“We’ll be there in a few,” I laughed before hanging up on him.
Looking into my side view mirror of the pick-up I was driving, pulling an enclosed trailer with our precious cargo, I could see him giving me a wide-eyed look of disbelief from the Ford Expedition he was following me in, pulling his airstream trailer loaded with all our belongings we knew we couldn’t live without for the next few months. I shook my head as we drove down the gravel roads that led back to the property I’d recently purchased. Following these roads that I’d driven so many times before, seeing the land unchanged after all these years, I let out a deep contented sigh. I rolled the window down and took a deep breath in, allowing the air to permeate my senses once again. A smell that I never noticed before now brought on a sense of peace I didn’t realize I was missing. His concern for our whereabouts was understandable. Since I was literally taking him into the middle of nowhere and all. But to me? It wasn’t the middle of nowhere at all. It was the middle of everything.
“It’s been a while, huh?” My brother, Hoyt, said from his seat riding shotgun. I could see the nostalgia on his face as we pulled to a stop on the flat piece of land.
“Yeah.” I stepped out of the truck and as soon as my feet hit the dirt, it hit me.
I was home. For the first time in seven years.
The property we were standing on had once belonged to my parents, and even though I had said I would eventually come back, I hadn’t known if it would ever be possible. When I left, my parents had sold the land I’d grown up on—the land I’d learned to ride on—to fund my racing career. It wasn’t even a career then. It was a whim and prayer that I could take my talent to the next level. Luckily, I had been able to. Which is exactly why I was back. I was going to give them back everything they’d sacrificed to support me. I was going to give them their dream home and finally erase the financial burden they’d carried with them to help me.
I stared out across the grass-covered land. One hundred acres. It was everything my parents had ever wanted. They had plans—literal blueprints prepared—to build their dream home right where I was standing.
“Where are the hills?” Brett’s skepticism about the Midwest was evident. “How in the hell did you learn to ride the way you do in a place this... flat?” He walked up next to where my brother and I were standing.
“There’s a track down there,” I informed him, pointing at the timber on the far side of the property. “Or, there to used to be.”
My brother, my dad, and I had spent many long days down there clearing trees and building a race track that rivaled some of the best tracks I’d ever rode on. Unfortunately, when I started getting attention for my racing, I really needed to be somewhere where I could practice year round. The Illinois winters were not conducive to a professional career. So my parents sold our house, this piece of land, and we moved to Texas where I trained and perfected my craft.
“Well let’s get the bikes out and go see,” Brett suggested.
I knew the eleven-hour drive in a vehicle with four wheels had killed him as much as it had killed me. We were two wheel guys. Dirt bikes, more specifically.
“Can we at least get situated before we go rip up the dirt?” Hoyt frowned at us. He was the planner, the think-things-through guy.