I was so weak, that I couldn't even lift my dirtbike up a millimeter off the floor, when I could easily lift it up to balance on the foot tall stand before my illness. My love for riding was kinda dead too. I wanted to ride, but just thinking about riding made me yawn. Yet, I was determined to get better. And when I was finally looking more like my old self again, my dad asked the best question I've ever been asked in a very long time. 

"Do you want to go for a ride?"

I knew exactly how to answer that question. I opened up my garage and slowly backed my dirtbike out. My dad lifted the dirtbike on the back hitch without my help, and together we tied it down. We stopped at the gas station, and while dad filled up, I got three Mountain Dews, some beef jerky, and some pretzels. My dad had one dew, and we shared the large bag of pretzels on our way into the mountains. I hated the traffic, but once we got through that we were moving swiftly on the winding roads. 

We decided Rollins Pass trail would be a fun ride. It was still early in the season, so there wouldn't be a lot of people on the trail, but that also meant that snow could be an issue. I was so desperate to ride, that I didn't even care about that. I might as well ride through the snow if there was any. My dirtbike could handle that. 

The trail was wet and cold. Streams of snow melt trickled off the mountain into holes and depressions on the road. There were large pockets of slush and snow in the shaded areas of the road, and the trail was full of hazardous rocks that weren't yet pounded into the ground by traffic. A cold wind was blowing off the Continental Divide, causing snow to occasionally fall off the trees onto me, and turning my legs in my soaked jeans numb. Besides a few jeeps and a few other dirtbike riders, dad and I were alone. It was almost silent except for the obnoxious sound of my engine that scared away any and all wildlife within a couple miles of us. 

Despite the discomfort, I continued on with a smile on my face. I hardly noticed the cold or the wet. I didn't even know my muscles were as strained as they were. Adrenaline and passion work wonders I guess. I rode mere inches from the side of the mountain, which is a steep drop-off to the valley below. I just focused on the music in my earbuds, wiped my goggles with my gloves often, and trusted myself and my ability to ride. 

I was on the road for almost an hour before I had to stop. Ahead of me, the trail was heavily shaded, and the snow was slushy and at least waist deep. A jeep driver was parked and contemplating whether or not to go forward. I stopped to ask him how far we had made it, and I couldn't believe it when he said we were three miles from the trail head. Then, my dad pulled up behind us, asked the jeep driver the same thing, checked the clock and shouted to me, "Don't you meet your tutor at like 5 or 6 tonight? It's almost 2:00!"

It took awhile for his question to hit, but once it did, I flung my dirtbike around and ushered him to follow. I didn't go slower than 2nd gear, but I was still forced to slow down. I had to wait for group of inexperienced riders coming my way to pass, only for one of them to whisky-throttle their 250cc two-stroke and almost hit me. After that I just rode through a 6 foot tall snowdrift and headed on my way.

Near the trail head, some genius thought it was a good idea to drive their Prius up Rollins Pass, and both me and dad had to wait for them to turn around which took about 5 minutes. Finally, I was able to ride a mile to Moffat tunnel to meet my dad in the parking lot. When I relaxed, every bone and muscle in my body burned, and I got pretty nauseous. While I was curled over a fence by the Moffat tunnel hiking trail, my dad was nice enough to load up my dirtbike and drive home with the windows rolled down. It was a cold drive, but it made me feel better. It just shows how far I'm willing to go for a ride.