DECEMBER 17, 2015 / MACKAMILLAN MOTOCROSS COMPLEX, SYDNEY

It seemed wrong to see Christmas decorations in shop windows and children wearing reindeer headbands with a summer sun pushing temperatures to near eighty degrees. As the city flickered by outside the car, Asher couldn't fathom how Christmas was complete without layers of snow and hideous woollen sweaters. Nor could he understand how every Australian he laid eyes on was completely unfazed by the heat.

He felt ready to faint, even with the air conditioning turned up to maximum capacity. It was only his second day in Sydney, and Asher couldn't be happier to go home. New York would be shining with Christmas lights, and most importantly, cold. Maybe it was his Russian upbringing, but to Asher, winter was always inherently better than summer. Not to say he didn't enjoy being in Sydney.

  He, Peyton and Hershel Donte — coach of nearly four years — were driving to a motocross centre out in the country. They had come as guests of Joshua Lowland, and on behalf of Lowland's collective, Asher had been flown in as an 'apprentice,' Peyton as their technician.

Asher admired the collective as skilled professionals and fearless human beings. But in Lowland's niche of the motocross industry, injury was as common as changing the tyres. As of such, he remained wary about the number of times he dabbled in extreme motocross — since the more times he did, the higher the chance of injury was. 

It was only mathematical logic.

When they arrived, Josh was waiting outside the administration building to welcome them. Asher knew him best as a daredevil, usually surrounded by furious pillars of flames, yet he looked equally as crazy outside of the track. Josh was casually dressed in a singlet, linen shorts and thongs. A Santa hat was covering his dark brown hair, every movement causing the bell at the end to jingle. 

But what made him look impressive to Asher was the completely fearless look in his eye. Josh never flinched at the sound of motorcycle engines speeding around him, he seemed perfectly relaxed — like nothing could scare him.

"So, what we have at Mackamillan is tailored for motocross. We have about thirty tracks, built for speed training, and any type of stunt you could imagine," Josh described.

Peyton and Asher nodded, amazed by the complex. It reminded the boys a lot of their club in Astoria, but with higher hills, bigger jumps and sharper turns. Everything felt professional on a whole other level.

"Everything just got renovated for Christmas, so you get to experience the very best we have to offer. Hershel — can I call you Hershey?"

"No," Hershel Donte said.

"Okay. Hershel here has been in contact with me for a while, and we've been talking about setting a sort of scholarship fund for any riders that want to come over from your club and continue training professionally with us. I know your club is aimed at high school-aged riders, so this would be a better place to train if you decided to make a career out of motocross."

Josh directed his focus to Asher, pointing a crooked finger. "I'm very curious about you, kid. You've been the media's favourite for years now. I saw the video of you landing a double, too. Got the talent, the luck, the brains. When you set that world record, well, I was thinking that you were going to be the next me."

"It wasn't a big deal. I was just the youngest person to win that specific competition — it's not really a world record."

Two weeks after Asher graduated from high school, Vasily and Hershel had flown with him to Illinois for another race. It was the final meet of an international competition with which Asher had been involved all of last year. Not unexpectedly, he won his age division, but then went on to beat everyone else in the all-inclusive race.

"I think it was a hella big deal, kid. It proves you're more than a one-shot wonder," Josh reasoned. "Well, on with the tour." 

The Mackamillan Motocross Complex was fairly secluded, surrounded by bushland and farms. It occupied a massive area, needed for all the tracks and equipment sheds. Looking around, Asher could see motorcyclists jumping higher than some of the houses on his street and he could see clouds of smoke drifting gracefully upwards. 

The dirt tracks looked heavily compacted, as if hundreds of bikes had pressed the soil together over the years. People were always talking, laughing or screaming with excitement as they trained. Mackamillan told stories of experience, and whispered promises of greatness.

In time, Josh helped Asher pick a bike and head out to the track. Peyton was halfway through his university degree, so the whole speech about picking motocross as a career was rather irrelevant. Nevertheless, he met with one of the mechanics for the complex, and was led off to the garage to talk shop. Day after day, Hershel would take Peyton and Asher to the countryside, where they learnt more from their respective mentors. 

Josh revealed more of his craziness the more Asher spent time with him, proving he was actually insane when he said, "I want you to set the new record for the youngest person to complete a triple flip."

The seconds dragged between them, filling up the silence between the two men with rumbles and roars from the near by tracks.

"You're shitting me," Asher eventually said. "No. No, I can't do that."

"Yeah, you can."

"No, I can't."

"Yeah, you—"

"Stop it," Asher growled. "I thought I came here as an apprentice for my club. Why are you pushing this so much?"

"Because," Josh replied simply. "None of the greats ever got their bike off the ground without a huge push."

"I— I'm not going to be one of the greats."

Realising that they weren't going to start riding anytime soon, Josh also cut his engine and sat back, looking at Asher as if he knew his greatest secret — which he most definitely didn't.

"I know how you feel, kid. This sport isn't for the faint of heart. You'll get cut up and twisted into all kinds of positions. But I know, I know you will survive it."

Asher didn't reply. His windpipe felt suddenly thick, and the lack of air made him sway slightly in the Australian heat.

"Imagine if you pulled it off. You would be a legend, especially if people heard that you triple-flipped with me, at my home base."

"I don't really care about the fame," Asher muttered.

"I can tell you don't. And I can tell you're humble, and you probably ride because you enjoy it, and you want to be the best you can be. Just like a younger me. Well, I'll tell you some useful shit now. If you keep that attitude about you, nothing will be able to stop you. Not money, not people, not injury. Nothing."