Motocross: A Short Story

It wasn’t until one fateful summer day that my view of the world changed forever. From the moment my dad told me we were going to a dirt bike race, I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy myself. It still seems so vivid, when I went to that race. Motocross is what they call it. The first time I went to a race was in the summer of 2015, and I was only 8. The first couple weeks into summer had been long and middling, but it had been a while since my friends asked me to hangout, so it felt even longer. I was down in the dumps, so I decided to go outside. Except when I went outside, the only thing I could see was my dad packing the truck. His bike, I could clearly see in the back of his truck. By now I was walking up to my dad, who was standing in our driveway.

I had no idea how far Massachusetts was, and I didn’t want to know. I grimaced to show my discomfort with this, but my dad just said I looked like the grinch and cheered me up. So, on I went on a journey with my family, in a truck, for 5 hours. The drive was excruciating. It’s not like I had something to entertain myself, I didn’t have a phone, and I hadn’t brought my toys, so I felt stuck. And my parents didn’t treat me any better, they acted like I wasn’t there and just enjoyed the drive. When I finally arrived, I felt so low. The worst I’ve ever felt in all my 8 years of life. I was basically drowning in my own sweat. It was humid and barren, like a desert, and it was so windy, the dust was always in my clothes and