A few days later, after hours of riding and good fun, I started noticing some issues. My dirtbike would sputter and stall at random, and I was pretty sure I knew what was wrong with it. The more I rode, the more power my dirtbike lost. It's engine sounded deeper and sick in a way. It didn't sound like a wasp nest anymore, it sounded like an angry dog. It finally clunked out in the field behind Wes's house, just as the family arrived for his birthday dinner. My cousin Troy jogged over to help me bring it back, and my cousins, my dad, my uncle Wade, my uncle Wes, and a few friends were all around my dirtbike trying to figure out what was wrong. Even my grandpa requested to be pushed over there to brainstorm possible issues. Meanwhile, I was in the house washing my hands and the sweat off my face. 

I heard what sounded like gun shots, and rushed out to see what cool new toy Wes was showing off to everyone. It wasn't a gun, it was my dirtbike. Every time my dad kicked down the start lever, my dirtbike would backfire and a sizable red flame would shoot out the muffler. My uncle Wade diagnosed the issue as being an oil backup, meaning the oil in the oil-gas mix was too thick. A thick layer of crusty oil covered the surface of the inner engine parts, and it would be at least $200 and three weeks to fix. My dad and I both let out the same growling sigh, but whatever, it was fixable at least. So that was the end of my riding for the trip!