Moto Nights

By Brittany Ferguson

My family thrives on throttle adrenaline. When someone twists a dirt bike throttle, we hear and feel that motor roar, and we are ready for the action. We participate in track races, trail races, and leisurely riding anywhere our off-road toys are allowed. In the summertime my oldest son, Chase, races a Friday night motocross series at Pacific Raceways in Berrydale, Washington. We find refuge being at the track, smelling the race gas, laughing with friends we consider moto family, and feeling the rumble of the bikes. Recently, our family was taught a valuable lesson about the dangers of motocross, and we now take serious precautions to protect ourselves as well as possible.

This midsummer night began like any typical Friday race. We headed to the track just before dinner to enjoy some BBQ, practice laps, and let my toddlers run wild before the main events started. My husband and I usually try to juggle the two toddlers equally, but this night they were full of energy, and always required both of our attention. Chase has a team coach who helps keep him focused and makes sure his bike is in safe working order. He is also fortunate enough to have two families who all get along, so he had all three parents, his coach, as well as his siblings there to support and cheer him on. I remember being anxious, feeling a sense of something off. Nevertheless, we were all ready for the races to begin.

Each night, the series consists of two motos, or rounds, per class you sign up for. Chase signed up for two classes, with intentions of racing a total of four motos. When he got to the track he put on his dirt pants, jersey, and racing boots. Just before the first moto started, he threw on his gloves, helmet and goggles. We exchanged hugs, wished him luck, and he rode away to find his place at the starting line. 

After signing up, the competitors are randomly assigned a gate pick for the first moto in each class, which is the order in which they choose their starting position. Chase’s pick was fourteen for both motos. He didn’t get his favorite gate starts in either race, but he still finished well enough to qualify for a better gate pick for the second motos. Whatever place he takes in his first moto becomes his gate pick for the second round. After the first round of motos, which was somewhere between twelve to sixteen different classes, there was about a fifteen-minute intermission.   

During the intermission, we made sure Chase was hydrated, tried to hype him up, and checked over his bike and gear for safety issues. He was giving off extremely negative vibes. The short amount of time really was consumed by trying to encourage him and pull him out of his slump. Before we knew it, bikes were revving around us, and it was time to head back to trackside again. My toddlers were melting down, running away from my husband and me, and distracting us from the action. We knew it was Chase’s moto, and we could hear the rumble of the bikes pushing against the gate to take off.  

I was able to look up from my little ones just in time to see Chase leave the gate and secure the holeshot. My boy accomplished the best start, ahead of the pack of at least twenty racers, and I was finally able to let my guard down a tiny bit. I inhaled a breath of fresh air and wrestled around with my younger kids. It takes about a minute to make a full lap, so I knew I had a moment to exert some of their energy before we could watch big brother zoom by. When I heard the revs nearing our side of the track, my husband and I wrangled the kids into our arms, excited to cheer Chase into his next lap.

Racers started flying by us, and my world seemed to freeze. I could hear all the noise, but everything around me seemed to blur together. None of these racers were my son, and he is usually in the top five.  My eyes were skimming all over the track, and then back to my husband. After seeing the panic and confusion in my eyes, he noticed a yellow flag waving on the other side of the track signaling a rider down. I handed my daughter to him, and I ran faster than I’ll ever go. 

Once I made it through the main viewing corral, I came to a chain-link fence. I gazed down the hillside, and in the same instance I saw my son’s father shaking his almost lifeless body. I had jumped the fence and tumbled down the hill next to him. Chase’s eyes were full of tears, rolling in and out of the back of his head, he had immense pain on the right side of his torso, and total confusion. Just as the medic was about to make the call to take him away on a stretcher, he had a burst of motivation. He was able to slowly sit himself up, at which point we were comfortable removing his helmet. Within a couple minutes, he stood up on his own and walked off that track to an entire crowd’s applause. 

Once we got him back to camp his confusion, bloodshot eyes, and pain worsened. His dad and I agreed that taking him to get checked out was the best thing at that point. We took him to Good Samaritan Emergency. After x-rays and an MRI, it was concluded that he had contusions, a sprained clavicle, and a severe concussion. I had the guilt that I hadn’t protected him enough. My son was out there participating in a dangerous sport, without protecting some of the most vulnerable parts of him.

This Friday moto night taught us that rider protection is the most important part of this dangerous sport. Chase’s tire had hit a piece of hard plastic tubing, throwing the rear of his bike over the front. He flew headfirst over the handlebars and landed simultaneously on his head and shoulder, coming to a stop on his back. We protected his head, but he could have snapped his neck. The doctor asked him that night why he wasn’t wearing a neck brace. Chase responded, “Because they break your collarbone,” and we knew at that moment he was lucky to be alive. I now vow to always put the safety of my rider above the fun and comfort.