Motocross Race Short Story

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Motocross Race It was a summer day. One where the sun was out, but it doesn’t feel like it. You could hear the soft breeze flowing through the air. My dad had gotten tickets to a motocross race. So we walk through the slushy, wet grass over to a white toll booth and hand them our tickets and we get through the gate. My dad and I walk a fair while before there was a decent seat. We found one on the side of the hill where some of the bikes would come through. Then we hear the roar of the engines. Woosh! They are off to the races. One flies past us. Then the whole group. They come back around about a minute later and they stop. “Wow! That was quick,” my dad says. “You can still smell the gas!” I say. “No, that’s beer.” my dad replies. “Eww!

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