There is a motorcycle racer named Ben Spies. His mom was interviewed for a British bike magazine and she told a couple of stories involving crashes. In the first story, Ben's teammate was killed in a crash during a race. Ben told his mom that he knew what she was thinking and that as much as it would hurt him to cause that kind of pain to his family it would hurt him more if he had to quit racing.
The second story involved him crashing and leaving half his ass on the track. Literally. Banged up enough where he told his mom while in the ER that he knew what she was thinking, not to say it, and that he needed support to get back to racing.
Clearly I'm not a racer. I do have a love for riding, though. I can tell you about those moments when everything fell into place and me and my bike were like one. On the gas, brake, lean in, roll into it, back on the gas, like one motion. I can tell you about the times I had the crap scared out of me getting into a corner too hot, having a bad line, or coming around the bend to find a big ass rock right in my path. I'll tell you about all those things some other time when I can do a little more explaining and bench racing.
Right now, I can only tell you I miss it.
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