out of FortNite. Better yet, he can cross reference from Google Maps to Wayze to Siri and tell you exactly where the Flying J on the RIGHT HAND side of the road will be.
Science. MotoKid pioneered the study of different soil types at various motocross tracks around the country by performing his patented swap in the first turn and eating dirt. He takes a real close up and personal approach to science. He was instrumental in educating me on instant racetrack identification by bringing home numerous soil samples encrusted on boots, socks and gear. Side note to self: Stop ordering white gear.
Mathematics is a key concept that will pull any teacher’s chain. Just show me the 65 rider who hasn’t crossed the finish line of his first moto without already calculating exactly what place he needs to finish in for the trophy contention in the second moto.
The study of English is very important. That is why MotoKid travels to as many nationals as he possibly can. He will then be found exchanging verbal pleasantries in any one of the several American dialects he has learned. I promise that whatever curse words he says however were learned from his father. I would never, ever use such vulgar language.
Reading is a specialized subfield of English. Is one subject at which MotoKid excels. No moto IG page remains unscanned in MotoKid’s quest for the funniest racing memes.
Psychology is not a required subject at the elementary school level. Yet, it is one in which he has shown great aptitude. MotoKid has trained MotoDad as efficiently as Pavlov ever trained dogs. See a Buc-ee’s, stop at a Buc-ee’s.
So, wearing my disguise, I have convinced the teachers to keep MotoKid supplied with lessons and I can now trade in my long sleeved Gap blouse for the sleeve tattooed on my arm various race-dad artists (what is it about MotoDad’s being solid tattoo artists? Really though!). I’m now ready to run around acres of motocross track and shoot three SD cards full per moto and record MotoKid’s two seconds of big air (“MOM! Did you see how high I jumped!?”).
Secretly training in an undisclosed location specializing in the production of race ready MotoMoms, I have graduated with honors. I can now out stare any parts counter guy. Using my mom-vision, I can discover the very throttle cable, piston or clutch lever MotoDad desperately needs, hidden in the jumble of boxes behind said parts counter that has either been sworn out-of-stock or on backorder. After years of strenuous training, I can enter any grocery store on a Sunday morning, use the potato chip display as my own berm, and force a Karen doing her browsing of ripe watermelons to the outside as I hammer down the aisles for Gatorade and Cliff bars. I will then block any attempted pass by a rabid dance mom and emerge with the last packages of fresh strawberries, buns and mystery meat. Later in the day I will incinerate the pseudo meat over a bed of high-octane boosted charcoal briquettes and call it Valvoline Cuisine.
With my ingrained abilities and the required continuing education at the Motocross Mom Masters Degree Complete Academy, which is conducted annually by ex-racers with steel plates where their skulls should be and more pins in their femurs than Paige Craig’s Pinterest account, I have been able to devise a simple test to determine if you are also a latent MotoMom or candidate for MotoMom-dom. Just answer yes or no and score yourself at the end.