Found this on my hard drive. Wrote it a few years ago, have no idea why. Enjoy, or don't
Made me think of our late storyteller when I read it
Butterflies filled his stomach as he sat on the line waiting for his race to start. In truth, Evan wasn’t racing anything he was merely preparing to spin some laps on a small practice motocross track. Even though he was only going to practice, the butterflies that he felt made Evan love what he was doing. As he kicked over his five year old Suzuki, Evan cracked open the throttle and the coffee can muffler screamed and blew some bluish tinted exhaust smoke. As the flagger signaled, each rider took his turn opening the throttle, dropping the clutch, and speeding down the 60 yard start straight. When the flagger reached Evan, he opened the throttle, dropped the clutch, and flipped his bike ten feet out of the gate. Evan could not believe what had just happened. Without waiting, the flagger moved on to the next rider until all the riders were out on the track. By the time Evan got his bike up and started the rest of the field was out of sight. Embarrassed and discouraged, he slowly took off down the start straight. It’s a good thing this is only a practice. What the heck was I thinking? I can’t believe I looped-out like that. I’ve done this so many times, what happened this time? Unfortunately, Evan’s mind had wandered thinking about what happened back at the start that his front tire lost grip in a corner and his bike washed out. While picking up his bike he felt the ground rumble and heard the loud roar of another rider coming up behind him. He turned to look and took a face full of roost as the other rider exited the corner. Now not only had he looped-out, he had been lapped. Evan’s embarrassment turned to determination as he knew his only way to salvage any pride was to catch back up to that guy and reclaim his spot on the lead lap. He knew that this would be an uphill battle not only because he would be pushing himself so hard that there was a good chance of failure, but also because the other rider was turning laps on his high-revving, brand-new four-stroke motocross machine and Evan was riding his outdated, five year-old, two-stroke. He remounted and restarted his bike. His rear wheel spun as he tried his best to speed away from the corner. He approached a right-hander, downshifted, and pinned the throttle as his Bridgestone knobbies hugged the berm. Like a mad man, Evan stood on the pegs and soaked up the rough straights with his knees and kept his speed up through the turns. With three clean laps under his belt Evan knew he was gaining on the leading rider. With only about ten minutes, or approximately five laps, remaining in this practice session he would have to really keep the throttle open if there was any chance to regain his pride. While Evan floated over the track’s long tabletops, he could see the rider he was trying to catch and judged that he was probably three seconds behind. Upon landing, roost flew from the ground and the bike screamed as Evan shot off down the track toward the next turn. With only two laps left, Evan had gained back precious time and now could smell the exhaust fumes and taste the roost shooting from beneath the rubber tire of the rider he was chasing. Each time he landed he twisted the throttle a much as he could in an attempt to further catch his fellow rider. By the time that last corner came around Evan had come as close as he would ever be but just could not pull off the inner victory. When he pulled off the track and rode over to his father he was beat. His body was covered with dirt, he had welts from the dirt clods thrown from the rider he had been chasing, and his body was sore from the two crashes he had during the short 20-minute practice. Evan was disgusted, and angry with himself that he had just made a complete fool of himself during the last 20 minutes of his life.
