But my best coach in the extreme sports world is my dad. He never went pro, but he would've if he lived like Clarke. My dad has a need for speed like me. He taught me how to drift his Xterra on the same country roads his dad taught him how to drive on when I was 14. My dad has also taught me most of what I know about riding and fixing dirtbikes, since he rode and fixed dirtbikes as a kid and a teenager. Sure, we both crash at times, and our solutions to most of my dirtbike issues are far from professional, but so far, no one has suffered any serious injuries, and the zip-ties holding my dirtbike together haven't worn out yet. Also, the smell of gasoline has finally left his company shop's bathroom, after we flushed two gallons of old dirtbike gas down the toilet two years ago.
My dad can get frustrated with me at times, but sometimes angrily shouting at me is the only way to turn my fear into determination. I ride dirtbikes because I have points to prove to myself and others, one of those being that I'm not a little bitch. So when my dad lays on the horn, sticks his head out the window, and shouts, "PIN IT, PUSSY!" for the world to hear, you bet that throttle's gonna be pinned. I still have no idea how my dad's windshield hasn't been chipped or shattered by the rocks my rear tire flings as my dirtbike takes off in a wheelie.
However, my dad and I get along very well when it comes to sports. He fixes my dirtbike, and I let him ride it, and then I learn just by watching him fix and ride my dirtbike. Because of him, I can fix a clogged carburetor, a snapped clutch, a pinched throttle line, and a few other things. Also, because of him, I can ride very well. Clarke teaches me wheelies and stoppies, and my dad teaches me valuable riding techniques.
My dad and I are also very into Go-Karting, even though it's insanely expensive. We still go to the indoor Go-Karting place every few months or so, which we get the whole track to ourselves if we arrive at 9 AM on a Sunday. The indoor Go-Karting place uses electric go-karts that go up to 45 miles per hour, and wind around a track in a large warehouse space. Each race is usually 15 laps, and dad and I always go for three races.
We don't just compete against each other, but we compete with everyone else who has gone to the go-karting place. They keep track of everyone's speed and time. As of now, my dad has me beat by less than 0.8 seconds, which puts him at the top 98.5% of all racers, and me at the top 94% of all racers. Since I learned how to drift in my dad's Xterra, I know how to drift around corners in those extremely fast go-karts. I know it should probably be the other way around, but things sometimes work in weird ways.
The only thing is, my dad has a habit of executing the PIT maneuver on me when I'm just ahead of him and drifting around a corner, which spins me out while my dad speeds away. It's what the cops use to stop runaway cars by ramming into the rear side of the vehicle. It's technically illegal to do, but the refs running the race don't care when it's just me and my dad. We have helmets on, the go-karts are very unlikely to roll over, and the track is guarded by plastic barriers on springs. So, my dad is allowed to PIT me. Otherwise, I would be winning races, but he's just overly competitive like that sometimes.
