November 12th, 2008
I had no idea what it was that was wet and kept dripping in my face.
“Whatever you do, don’t let go,” he told me.
The wetness was overshadowed with the exhilaration of flying over the mounds of earth. Sometimes those mounds even jumped out from underneath us.
We were catapulted across the land on his bike, and my calves were on fire. The exhaust pipe felt like a candle that sat too close to my flesh.
I didn’t let go, though. I held with as much strength as I could muster.
We were teenagers, invincible.
I wore a helmet. My heart pounded with every adrenaline surge as we lifted off the ground.
When we reached the summit, he stopped the bike, and got off. He took of his helmet and I was amazed that it was his tears that had splattered across my cheeks.
So this was riding a dirt bike.
Fascinating.
I’ve yet to do it again.