To the Motocross Moms, on Mother’s Day

To the Motocross Moms, on Mother’s Day

To the ones who are at the track instead of at brunch—

who spent the week doing mid-load laundry because someone forgot their race jersey was still in the truck,

who cleaned goggles with spit and Windex and wiped down helmets with the same towel they used on their own face,

who loaded the groceries, packed the camping bins, and let air filters dry across the kitchen counter because “the sink seemed like a good place to clean them”—

this one’s for you.

To the moms who hoist muddy bikes back onto stands with a baby strapped to their back,

who push strollers across gravel pits and change diapers beside tire changers,

who memorize race schedules and gate drops better than their own appointments—

we see you.

To the ones in the bleachers, hands clasped so tightly you leave crescent moons in your palms,

who watch their kids—or their husbands—drop into first corners with wide eyes and held breath,

who’ve learned how to balance fierce pride with unspoken fear,

you’re not alone.

To the moms of the full-grown racers, the ones who show up just to cheer,

who still pack snacks, still bring sunscreen, still make those matching team shirts—

thank you for being the constant.

To the ones at home working overtime while their families race without them,

know that your love is still felt at the gate.

They see you. They feel you. They race for you, too.

And to the new moto moms, the ones standing in the grass watching a PW50 wobble around the track for the first time—

welcome. You’re in for a wild, dusty, unforgettable ride.

Most of us won’t get breakfast in bed today.

We probably won’t get a spa day or flowers, and we definitely won’t get clean.

But even when this day doesn’t feel like it belongs to us,

there’s nowhere we’d rather be than right here, boots on, sleeves rolled, and heart wide open,

with the people who made us mothers.

We celebrate you. All of you.

And we leave you with this.

The MotoMom's Mother Day Prayer

In the pits, he suits up with care

Motorcycles growl in the thick summer air

Goggles, helmet, braces, pants

Layered in armor to join the dance

The gladiators of motocross take their place

Adrenaline masked by a calm, steely face

"Don’t forget, Mom," he calls with cheer

"Show no weakness. Show no fear."

The A class returns, coated in grime

One is missing, I check the time

My hands find his jersey, my voice holds tight

"Ride fast but be safe out there, alright?"

Another rider nods as he walks by

The whoops are rough. Stay low. Stay high.

Stay on the gas, don’t lose your line

God, oh God, why are we here this time?

Where’s the fun, where’s the game

Why does it feel like we tempt fate by name

They call his class, I want to run

But this is his joy, this is his sun

There’s so much more I want to say

At the gate, at the start, on this race day

But I say what he needs, not what I fear

And I promise again, even Mom shows no fear

A quiet breath, a mother’s prayer

A whispered hope hanging in dust-thick air

You don’t have to win, you don’t have to fly

But if you do, I’ll be nearby

And then—

"Lady, hey Lady, is that your son!?

Hell yeah, Lady, your boy just won!"

On rubber legs I make my way

To the finish line of his big race day

He’s mud-splattered, proud, a little cocky

"Did you see that triple, that pass in the corner, that was rocky!?"

I laugh, I cry, I hold him fast

"I did what you said, Mom—I kicked some ass!"

See you Sunday,

MotoMom Court

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