CJ Millisock – Blog

I was at some kind of camp.  I was with friends.  Something seemed out of the ordinary, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.  Was I dreaming?

I was throwing a Frisbee back and forth with some friends.  We were at a bus stop, waiting for the younger campers to get picked up.  After the bus arrived and the younger campers departed, about eight of us older campers remained.

The camp leader, an older woman about 40 years old, announced to the group that she wanted to show us some kind of obstacle course. She had built nearby.  ”For every group of campers, I like to build something that very few are able to complete,” she explained.  ”Something extremely difficult.”

In what seemed like seconds, we arrived at her challenge.  It seemed to be some kind of airborne dirt bike course.  What made this course so difficult was that the dirt paths weren’t connected to each other.  The course was made up of dozens of  individual segments.  Some were straightaways, some were curves with sloped walls.  Pieces varied in size and shape, but every piece had a dirt ramp at the end, which was to be used to jump between the dirt pieces.  The individual segments of dirt were separated by nothing but space.

Wait, what?

Please allow me to clarify.  In between the dirt segments that made up this course … there was nothing.  Space.  Air.  The track was created seemingly by magic.  It reminded me of something out of a video game or The Matrix.

The first thing I did was walk to the first chasm and look down.  Miles below my feet and below the track, I saw what looked like buildings.  They looked like adobe structures that had been abandoned long ago.

I looked up at the camp leader with a puzzling look on my face.  Was she serious?  If one were to take a curve too fast, he or she would surely plummet to the city below and die.  Did she expect us to risk our lives on this track?  More importantly, how did she create this course?

The camp leader called on Joshua to go first.  Knowing no fear, he strapped on a helmet, jumped on the dirt bike, and went for it.  He was speedy and risky.  On every straightaway, Joshua accelerated as much as he could.  He leaned hard into every curve, taking it with speed that showed no fear.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  He finished without a hitch.  His time was impressive.  Taking his helmet off, the huge smile on Joshua’s face was unmistakable.  He had a blast!

Michael was called on second.  Michael was different from Joshua.  He was calculating and cautious, taking very little risks.  He finished the course safely, but his time was about double that of Joshua.

Then she called on me.  I was to be third.  In silence, I walked onto the dirt course, looking down over the edges at the abandoned pueblos below.  I couldn’t comprehend how my friends could risk this course.  I was afraid to attempt the track, even cautiously.

Then I noticed something that I hadn’t seen before.  Below some of the dangerous areas where a rider might be likely to fall off, there existed some metal fencing.  They were built-in safety nets, designed to catch an overzealous rider.  I couldn’t help but notice how narrow the safety mechanism were.  They didn’t seem to offer much protection.  They projected out from the dirt, but they reached only three or four feet.  Five at the most.  Surely they would catch you if you merely walked off the edge.  But a rider on a bike? No way. A rider, were he/she to take a jump too hard, or a curve too fast, would fall far beyond the reach of these nets, and plummet to the clay structures below.

“I can’t go,” I announced.

My friends all understood.  The course was extremely dangerous, and no one felt it appropriate to try to persuade me to go.  It was unspoken and understood that it was a perfectly reasonable and logical decision to decline the opportunity.

I didn’t get a second chance to change my mind.

Kenneth was called to go third.  Before his name was called, he had already decided that he would go when asked. Kenneth’s riding style was similar to Joshua’s, but even more extreme.  Kenneth was faster; more risky; more daring.  On every turn, Kenneth’s tires rode the top of the curve wall.  At every jump, Kenneth was going as fast as his dirt bike would allow.

To every one of us watching, it was obvious that Kenneth would beat Joshua’s time.  To me, it appeared as though Kenneth was aiming to not only beat Joshua’s time and be the speediest among us friends, he was aiming for the fastest time possible.  Jump after jump, turn after turn, Kenneth dominated the course.

And then it happened.  One curve was too sharp.  Kenneth was going too fast.

Through the clear visor of his helmet, we all saw the whites of Kenneth’s eyes grow wider as his bike tires careened up the dirt wall and over the edge.

Our hearts sank.  We could see that Kenneth was going far too fast to be saved by the safety nets.  Kenneth was going to die.

We could do nothing but watch in silence as Kenneth launched upward, outward, off and away from the track.  He hit the peak of his trajectory, let go of the handlebars, and began his downward decent.  Unlike in the movies, there was no flashback.  There was no music.  Some of us closed our eyes.  All of us felt sick to our stomachs.

And then we heard a loud splash.  Kenneth had hit water!

The entire course was hovering above a gigantic mass of water.  Just below the dirt and safety mechanisms, we could now see the ripples on the water’s surface. Undisturbed, the tranquil water was invisible: absolutely still and perfectly clear.  Only after Kenneth pierced the water’s surface were we able to detect its existence.

Then I woke up.

Don’t know what Twitter is?  This video might clear up some of the confusion.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PN2HAroA12w&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1]