Motocross Brother (Home Run Edition)

Chapter 1: No Escape

Big Joe bet me twenty dollars that I wouldn't ride my bicycle down Miner's Cliff. I got the price up to a hundred before I did it. I would have made it--but a rock popped my tire about halfway down. I bounced off my seat ten feet into the air. The guys watching from the top of the hill were sure I was a goner.

The rocky ground below wrecked my bike. My head didn't fare much better. I ended up with ten stitches and a permanent funny-looking bald spot. I also ended up spending two hundred dollars to fix my bike. If I had to do it all over again, I'd still take the bet. I'd just be sure to dodge the pointy rocks.

Months later, I got the chance to try again. It was a hot day in the middle of June. This day was special because it was the last day of school. Eighth grade was finally over. I couldn't have been more excited. I was thirteen years old and looking forward to a summer of lazy days.

I sat on my bike, looking across my front yard at my mother's dented Toyota. A wooden ramp rested against the front bumper. I was sure I could make it over the car. I had definitely jumped my bike farther and higher than this before. I knew that there wasn't much distance to pick up speed. But the downhill slope leading to the driveway would help me get major air. There was no sign of Mom, which was definitely a good thing. I had just finished being grounded for my last stunt. I walked my bike up to the take-off point. "You can do it, Jason! Show these suckers how you fly," yelled Big Joe, my best friend.

I never did stunts without an audience. A group of neighborhood kids waited to see if I was going to crash. I let my arms hang down loose and shook them. Next, I took a few deep breaths, pretending I was gathering up my courage. I always gave my fans a show.

I strapped on my helmet. Then I started down across the front lawn, pedaling hard. As I approached the car, I clamped on the brakes and stopped. The crowd went crazy, yelling with disappointment.

"Jason," Joe called out, "if you can't do it, just forget about it." This got the crowd screaming louder. Big Joe was always there to pump everyone up. He knew how much I loved putting on a good show. As my sidekick and promoter, he was an important part of the experience.

I pedaled back up to the top of the hill. Then I took off. I started pedaling across the lawn. Just as I was about to hit the ramp I saw my mother. She appeared in the front window of my house. Her mouth dropped open when she saw me go airborne.

As I flew through the air, I pulled the bike up underneath me. I easily sailed over the car's roof. A second later, I landed with a thump. The crowd cheered. I circled around them, riding a wheelie and waving.

I loved doing stunts like this. They made me feel like I was somebody special. Other times in my life, I felt angry and alone. My father left when I was a baby. It had just been Mom and me ever since. My Mom is always on my case about something. When I did my stunts, though, everything felt okay. It was as if my problems didn't exist for a moment. But then, just as suddenly, they would reappear...

As I moved through the crowd, the front door of my house flew open. All my fans took off running. "Jason, get in this house right now!" My mother screamed in her loudest voice. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Are you crazy?" "No. Gotta go, Mom!" Then I turned my back to her, pedaling fast in the opposite direction. I knew it was the wrong thing to do. I knew this would mean another punishment, but I just couldn't deal with her yet.

"Jason! Get back here!"

Mom kept yelling and I kept pedaling. Big Joe and I headed toward the Jensen Dairy Farm. Sweat covered our faces as we made our way up steep hills. We lived in Woodland, California, a town about thirty minutes from Sacramento. The town was about average size for a suburb. I'd lived there for most of my life, but was born in Iowa.

About an hour later, Joe and I began to hear familiar noises. The sound was music to our ears and awoke our tired legs. We both started pedaling. Within minutes, we turned into Jensen's Dairy. This farm used to be known for the fresh milk their cows produced. Nowadays, it's better known for the awesome motocross track on the property. Races were held there weekly. I showed up every chance I could.

"They're racing today," I said to Joe.

"You think so, genius?" He spoke sarcastically.

We passed cows chewing on grass. Big Joe tried to run over a chicken. When it flew up and touched his face, Joe freaked out. He lost control and fell off his bike, landing in a pile of cow crap. It was awesome. I never laughed so hard in my life.

Five minutes later, we were among the trailers, trucks, and motorcycles at the track. The track was a giant oval with bumps, hills, jumps, and nasty turns. In this particular race, the riders were all over eighteen and the best riders around. I couldn't believe how awesome these guys were. The bikes they rode were amazing, too.

Joe and I headed toward the finish line--the best place to view the action. A chain link fence held back the spectators. In front of the finish line was a huge tabletop jump. The take-off ramp was a curved wall of dirt as high as a garage. At the top of the ramp, the dirt leveled out for about sixty feet. We stared as the riders sailed over the jump. I soon realized what a joke my jump over Mom's car was. Bike jumps are nothing compared to motocross jumps.

Once they landed, they'd head down the straightaway to the finish line. My skin tingled with excitement as I watched. I imagined myself racing at the front of the pack of riders. I imagined kicking dirt back at the competition. Someday, I thought.

When I was younger, I always tried to convince Mom to buy me a motorcycle. Her answer included three no's: no money, no time, no way. Eventually, I just stopped asking. Still, I would dream about riding around that track on a motocross bike. Something about the sport of motocross just spoke to me. I believed it was my destiny to be a pro some day. Yeah, I'd have to get on a motorcycle and practice first. I was sure it would all happen eventually--somehow.

I looked over at Big Joe. "You know, if I ever got the chance to ride--" He cut me off. "I've heard this a hundred times, Jas. You'd be the fastest guy out there." He laughed. "Riding a motorcycle and riding your bike ain't the same thing."

