Shortly after I returned home from North Dakota, dad and I drove to Minnesota with my dirtbike on the rack behind us. The journey to Minnesota was long and unpleasant. The AC belt snapped somewhere between Sterling, Colorado, and North Platte, Nebraska. We were caught in a heavy rainstorm somewhere in the middle of Nebraska, and the rest of the drive was hot and muggy, but at least it was cloudy. Dad kept a lead foot down on the pedal as we charged through Omaha into Iowa. We had the windows down, but that honestly didn't help make things any more comfortable. We couldn't talk to each other over the roaring of the wind as dad drove close to 90 miles per hour. I couldn't even hear my music in my earbuds, so I just stared out the window and prayed that it would stay cloudy.
After 13 hours of driving, we finally arrived at my grandparents', where we just stayed briefly to chat and get some dinner. Grandma was waiting for us on the front porch when we arrived and talked our ears off, while dad and I worked to lift the dirtbike off the back hitch and park it in the granary. We met grandpa in the kitchen, who was patiently waiting for dinner to be served. My dad and grandpa talked some, but we all fell silent when dinner was served. We were starving, and grandma didn't even have a chance to sit down before me and dad were finished, and were ready to go to my uncle Wes's for the night.
The next day, after breakfast at grandma's, my dad rode my dirtbike for awhile because he wanted to "just warm it up". He squeezed his big head into my helmet (which he somehow makes fit), and darted outside before my grandparents could question him. Grandpa just leaned back in his wheelchair, crossed his arms in his lap, and stared outside where my dad was trying to kickstart my dirtbike alive in the granary.
After a few laps around the farmyard and a failed wheelie, my dad gave me my dirtbike and went inside to try and wipe the grass stains off his white cargo shorts. I also did some laps around the yard, before heading down a trail that led to the pasture and pond. Unfortunately, the grass was almost neck high, so I didn't even get ten feet before I had to turn around. It's a bad idea to ride a dirtbike when you can't even see it!
My dad was just getting in his SUV when I came from the high grass in the pasture. He told me to follow him to my uncle Wes's, and we'd be hanging out there for a little bit. I was hesitant at first. I've never ridden my dirtbike on the county road before, and even though the speed limit was supposedly 30 miles per hour, my family and their friends usually went about 70, at least. The county road was shaded by many trees and wound around many farms. My dad told me to keep my eyes forward and keep towards the shoulder of the road, and I would be fine. Plus, he would be driving right there behind me.
Before we left, I ran into the farmhouse to gather my phone charger and wallet, and say goodbye to my grandparents. My dad took all of my things for me except for my phone, and we headed off rather slowly. I didn't know how fast or slow I should've been going, but I took the hint to go faster when I glanced to my left and saw the hood of the Xterra right next to me. I shifted into 3rd gear, but slowed down again to take a sharp left turn onto the stretch of road that passed both my uncles' houses, and quickly sped up again until my dad was behind me, not beside me.
Wes's was only a quarter mile away, but it seemed farther. I was admittedly scared, but I put that fear in the back of my mind. When I gained enough courage to hit the powerband in 3rd gear, I ran over something soft and slick just as I hit the powerband and reached the crest of the hill. I stuck out my legs as my dirtbike fishtailed to the side. At one point I was drifting, and I was using every muscle I could to keep myself from skidding out of control. Thankfully, after my dirtbike fishtailed a few times, the back tire let go of whatever the hell it caught, and I successfully regained control. I shook my head, then my shoulders, and let out a huge sigh of relief. There was no point in stopping on the side of the road, since Wes's driveway was 100 feet ahead of me. My dad had pulled ahead and was parked by the time I reached Wes's. I was still jumpy and full of adrenaline, so much so that even when I anticipated my dad's touch, I about jumped out my skin when his hand brushed against my knee while he closed the gas valve.
Dad asked what happened back there. He had seen the whole thing. I didn't know. Jess, Wes's wife, came up to ask what all the fuss was about. I was just sitting on my dirtbike, laughing hysterically and shivering slightly, and my dad seemed to be doing all the work for me. He closed the gas valve then reached up to undo the strap keeping my helmet on. I also jumped when he did this, so he held me by the nose guard and pressed the button that undid my helmet strap.
Dad explained to Jess that I had hit a T shirt or something on the road, and almost lost control going 45 miles an hour. Keep in mind, other than my helmet, goggles, and bandanna, I was just in a T shirt, jeans, and motocross boots. My arms would've been chewed to bits by the gravel if I crashed. Jess smirked and shook her head. My dad was almost offended when he asked her what was so funny about his daughter's near-death experience. It turns out, it wasn't a T shirt I ran over, and the road between Wes's and my uncle Wade's was littered with "T shirts".
"Someone had a little too much fun a few nights ago." Jess giggled and shook her head.
"What?" my dad asked.
I stopped playing on my phone and turned my head to hear Jess better.
"Monday morning, we drove over several pairs of underwear, a tank top. a coat, a pair of pink and black short shorts, and the dog found a bra that he was chewing on when we came back from work." Jess said, all the while trying not to laugh too hard.
"What?!" Both dad and I shouted together. We couldn't believe what Jess was telling us.
She repeated the story laughing hysterically and ended with, "Look for yourself! A pair of undies almost killed your daughter!"
I got off my dirtbike and wheeled it over towards Wes and Jess's garage, while dad and Jess continued to talk. My dad couldn't stop laughing when Jess's words finally sunk it, and he was tempted to walk over and see the road of underwear for himself. He took me along and found a stick on the way. Sure enough, we found a black sweater and a pair of underwear with my dirtbike tracks torn into it. My dad picked it up with the stick and flicked it in my direction.
"Oh hell no!" I shouted as I ran away back to Wes and Jess's. It turns out though, running in motocross boots that weigh ten pounds each is kinda hard.
I couldn't trust my ornery dad with a pair of dirty underwear on a stick, especially after he flicked it at me. Dad's also thrown dead mice in mouse traps at me, has a habit of flicking me in my ear and punching my shoulder when he gets bored while driving, and will always ambush me with nerf guns and water guns when he gets the chance. It's all playful, and I find ways to get him back, such as the time I put his straw in a ketchup packet and left it in his drink, so when he returned with our food, instead of Coke, he got a nasty surprise. I trust my dad with my life, but I don't trust him with a nerf minigun and an airhorn, or a wolf spider in a jar. But, I must admit, I love my dad's immature humor. Anyway...
Jess had offered my dad a discounted AC belt for his Xterra, and she'd give us the keys to her SUV while her coworkers fixed ours. So, she drove the Xterra away, and dad offered to take me to lunch in Lake City, since he kinda felt bad about throwing a probably diseased pair of underwear towards me, and I agreed. I got a few pictures of the scene, including the pair that almost killed me, on our way to Lake City.
