Dirt Biking.

It’s Saturday morning. 

“Time to get up, were leaving in less than an hour”, my dad tells me.  It is 8 a.m., and I roll out of bed.  Quickly throw my pants, jersey, and socks in my old Alpinestars duffle bag.  Grab my boots, helmet, and chest guard.  Pull a tank top and shorts on, and run outside to help my Dad and older brother Jake load the dirt bikes. 

My Dad has already backed our truck onto the driveway, and we begin pushing our bikes up the skinny metal ramp and onto the bed of the truck. 

I ride Kawasaki, while Jake prefers Honda’s. 

Once the bikes have been loaded and strapped down, we throw our duffle bags, boots, and helmets in the bed of the truck with our bikes. 

The ride to the track feels like days, but in reality it’s only a few hours.  Once we arrive at the track, the smell of exhaust overwhelms me. 

I am home. 

The rush of adrenaline, and passion put into this sport is incredible.  Growing up with a family who shares such a strong passion for riding has only strengthened mine.  My parents taught me everything, and bought me my first bike as well as helped me sell and buy new ones every year. 

For that and everything else, I owe them the World.