My lungs got plugged up on Saturday to the point I couldn't yawn. As the infection makes its way out, it sometimes falls back into my lungs and plugs them up, making them itch and hurt. Still, I forced myself to go on a long walk, and then did a few extra treatments. But the mucus plug wouldn't clear, so I decided to take treatment to the next level the next day.

It was a gorgeous day; sunny and 70. I found all of my gear and fueled up my dirtbike early in the morning, and then carried the 100 pound iron rack from my backyard to my front yard so my dad could load up my dirtbike. It was probably the hardest walk I'll ever do between my back yard to the front yard. As my dad loaded up the dirtbike, I looked for the straps to hold it down, but couldn't find any, so we used the only strap my dad had to hold my dirtbike on the rack just enough to make it to Walmart. 

We stocked up on snacks and drinks for the ride, as well as bought a couple extra straps to hold my dirtbike on the rack, before heading south towards Sedalia. I was jacked up on soda that is like Mountain Dew but healthier, and I was twitching to ride since I had been pent up and sick for so long. I needed to ride. I knew it, my body knew it, and my dad knew it. 

We stopped by the gas station to fill up on caffeine, gasoline, and check my tires. As my dad filled my dirtbike tires with a little air, a young man approached us. He was dressed just like me; a camo cap, camo hoodie, blue jeans, and dusty cowboy boots. The kid smelled of diesel and chew, and had a deep and familiar Minnesotan accent.

"You just get it?" the kid ask, pointing to my bike. 

"Naw, I've had it for awhile." I answered. 

"That's fun. Track or trail?" 

"Trail."

I glanced over at the kid, and realized he was an old classmate from my previous school, but I didn't say anything, since I assumed he didn't recognize me. If he did, I assumed he wouldn't have asked me if my dirtbike was new, since that's the one thing I boasted about in school.

"You headed up to the trail today?" he asked as he spit some chew. 

"Yup." I nodded, "She's ready to go." 

"I was thinking about getting a CR250, but I passed 'er up for a 1986 Yammy [Yamaha] 250 two-stroke for two-hundred bucks. I spent another eight hundred fixing it, but now she runs like new." the kid explained as he took another pinch of dew, "Two-strokes are fun as hell."

"That's awesome! I agree!" I smiled, "Mine's just a little '96 80, but she's still gotta hell of a lotta horse-power. She beats my brother's 'Zuki [Suzuki] 450 by a long shot."  

"That's fun. CR[80]?" the kid asked.

"Yup." 

"Well, have fun. Be safe! Long time no see!" the kid said as he spat some more chew and wandered back to his old truck.

"Damn. I should've told him I recognize him from school." I thought to myself, but it was too late.

Dad was done filling up the tires, and was already waiting for me in the Xterra, impatiently revving the engine. 

"I'm coming dad! I'm coming!" I shouted as I made my way back to the front seat and sat back, "That was an old classmate of mine. He's pretty cool. A little strange, but still friendly."

"Oh fun. What'd he want?" my dad asked as he put the Xterra in drive.

"He was just asking about the bike." I replied, taking a swig of soda.