My Son's 250 KTM: The Rest of the Story

It was raining and 28 degrees outside when we left home for the motocross raceway.

"Man, this is going to be a messy race." My husband says, as we pull into the parking lot.

"Mom, do me a favor; go buy some cooking spray."

"Cooking spray?"

"It's to keep the mud from sticking to my bike"

"Oh, O.K."...

Everything is set up; the racers are primed and ready! The adrenaline is pumping through my son's veins; I can almost see it as he struggles to remain calm.

"Riders take your mark!"

It is dead silent as the racers line up, the tension is so thick, and you can cut it with a knife.

"Riders get set!"

I'm standing there shivering from the cold, unconsciously scratching my arms, thinking, let them go already!

It is time. The flag goes down! As they take off, the roar of all the engines pulse through my body.

It amazes me how 25 riders start in a single line and then in a matter of seconds, they each have to fight to squeeze into a track that is five feet wide. (It must be a guy thing.)

Forty seconds into the race and three riders are stuck in the first mud pit; "J" just misses the back tire of the rider who went down right in front of him. (My heart begins to beat a little faster and the temperature seems to go from 28 to 80 in a matter of seconds.)

"Go J," we yell, as he zooms by us, wait; is that J? Apparently, all of the boys decided to give themselves and their bikes a mud bath. They were indistinguishable some bikes even had branches sticking out of the motors.

What is going on in those wooded areas? So much for the cooking spray-oh well, it's not a complete waste, I can use it at home. I suppose it was a good idea...

An hour later, many of the racers had to drop out because their bikes were over-heating, and some just plain quit. We decided to run to the far end of the track to see if we could catch a glimpse of him coming out of the woods-which we did...

"Oh, no", my heart sank as I saw him stuck at least two-feet in the mud. I could see by his hunched posture that he was tired and angry. I watched helplessly as he tried to no-avail to lift his bike high enough to get under it and climb back on. He did this for at least ten minutes. I was impressed that he wasn't giving up.

However, it was clear that he was running out of energy. Suddenly, as if he were an angel, another rider came to his rescue and together, lifted his bike out of the mud. In an instant, I saw him stand straight up and jump on his bike! He gave a wave of thanks, spit mud in the air with his tire and he was off!

An hour and a half and 21-miles later, he pulls into the pit. He had finished his race! Between the cold, the rain and a track turned quick-sand, this endurance race lived up to its name. Once again, we are proud that our son chose to fight and not to give up. He climbed off his bike, sat (more like fell) on the ground with a smile that made us laugh.

The only thing you could make out on his mud-laden body was his pearly white teeth!

Of the many lessons one might glean from this story, one remains most valuable to me; as I scratched my arm while preparing dinner, it occurred to me that it might have been the rash after all.