When Covid canceled all the races in the world, one rare breed persevered: motocross. So when our son Nelson, 16, wanted to take on bigger races in Michigan, we had nowhere else to be. It was good timing. And I was thrilled that we would get to take our camper for our first ever weekend motocross event. I love camping! I love being outside! I forgot the part about his races terrifying me.
The field
We arrived at the motocross track late on a Friday night, a couple of hours away from home. We used flashlights to set up camp in the field, having found an open area in the dark. We had plenty of space when we went to bed.
In the morning, it was a different story.
“Nelson, wake up!” I said. “We’re surrounded!”
There was a tent under our front hitch area, a truck double parking Tim’s and a trailer just barely missing the canopy we’d set up off the front of our rig.
“Mom, it’s OK; this is how they do it,” Nelson assured me.
As I looked out my window, I saw he was right. There were campers set up everywhere, puzzle pieces just so, everyone having their own space, but nothing extra.
“It still seems a little… tight,” I said.
But Nelson wasn’t listening. He’d already busted out the door to go see whom he knew and admire quads parked inches from his own. This was my first hint that this was nothing like the camping I was used to.
Newcomers
Unlike Nelson, I didn’t know a soul. He had spent the summer on shutdown, networking online with all these riders. I was the Mom in the Camper, very, very concerned about the fact that he was racing at all. Tim was comfortable, chatting with the field full of guys over engines. Kendall had brought his girlfriend, so they were happy together no matter where they went. I was a ship lost in a sea of gasoline.
At 10 a.m., Nelson got ready for his first race, donning all his protective gear: neck brace, chest guard, helmet and boots.
As usual, I told him to “be safe.” As usual, he replied, “Safety third!”
I laughed a little, and watched him zoom off to the race area. Tim followed Nelson into the staging area, the designated mechanic and wingman, while I walked, with authority, under the tunnels into the spectator area—my ponytail bouncing, my contacts itching with dust, my footing unsteady in the soft sand and rocks. Anyone looking at me would know one thing for sure: I was brand new to the scene.
The races
Nelson lined up at the start line. That’s when I got down to some serious praying. If there’s ever a time to find religion, it’s in the cloud of dust on the backside of a drop gate at a quad race.
As they revved their engines, the riders watched the red light… yellow… green! The starting gates clattered to the ground, and 14 quads roared off.
I lost sight of Nelson immediately. It was the longest five laps of my life. I searched the racers over and over for Nelson while Tim found him with ease. They all looked the same in the dust and mud. But, it didn’t matter how hard I was watching; Nelson was on his own anyway.
His first race was amazing. He placed 2nd. I had enough sense to not race over and hug him in front of his buds. We went back to the trailer and celebrated with homemade sloppy joes in the crockpot.
The crash
On Sunday, his first race of the day started. And this time when he disappeared into a section in the woods, he didn’t come out. And didn’t come out. And didn’t come out.
By the time my heart was in my throat, he came rolling out slowly on his quad, his goggles off, covered in dirt. Something had happened.
This time, we did race over to him.
He had been rear-ended by another rider and rolled in the woods. Thankfully, he had jumped free (“like a ninja”) and landed on his hands and knees. His quad rolled once, then twice, landing upside down. The flagman didn’t see him in the woods, so the other racers didn’t get the yellow flag to slow down. The other quads roared past while Nelson got himself put back together and his quad upright and running again.
He was fine but shook up. I was not so fine. It was a dark moment for Mom in The Camper.
But in a few hours, Nelson shook it off and headed back out for his second race of the day. Even with the crash, and a thousand “Are you OK?s” from his mom, Nelson was undeterred. I was scared, worried and —I didn’t see this one coming—proud when he got back on his quad.
The finale
By the end of the weekend, Nelson had netted a 3rd place overall plaque for Saturday, and aged his mother considerably. Our first full-on motocross weekend had been nothing like I expected. It was nerve-wracking, chaotic, dusty and dangerous. But there was good parts too: The riders welcoming Nelson into the sport, moms worrying over each others’ riders, asking me how Nelson was, and everyone working on everyone else’s machines—say, after a rollover.
We weren’t even packed up on Sunday night before Nelson started planning our next “camping” trip!