we riders have this virtue that sometimes becomes a defect. we don’t see the fear, we’re not afraid. we never talk about what could happen if we were to go down. we riders never talk about death. almost as if it wasn’t real…
at 38 miles an hour it becomes very real. we see it, the reel inside our head. we play it back and we do our best to look past it. but we know it’s there. a parasitic thought, reaching at our cleats.
i was terrified, but that’s were i wanted to be. and with every fall my psyche further plagues itself with visions of a limit reached. and at what cost are we willing to place ourselves to chase an illusive freedom that may only last a few miles, can have lifetime consequences and make you feel so alive..?
i’ve battled with that answer. i’ve never been able to fully understand it. but every time i go out there i try and push it a little bit further a little bit harder. and there is a point where you don't think you should take it beyond, when you’re on the edge and you’re flirting with luck just a little.
buscando el límite, al final lo encuentras…
the crash reel