My Son's 250 KTM: The Rest of the Story
Posted: Wednesday, February 06, 2008
by Teresa Ortiz
Freelance writer/Speaker
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, 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.
"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."...
"Riders take your mark!"
It is dead silent as the racers line up. The tension is so thick, 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.
(C) Teresa Ortiz My Son's KTM Part one
This Article has been viewed 602 times. (Not updated in real-time.)
Top-level comments on this article: (3 total)Good story Teresa, I had fun watching as you described your boys muddy adventure. And to think...it was the rash.Hi Michael, I'm so glad you had a good time :-) I am looking forward to his summer races. Although, the trade off is he goes much faster!!! Yikes! Thanks for taking the time to read and comment. Blessings to you!
hi teresa, we're side by side on front page, ironic or NOT? i loved your story. being a mom with 2 boys, and a girl, and it was my girl riding the dirt bikes! i can relate. you are very strong to watch your child on racing wheels, as i was to let my daughter go biking! they, however, will have the wonderful memories. your son sounds like a chip off the old block. good for him. thanks for sharing a very interesting story, written very well. best regards, sueHi Sue, thank you, I appreciate your comments. Yes, I found that funny when I saw us side by side since we have just been talking. :-) As a matter of fact, my son is a lot like me. My daughter is more like her dad. She cracks me up. I have to get her permission to write stories about her :-) All the best to you too!
Lucy! Excellent! You literally "took me out of my office into your story!" ... sorry about the rash!Awe! Thanks, Judi, I just knew you needed a break :-). Glad you enjoyed it! Yeah, the rash is lingering. I'm still sitting here scratching my arms. I got stronger medicine from the docs. Its the cold air-I can't wait until Spring. L.
We want your comments! If you can read this, you don't have javascript enabled, so you can't use this comment system. Please enable javascript.