SEPTEMBER 29, 2015 / ASTORIA MOTORCYCLE CLUB

"You're actually a fucking a natural," Peyton commented on the successful completion of a double flip.

Landing with a thud, Asher pulled his motorcycle upright and sped to the end of the track, throwing up flecks of dirt as he stopped. Today was one of the rare times Asher joined in the stunts practise, so Peyton was videoing their practise, to show his younger cousins some of the stuff they'd been working on.

Nursing a knee injury from a no-footer gone wrong, he wasn't included in the practise. But Peyton was certainly well enough to sit at the side, filming on his phone and casually flipping a finger at Travis when mud was sprayed too close to his gauze bandages.

Travis added, sinking onto the wooden bench and stretching his legs out, "Too bad Asher's too chicken to actually enter a stunts competition."

A break was well past due, and when Peyton saw Asher heading over to the bench he got up, hobbling away to get a drink. Asher took a seat next to Travis, and shrugged nonchalantly. Often he was the focus of many jokes about his reluctance to enter as a stuntman, but to his friends' irritation, Asher never appeared too bothered by it.

"Seriously, why are you holding back? I know it's not for lack of courage."

"Then you should also know that doing stunts doesn't interest me."

Travis scoffed. "Bullshit. You love that sort of stuff. Your heart's in it every single time, but I bet your brain is there just whispering at you to be careful."

"What's wrong with being careful?"

"Nothing. But in your case, it's completely unnecessary. You've got guts and talent in excess, and not once have you actually had a serious accident."

It was all Asher could do, to bite his tongue and refrain from explaining that it was actually very necessary that he be cautious, and his safe streak was a result of that. At times, he regretted not telling Travis and Peyton about his imperfecta — if only so they would be more understanding when he rejected some competitions and passed on their practises.

Mostly though, his decision seemed to be the right one. The two boys never babied him, and this meant the motorcycle club became a welcomed retreat when Vasily's paranoia started to smother Asher.

Travis' voice broke into Asher's ruminations. "You know I'm right."

Before Asher had a chance to reply, Peyton came shuffling back with three cans of Sprite in his arms. With each passing day, more and more function was returning to his knee. The accident that had torn the ligament was quite severe, but Peyton was as tough as the rubber on the wheels of his bike. Three minutes after the first bandages had been applied, he was already smiling and trying to walk.

Asher eyed the muddied gauze on Peyton's leg as he sat down next to him, and felt his stomach cool and sink. There was not a doubt in his mind that an incident of the same calibre would have left him far more mangled than it did Peyton. So, he cracked his can, and took a long swig — all while resisting telling Travis that he was, in truth, completely wrong.

At the end of the day, before the boys left, Hershel Donte called Asher and Peyton into his office. Their coach never redecorated, and the proof was in the curled, discoloured posters on his wall from last century.

"Boys, are you familiar with a man called Joshua Lowland?"

Asher and Peyton exchanged wide-eyed expressions of surprise.

"Of course we are."

Joshua Lowland was an Australian FMX rider, famous for his triple backflips. The group he belonged made millions every year, and every one of them were daredevils in the extreme. Globally, they were known for completing unprecedented stunts and setting world records. Images of them became the stereotype of what motocross essentially was, though Asher knew there was more to the art. He was a master of speed, whereas Josh's type were masters of flight.

Hershel Donte cleared his throat, "It's no secret that you boys are growing up. Now, I know we let older riders use the tracks leisurely, but I think you boys have the potential to be great. So, Mr. Lowland's idea is to pay for you to go over to Sydney as apprentices for a couple of weeks, and be mentored by some of his riders. I would like to form a partnership, of sorts, with their club where we can send our older riders who are interested in pursuing motocross as a career."

"Whoa. That's huge, sir," Peyton said. "But, it's kinda too late for me to change careers, you know? I've got a few more years of my degree left, and I don't really want to stop."

"I know. But despite what you kids are taught in high school, you can do eight years of a degree and still end up on a completely different path. I want you to explore your opportunities, Peyton. Just think about it."

Dismissed from Hershel's office, they sat down on the chairs in the foyer. Asher was buzzing, completely shocked that someone with Joshua Lowland's talent was interested in him.

"Hey, is it okay if I send that video I took today to sir?" Peyton asked. "He might show Joshua Lowland."

"Uh, yeah. Go for it."

"So, are you going to go?"

Asher rubbed his hands together, watching small bits of dirt fall to the floor. He was excited, but also confused. On top of a job at his father's garage, he'd worked tirelessly after high school to improve his skills. It meant that he spent a lot of time with his coach, and by now, he should have picked up on the fact that Asher wasn't a stuntman.

"Why is he even interested in us? We're in completely different leagues," Asher said quietly.

"Same, man. But one doesn't deny an invitation from Josh Lowland, or a free trip to Australia. That's why I'm going to ask sir to send me as a technician, because it'll still tie into my degree and motocross."

"Hm."

"Well, I'm heading home now. Do you need a ride?"

"Nah. Drive safe, man," Asher said. He didn't fully register Peyton leaving, as he was still thinking over the strange offer to go to Sydney. Just before he left himself, Asher knocked on the office door.

"Sir?"

He received a gruff reply. "What do you need?"

"I was just wondering about the apprenticeship, and why Lowland's collective wants me to go over there. I'm just a racer."

"I can't fully answer that question. Lowland's a bit whacko, actually. Emailing him is a nightmare. But, the man sure has an eye for greatness. If you're so curious about what he sees in you, you're just going to have to go over there and find out."