We were complete opposites. We may have looked alike—same brown hair, similar build, close in height—and we both loved to ride, but that was where the similarities ended. I was the die-hard and he was the recreational rider. At one point, I really thought Hoyt was going to make a serious run at racing, but he could never fully commit himself. He was just as talented as I was but he was over-thinking things when he should have just gone with his gut.
It worked out in the end though. I hadn’t suggested it yet, but Hoyt would make a fantastic riding coach. He saw things that others didn’t and I often looked to him for advice when I was on the track. In the meantime, he’d taken on the role as my manager and made sure I was always where I was supposed to be. He kept me in line and made sure I was taking time away from the track to do other things besides race. I would have ridden from sunup to sundown if he would let me.
“Fellas, hold up a sec. For real,” Hoyt broke in as Brett and I started unstrapping the bikes from inside the trailer I was pulling. I let down the gate of the trailer, continuing my mission while Hoyt continued his speech. “I need to call the realty office and get someone to bring the papers out. We don’t even officially own the land yet.”
“Relax, Hoyt,” I teased, giving him a pat on the back and stretched my arms out to signify the complete lack of anybody. “You see anyone around?”
“Seriously?” Hoyt always did have a hard time handling my sarcasm.
I was already rolling my bike out of the back of the trailer we’d hauled all the way from the Lone Star State and Brett already had his running, headed out across the grass. Dipshit didn’t even know where he was going. He’d always been a little squirrelly. He was a mix of fearlessness and stupidity. The perfect combination for a freestyle motocross rider and a best friend. We’d met on the amateur circuit when I was seventeen and hit it off. When I moved from Illinois and we both started racing professionally, we became inseparable. Unlike some of the other guys, I genuinely like Brett. It didn’t hurt that we competed in different categories. He liked to jump his bike, while I preferred to have my wheels ‘ripping the dirt’ as my brother so eloquently put it. I was a racer. And a damn good one. That’s not me being cocky. That’s a fact. I’d just finished my fourth professional season on the top of the leader board.
“Fine,” my brother huffed. “But I’m going to go ahead and call about the title.”
“So call. We’ll be back soon. I just want to check out the track. Or what’s left of it,” I said with a wink as I pulled my helmet on. The roar of Eileen’s motor had my blood pumping in the way only she could. Yes, I named my bike. I name all my bikes. But, Eileen, she was special. She was my first fully custom-built bike.
Hoyt waved me off and pulled his cell from his pocket to call the realty office. I was halfway down the trail when a moment of nostalgia hit. Memories of being with her. What had seemed like a lifetime ago, was now all I could see. All I could feel.
Her long legs squeezing my body from behind. Her arms wrapped around my chest as we zipped through the field. The sound of her excited laugh echoing in my ear as we rode like we were wild and free.
I’d had to make some choices back then and the sudden recurrence of memories I tried to forget had my heart pumping as fast as the gas through my bike. Choices that I was fine with. I had to be. Asking my parents to support my dream of becoming a professional rider. Choosing to race over going to college. Ending things with her.