"I know that. You don't think I know that?"

Joe and I spent the next few hours watching the races in silence. Finally, we hopped on our bikes and headed home. The screen door squeaked as I opened the back door. It was just after seven o'clock. From the look of things, Mom had already eaten dinner. I walked over to the fridge in search of food.

I noticed an airplane ticket sitting on the table. I picked it up. It was one-way--from Sacramento to Des Moines. My heart started to beat more quickly. My father lived outside of Des Moines. Thoughts of him made my blood boil. Who's going to Iowa? I wondered.

Just then, Mom walked in the room.

"Is there any food in this house?" I asked in a nasty voice.

"I left you a plate of lasagna in the fridge. Just pop it in the microwave for a minute." Mom crossed her arms, obviously still upset with me from earlier.

"Thanks." I walked toward the fridge, then blurted out, "Why are you going to Iowa?"

"I'm not." She paused before looking into my eyes. "You are. You're going to spend the summer with your father."

"Wrong!" I said, making a buzzing sound, as if she had given the wrong answer.

"Try again, please, the bonus round is worth double." My comments were dripping with sarcasm. I popped the lasagna in the microwave. "I'm not going anywhere. Sorry you wasted your money on the ticket." I tossed it back onto the table.

"Yes, you are." The look on her face was determined.

I stared at her angrily. I wasn't going to Iowa. Joe and I had plans to expand our stunt show. Plus, I wasn't going to live with my father for three months. I tried to soften my tone and get on her good side. "I don't want to be around him, Mom. Can't you understand that? I'll pay you back for the ticket."

Mom knew how I felt about my father. She remembered the last time I'd seen him. Mom and I had traveled to Iowa five years earlier, when I was eight. The trip was awful. Iowa was awful, nothing but corn fields, hot dusty roads, and flies.

Mom tried to make me hang out with my half-brother, John. John was only two years younger than me, but he barely spoke. He wouldn't move six inches from his mother's side the entire time. What a total wimp! How can Mom expect me to spend my summer with him?

The worst part was that John wasn't half as bad as my father. I was in Iowa for three days and he barely even looked at me. He seemed more interested in drinking beer. I left his house crying and haven't seen him since. Some father. Mom used to make me talk to him on the telephone every week. I was mean to him when he called, though. Eventually, he stopped calling as much. Now he pretty much just calls on my birthday.

Mom passed the plane ticket back over to me. "Your brother is excited about you coming out. Your Dad's a different person now, Jas. You need him in your life. Whatever I'm doing for you isn't working. You're out of control. I can't do this alone anymore." I saw the tears in her eyes and it made me feel pretty bad.

Then she went on about how much my father had changed. I heard about how he quit drinking and how he wanted me in his life. As I listened, I had mixed feelings. Part of me hated the guy. I blamed everything bad in my life on him.

Another part wanted to like him--to love him like a son should. But I couldn't. I didn't care if he wanted me back in his life. In my mind, my father was a no-good drunk. I wasn't going to spend my summer with him. The microwave oven beeped, but I was no longer hungry. I asked Mom, "Why are you sending me there? Don't you love me?"

"Of course I love you. That's why I'm sending you. I'm tired of you getting into trouble. I'm tired of you being disrespectful. I'm tired of your lying. I told your father that I didn't know what to do with you anymore. He said he would take care of you for the summer. He said he owed it to you."

"He doesn't owe me a thing!" I screamed and slammed my bedroom door behind me. Mom spoke to me from the other side of the door. "What did I say about slamming doors in this house?" I didn't answer. "You're too big for me, but you're not too big for George." At that moment, Lieutenant George O'Leary stormed into my room. George is the lame cop who has been dating Mom for about five years. He's always trying to fill in as my dad. I've been working for years to keep him away from Mom.

As he stood in the doorway, I smiled. I couldn't help myself. Last week, Joe and I snuck up to his police car. We emptied two cans of shaving cream into the front seat through an open window. Then we watched from behind a parked car. When George saw it, his face was priceless. Our sides hurt from laughing so hard.

Mom stood behind George, who was massive, well over six feet tall. "I have to work tomorrow, so George will take you to the airport." Mom always had to work. "I'm sorry, Jason."

"I'll see you in the morning," George said.

George and Mom left me alone in my room. My packed duffle bag was sitting on the bed. I looked through it and pulled out four pairs of pants that didn't fit anymore. I had grown almost three inches in the last year.

After a quick shower, I toweled off in front of the mirror. I saw that the shadow below my nose was getting darker. Maybe it's time to get a razor and start shaving. The old fat around my middle had faded away during my last growth spurt. I could see muscles on my arms, shoulders, and chest.

As I looked at myself, I understood why Mom was sending me away. I was starting to look like a man, but I wasn't acting like one. This thought was quickly replaced with a different one. I'm a kid, so who cares? I'm not going to Iowa. I knew that all I had to do was miss the flight. Big Joe and I would go camping and all would be back to normal. I quickly sent Joe a text message: "meet me campgrounds 3:30."

At three o'clock in the morning I slowly opened my bedroom door. All was silent and dark. My door made one little creak. I tiptoed down the hallway to the front door. Very slowly, I turned the knob. As I stepped outside, a deep voice spoke from behind. "Going somewhere, Jason?"

I almost jumped out of my pants. George's voice scared the breath out of me. Only my toes touched the floor as I tried to run. George grabbed me and lifted me up by my belt. I wasn't going to meet Big Joe. I was going to Iowa.