MOTOMOM, THE NEXT GENERATION

Welcome to the birth of MotoMom Media. The next generation of MOTOMOM. She didn't really leave. She just found a new form.



Moto Mamas (and Dads!), hear me out.


I’m “back” in the sport. Without going in to too much detail let’s just say I sprouted in the soil of the Midwest tracks as a teen, camera in hand, from the hard packs to the Oklahoma clay and Nebraskan sand. We can call it bloodline- born from it and married into.

My mom wrote about motocross extensively. As luck would have it my kids would dabble then move to BMX, where I created a brand that those here might most associate as a cross between META inspired artwork and the glory days of Playground or The Pickle. (Journal:BMX if you’re curious).


Now I’m finding myself floating back into the sweet smells of VP, the pings of two strokes reving out in my garage in the evening, and oil filters lining my kitchen counter.

I’ve looked. Googled. Scrolled. I felt a brief flash of excitement with the return of Vurb. But yet, nothing.


Where’s the moms? Where’s the point of views and stories told from the people cleaning the goggles, making the sandwiches and laying their heads on the pillows each night praying GOD KEEP MY BABY SAFE! LET HIM GO FAST AND FLY HIGH AND LIVE OUT HIS DREAMS BUT PLEASE GOD, PLEASE, KEEP MY BABY SAFE!?


I don’t want to read about tech. I don’t want to read about which factory rider went to which team after which negotiation fell through.


I want to read about little Johnny at the Super Regional running in fourth place for the first time to ever get a ticket to the big show, only to have his top end blow with a lap to go. I want to read about how his dad jumped the fence. How Daddy ran to him and pushed his bike off and instead of throwing his hands in the air and stringing curse words into the sky like some type of foreign melody he put his arms around Little Johnny, and held him. I want to read about how he said he was so proud.


I want to read about Mama Jane. How she started cleaning houses in her “spare time,” often taking the baby with her. Mama Jane is scrubbing her neighbors' toilets at $60 a pop to make sure she can keep Little Sally’s 2009 RM85 running. How Mama is getting up early to earn the dollars that pay the racing bills and Daddy can put food on the table.


I want to read about the successes. I want to read more about how Julie Forkner never knew that Austin could exist and the Seven Hells she went through to have him. I want to learn about what she thinks every time he lines up on that gate of 40.


I want to learn more about Kari Canard. I want to know how in the WORLD and the grace of God she raised those babies on her own. I want to know what she did and what empowered her to make those kids the adults that would make Roy so proud today.


I want to know YOUR stories. Those of you that silently stand by. That cross your fingers for whole motos at a time. I want to learn about you. I want to support you.