what we all share, what we all want, is to have that moment when our ordinary life becomes extraordinary. when who we are or what we do stops the world. if only for a second.for my brother, it happened on a balmy night in the summer of 1984; at a racetrack on the far outskirts of town. and i know, because i was there.
• • •
i was not a good brother. i was the fat, uncomfortable introvert that happened to be related, and that was good enough to be his full time lackey. It was a role i was happy to take, since it gave me association to coolness.
my brother was tall and fit and good looking. he knew girls. lots of girls. and he raced motorcycles.
he was a rockstar; i was the oafish roadie.
i helped load and unload equipment, grabbed tools when necessary, held things in place while he cursed and broke his knuckles, gassed up the bikes, carried his gear, and even snapped the occasional photo.
i was there all day at the outdoor track when he got ninth and i got sunstroke. i was there at the small arena in houston when he smashed headfirst into the ground, hands still on bars, and i didn't think he'd walk again, let alone drive us home.
and i was there this nite, along with a group of his highschool friends, anxious to see the lanky, funloving guy who strolled the hallways jump atop a machine that still scared me when it screamed to life.
• • •
the track was black and earthy, full of rocky texas soil with sections mixed with heavy sand. the lighting was less than optimal, and exactly what you would expect for a piece of barren land transformed and bulldozed into a motocross track. maintaining speed and control over that surface would be tricky enough, but add in the jumps - doubles and triples, along with several thick, angular washboard sections, and it seemed more an exercise in survival.
plus there were the other nineteen guys lined up elbow to elbow at the gate who wanted nothing more than beat you; to show their friends and themselves that they were the best at something. that they were not afraid. and ultimately, that you were less than you thought you were.
• • •
as a kid, i was generally nervous around new people and new things. the fact that this race was happening in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by darkness was surreal enough; and with plenty of loud, obnoxious personalities in the stands, i could barely take it.
my stomach always dropped at the beginning of a race, and this nite was no different. it was my brother out there. a piece of me riding along with him under all the armor.
some of his friends had volunteered to work the track; to waive caution flags should other riders go down. they would literally be in the middle of the action. we were all there, as closely connected as possible to someone completely alone.
and it's at those moments that i wondered what went thru his head. was he as nervous as i was, or was he calm and fluid, grace under pressure. was he tapping into some deep unreleased aggression. what were his final thoughts before the gate dropped and he could think no more.
we have shared a life together, but i have never asked, and to this day, still do not know.
• • •
the first lap of a twenty lap race is absolute chaos. the roar of twenty bikes revving on the line is like thunder, and when the gate finally drops, everyone plunges forward, throttle wide open. whoever comes out ahead at the first turn is part strategy, part luck, but mostly it's the person who is least afraid. and this nite, it was my brother.
the field is tightly packed as they caterpillar thru a track that turns back and in on itself several times, catapulting off huge berms and directly onto the next obstacle. a quarter of a lap in, he's still holding the lead with two riders rapidly gaining ground and making their way thru the pack. his name and number called out by the drawling race announcer.
i am in the stands. drymouthed. my stomach queasy, my heart fluttering. standing, along with everyone else around me. with the exception of the bikes, it is absolutely silent, everyone keying in on their personal connection. the riders are all on fast forward, while we are all on pause.
at the far end of the track, just after a tight left turn is a large broad jump that flattens across the top before eventually dropping back down to the surface. during practice and thru the other races, riders have been hitting it cautiously, landing at the midpoint, plowing across the top and dropping back down into the track before hitting a hard right berm.
and that's when it happened.
my brother is still out front, but there is a rider hot on his tail; pressuring him thru every turn. they enter the left hander nearly together, but instead of letting off as he approaches the jump, he lets it go and springs off the ramp with an amplitude that carries him up and across the horizon and over the head of his rival to the audible gasps of everyone in the stands.
my heart drops. and the world is frozen and fractured.
the pitch black backdrop. the glow of the moon. rocks and soil. the smell of fuel and hot engines. and my brother floating across the sky, still far away from his apex. as if blown by the wind to slowly drift away until completely out of sight.
there can be no good end to this. and there is not.
he flys over the entire flattop. misses landing on the transition, and practically comes to a stop when he compresses on the exiting berm. the gasps from the crowd turn into a rumble of concern as his body is rocked and his competitor takes the inside line to take the lead.
he stays on the bike though, shakes it off, and manages to ride on, dropping several positions and eventually ending up fifth. when the race is over and we meet up back at the truck, its evident why. the landing not only jarred his body, but blew one of his contacts onto the inside of his goggles and the other halfway out of his eye and stuck on his eyelid.
three years later, he'd have back surgery and retire from racing.
but that nite was a shared experience. he left the earth, and for a moment we all flew with him.
