Nebraska Motocross Narrative

It was April 14th, 2013. The first race of the Nebraska motocross series. I love the pure adrenaline rush and the competitiveness of racing motocross. I had been riding every chance that I could. My new bike felt amazing in-between my legs. Being way faster than I was on my old bike, I felt like I was going to have a great season. To my friends and I dirt bikes gave us the happiness and freedom that we desired. I was the lucky one that found out that they can also give you sadness and suppression. My dad was trying to convince my buddy Perry and I to do the hill climb in Logan, Iowa that was the same day as the race. We both kept telling him no because I didn’t want to roll my new bike down a huge hill and we both loved racing. We washed

and went to bed before he got back.

I woke up at six to shower and eat breakfast. We were out the door and 6:30 and off to Ashland, Nebraska. We had the hammer down only stopping in Ashland to grab three Red Bulls apiece. We chugged our energy drinks while driving a couple miles out of town to the raceway hoping to get awaken by the rush of the sugar. We parked our truck by our buddy Jacob after getting signed in and paying our entry fees. We made fun of Jacob for awhile for being such a die hard and having to be one of the first ones at the track. Setting up our canopy and unloading our bikes took about 5 minutes because we wanted to hurry up and walk the track. The track was a freaking mud pit. They had overwatered it. I was hoping that it would stay a little muddier after practice until the moto’s because I could out ride three-fourths of the guys in my class in the mud. After the track walk we all walked back to our trucks and got our gear on. The C riders were first to practice. The first kid to start up his bike just revved the piss out of it not letting it warm up like it should. We started shaking our heads because our dads taught us to respect your things and not mistreat them. Leaving our little camp

I was feeling really good in this mud. My new bike was cornering perfect and hooked up so well. I was flying by guys! Half of the guys in the practice raced open class and were on 450s. I raced the lites class on a 250. You could tell if you passed a 450 just by the deep thumping sound that they made. After passing 15 to 20 guys I got really squirrely in the whoops. Almost losing it and going down, a couple guys closed up the gap I had between us. I proceeded riding not letting up a bit. Coming around the first corner on my last lap, I passed a rider on a 450. On the exit of the corner my front tire cross rutted and I slid out. In my mind I had to get up very quickly. I jumped up, grabbed my handle bars. I had my bike up and was about to hop on. All of the sudden I am on the ground and there is the guy I just passed going over the bars after hitting me. I tried to get up but I couldn’t. Trying and trying my legs were not cooperating. Bikes were flying around me. I finally crawled off the track not getting any yellow flags from the track officials. Finally, one of the track guys came over to me. I was very angry at the time. He asked me, “Are you okay?” I responded in a shout, “Do I look okay? I just crawled off the track with 20