You Will Always Remember Your First Time!
I wasn't real clear of what actually had just occurred, but I did know that I was in terrible pain. I laid beside the supercross track for at least 20 minutes answering the questions of very eager Emergency Medical personnel.
“Leave me alone! I will be all right.” I said to the medical guy that was tugging at my chest protector.
If there is one thing that I can not stand is twenty medical people trying to take all of your clothes off for a little cut or scrape. As I was put on a backboard and taken to the ambulance I couldn't help wondering what had went wrong. All I remember seeing was my body tumbling with my bike to an abrupt halt.
I laid in the ambulance for what seemed like days. All I could hear were engines revving at high Rpm's and the roar of the crowd when someone styled for the crowd. It was very disheartening to know that I was in the back of an
Ambulance at my first professional supercross. The only thing I could do was play the past events over and over in my head.
I couldn't believe it as I looked at a shiny gold and silver card. This card signified all of the rights and privileges of a professional supercrosser.
Now I would have the right to race with the worlds best.
“Dad look it finally came!” I shouted.
My dad looked at me with silly grin and said “Well you knew it was coming, you won your 25th race last month.”
As I stood there with a smile bigger than the sun on my face I said “I know but I am still excited about it. Just think I will be racing side by side with Damon Bradshaw and Kevin Windham.”
He just smiled and patted me on the back as I turned and walked to my room. I sat dreaming of the race I will enter next month. I had no idea what was in store for me at this spectacular event.
As D-day drew nearer my mind overflowed with anticipation. I gathered my riding gear and my lucky Bart Simpson doll and headed out the door. I won my first race the day I sat my Bart Simpson on my handlebars between races. I have done it ever since to bring me good luck. The ride to Charlotte Motor Speedway was what I thought a trip that would never end. As we entered the pit area I was given a special pass to wear around my neck.
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
at me with those piercing eyes and huge grin. He said, "Oh, I'm just trying to
I thought about what I would say for a long time and than I remembered what my grandparents taught me about life.
...elf making the perfect run. I put the small loop of my piggin' string over the front leg of the calf and gathered the back legs and stacked them as perfectly as possible. I heard many of the other rodeo contestants yelling "be smooth, be smooth." I didn't hesitate to slow my tie down. I started the perfect run so I decided to finish the perfect run. I made my hands tie as fast as they could. It was over in a flash as my hands shot up in the air to signal that my run was over.
The show opening was not your normal “seating lights off, stage lights on, start the show”...
This is what I had been hoping for the entire year. I had been to many that were quite the same to this one, but none that could give me the same enduring edginess and serenity that I was feeling right now. My eyes skimmed across the hundreds of people who were all there for the same reason as me. Striving to be out of the sweltering sun, but not out of clear view of what I came for, I lead myself in a mighty search for the spot for which I belonged. As I sat down, I prepared myself for the pain that I was going to feel about an hour later. I always forgot how sore I would get from sitting on the bleachers for so long, but every time I approached them, I would remember and smile.
I saw him making his way over to me and I felt my heart begin to race.
rhythmic pounding surges the ears and the airwaves of the arena. It comes from the athlete's
As the whir of wheels approaches, I lean out from the crowd in order to get a head-on view of the mass of tires, powerful legs, and colorful helmets bowed over handlebars.
Once I let my thoughts return to the music, I knew what lie ahead of me. I tapped the nearest "big guy" on the shoulder and pointed towards the ceiling; the universal signal on the concert floor. He nodded, grabbed my foot, and pushed me on top of the crowd. Once I was up there was no turning back. Soon strong hands were surfing me towards the stage. I had the best view in the house and reveled in the moment. I was fueled by an adrenaline rush that was only heightened by the fusion of the music and the energy of the crowd.
Going into the first race we had not expected much since Susan and I had never run this type of race. There were so many crucial things that we had to remember. It wasn't just to get out of the blocks and burn up the track; there was a baton involved, a certain amount of steps to take, and even a certain way to hold the baton.
and waited for my turn to race. Little did I know that my first race would end up in disaster, a blown engine. All of the hard work and dedication. towards my car seemed to be a futile effort because of the bad results. & nbsp;   ; After we pushed my car back to the pit area, we took apart the engine, looking for the problem. I immediately found it to be a bent cam.
After 15 minutes people were starting to get frustrated because nothing was happening. It is a good thing. Suddenly there was activity onstage and the lights dimmed. the first support band, Slam Cartel, came on. The mosh pit went wild.
My dad drove a truck with a manual transmission, and with his hand in the condition it was he was unable to shift without being in extreme pain. This is when I had to step up. Being only eleven at the time, I had obviously never driven before. I was not going to drive but I was going to have to learn fast how to shift. I scooted over to the middle of the seat and he yelled “Shift!” whenever it was time for me to shift. He was speeding like crazy because he was in so much pain, and we were both scared that if we did not get there fast enough that he would lose his thumb. There were a few times when I missed a gear or grinded the gears, but we made it to the hospital. There, watching the medical team help my dad would amaze and inspire me.
I previously had. It might seem funny to some that I held that one day with