Our family business, named “The Track” has three racetracks of varying intensity and skill levels, but I have them all memorized like the back of my hand. It’s been ages since I drove out to another track to ride on something different. You can’t push yourself when you’re on a track you could ride with your eyes closed. It’s like doing pushups…exactly the same every time.
With the dishes done, I wipe down the counters and run a load of laundry, still pondering what I should tell Marcus, but I won’t know the answer to that until I talk with Keanna. It’s not until after Harper is in bed that we have some time to talk. She sits next to me on the couch, curling her legs up underneath her and tucking her head into my shoulder.
“So what are you going to do?” she asks.
I kiss the top of her head. “What do you think I should do?”
She looks up at me. “Do you want to do it?”
“Yes, but I don’t need to go.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, sure I’ll have fun if I go, because I love racing, but if you’re not happy with this in any way, I won’t go.”
She frowns. “It’s not about me. You should do what makes you happy.”
“What makes me happy is keeping my wife happy.”
She sits up, leaving a cold spot on my side where her body had been just moments before. “Babe, it’s totally up to you. If you want to go, you should go. You haven’t done anything for yourself in a really long time and you deserve to go have some fun and race, especially for charity.”
I bite my lip. “Is this a trick?”
“Jett Adams!” she says, giving me a pretty damn serious look, the type of look I don’t see from her very often. We laugh and joke with each other most of the time. We live a pretty happy, easy life and I’m grateful for it.
“Yes, my love?” I say, smiling my goofy smile.
“I’m not tricking you. We are not one of those couples who play games with each other or say things we don’t mean.” She leans forward and presses her lips to mine. “I’m serious, babe. If you want to go, you should go. I’d offer to go with you but, I don’t really want to.” She curls her lip. “It’s no fun traveling with a kid, and besides, work is busy and I love being at work. But you should go.”
She’s being so incredibly supportive but I feel terrible for acknowledging those feelings deep down inside of me, the desire to be back on a racetrack with thousands of people cheering me on. I take a deep breath and nod.
“Okay, then yes. I want to go.”
She smiles softly. “Awesome. You go and kick ass and have fun, and I’m gonna watch all my girly TV shows while you’re gone.”
I have the best wife in the world. Have I mentioned that before? I’m grinning ear to ear as I climb on this brand new, fully modded 2026 YZ 450f. This stadium is packed full of fans, and even through the roar of the two dozen dirt bikes around me and the helmet on my head, I can hear their cheers.
With thirty-plus guys on the track, it’s not like everyone in the stadium is cheering for me, but probably some of them are. It feels incredible to be out here again, surrounded by the smell of exhaust and freshly watered dirt and the clean smell of a brand new riding jersey. I’m back in Team Loco gear, but instead of the usual color, it’s all pink. I know Keanna will steal this jersey the second I get home to sleep in it because it’s her favorite shade of pink and has our last name on the back.
It’s day one of the three day event. If I don’t make the top twenty with this race, I’ll be out of the event, on a plane headed back to Texas tonight. If I do, I’ll go on to round two tomorrow, and then maybe round three the next day. I don’t want to sound like an arrogant jerk or anything, but I’m going to make it to day three. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been out of the game—racing is in my blood.
The gate drops and the first race begins. I glide out of the starting line, not quite in first place but that has never deterred me before. There are twenty laps to go. I’m still getting used to this borrowed bike. It’s been upgraded with Kashima forks with diamond-like carbide coating. The custom build on this motor must have cost at least thirty grand. It’s faster than my bike at home and before long I’m in the top three. Not bad for a dad who hasn’t raced in nearly four years.
Twenty laps blur by in what feels like seconds instead of minutes. I’m only a little rusty, but mostly my body feels locked in, one with the bike, taking each new turn and jump as the accomplished professional I used to be. Still am. Sort of…
The white flag flies over the finish line jump, signaling the final lap. I’m still in third place, having caught up to the guy in second place but then losing him again when we approached two racers who were a lap behind in a sharp turn. He took the outside berm and I took the inside and got slowed down. As the last lap closes, I soar over the jumps, dip into the turns, and pin the throttle when the finish line comes into view. The checkered flag waves, a blur in my peripheral vision. The other blur is a red Honda to my right, which slowly fades behind me as I pass him up just seconds before crossing the finish line.
Second place.
In my first real race in four years.
Not bad.
I grind to a stop in front of the Team Loco guys just off the track. Marcus claps, slapping a hand heartily on my back as I toe the ground and turn off the bike. I pull my helmet off and the roars of the crowd grow even louder. Thunderously loud. My ears kind of hurt a bit at all of this applause.
“Fantastic job,” Marcus says. The wrinkles around his eyes are deeper now, and his hair is a little thinner, a little grayer. But the pride in this face feels like it was just yesterday and I was still a member of Team Loco. He grins and it goes all the way to his eyes. “Man, I can’t believe the sport ever lost you.”
“Me too,” I say, hooking my helmet on the handlebars. One of the pit crew guys takes the bike from me and I shake out my hands, suddenly feeling a thrumming of nervous adrenaline. Was I really that nervous this whole time? It’s a rush being back here. Feels like I never left.
