Time is standing still, I can’t tell how long I’ve been racing or how much longer I have to go. I barely notice the line of spectators packed to the gills along the course’s edge or how narrowly I missed the last hay bale on the inside of the previous turn. It’s funny what gets pushed out of consciousness when your focus is peaked. It feels like everything is speeding up and the volume is slowly coming back as I realize I’m about to come out of the woods and barrel onto a straight across a corn field. I grab third, as I air it out coming off a small rise, and twist the throttle to the stop letting my KTM 530 flex. I start to chase down the two stroke that I’ve been keying off of for the last lap and a half. I know I can’t beat him in the woods, my shoulder won’t hold out at that speed but I can exploit the massive amount of power the 530 makes and take him in the straights. I’m within an arm’s reach of his rear fender; we both go into the turn. He goes to the inside; I swing wide ignoring the roost blasting my side from hip to neck. His bike is screaming as I grab 5th and put the hammer down, the 530 obliges and growls to life as I shoot past him. I brake at the last minute but only down to forth. I know I can put some distance between him if this is the turn I’m thinking of. If not I’ll get to pass him again. It is and I bounce over the braking bumps and float through the first section of whoops while standing on the pegs fully committed and concentrated on charging. I’m more comfortable attacking the trail than I am walking to my car, everything comes without thinking and my body reacts to each input from the trail by its self. This is living.