We finally began driving south towards Sedalia. For most of the drive, I was doing everything I could think of to try and unclog my lungs. My dad didn't ask me too much about it, but instead egged me on to keep coughing and spitting until something came up. It was rough, and I did everything I could, but still, my lungs wouldn't unclog. 

After an hour or so of driving, we made it to Rampart Range Road, a few miles west of Sedalia. Rampart Range Road is a 20-mile-long road connecting to tens of OHV trails, roads, and campsites, winding through the mountains. It wasn't too busy, but those who were riding today were a bit wild, perhaps in the same boat as me; pent up, twitchy, and well over ready to ride. 

Dad and I pulled over to look at a map, and take pictures of said map. We decided to check out a small trail that was labeled a beginner's trail. It was a half-mile loop through the woods around a campsite. 

When we got there, Dad unloaded my dirtbike as I geared up, and told me he'd sit in his Xterra and listen to the football game. I nodded and headed out towards the small beginner's trail, where I saw a couple other dirtbike riders riding. 

It wasn't the greatest trail ever. It was slow and rough. It wasn't made for a dirtbike like mine; only four-strokes could take such a slow trail. But, I still rode it. Because it was such a slow trail, my dirtbike stalled thrice. Two-strokes need plenty of speed and can't idle so slowly, which is why it stalled on the trail so much. After that, to make sure nothing was backed up in the expansion chamber, I did 15 minutes of wheelies and small jumps around the parking lot. This warmed the dirtbike up so it wouldn't have a chance to freeze-stall (if a dirtbike freeze-stalls, it'll stop but the rider will still be going. I've seen it happen. It doesn't look fun), and got me breathing faster, but my lungs were still clogged. My left lower lung had almost no air, and it was getting very sore. 

I started to freak out a little bit. The worst case-scenarios and bad questions started spinning through my head as I did everything I could to cough the stuff up. What if this doesn't go away? What if my lung dies? Can a lung die from a clog? Were just a few of the thoughts. Those thoughts may seem ridiculous, and looking back, I think they are, but fear is rarely logical. 

I did a couple more wheelies and hit a few more small jumps, before stopping by the Xterra and curling over in an attempt to clear my lungs out. He didn't ask if I was ok since he already knew my answer, so my dad just took this as a cue to start loading up the dirtbike, and then joined me in the Xterra to figure out where to go next. 

He had a picture of the map since we had no cell service, and he pointed out a few other roads and trails. There was a road, labeled 502, that was open to both dirtbikes and cars. We decided to go there, since my dad could follow me on the road and I could go faster, so my dirtbike wouldn't clog up like my lungs. That's another thing about two-strokes; because there's oil mixed in with the fuel, it has a potential to clog up the engine parts if the dirtbike isn't kept on the powerband. I've clogged it up before, and it took around $200 to fix.

Anyway, I agreed with my dad, and we headed off towards road 502.