Page 38 - GRIT_70

AUSTIN FORKNER
250 SX / 5TH
IMAGE / REEVES WORDS / MATTINGLY DESIGN / MOTOPLAYGROUND
>> For numerous riders on this tour, this is simply all they’ve ever known. The idea of going to school for a “typical” career, has been labeled a facade, and logging laps week after week, is their way of providing income. Each race is another swipe of the timecard, putting in all types of overtime, in order to capture that lucrative position on the hottest team. Austin Forkner has put in all types of work to get noticed. Running the miles, spinning for hours, you name it, and this young man has completed it, looking to endure any battle, and come away victorious. His practice rhetoric reiterated this, as he clawed through this tacky, rut-filled raceway, chiseling his lines like the finest of architects and designers. Cresting over the far-left rhythm section, he would skim over the three-way tabletop, singling into the corner. His lap times wouldn’t ever be stagnant, as each lap was always topping
its predecessor. Third gear would be heavily used on this course, and he’d even tap into the top of fourth down this football field-esque straightway. The whoops were something he could devour, as his line around the outskirt of the bowl turn, would have him standing even prior to him exiting the rim. With elbows up, and sternum over the bar-pad, he would blitz. One, two, three, on and on, the chassis would tap, mimicking a jackhammer with the rear shock. It would work, and as he completed the remainder of his final lap, a subtle head nod in reassurance, kept his mechanic calm, know-
ing he put his best effort forward. The heat race saw the field dashing into the first turn, some forty elbows scraping for mere inches. As everyone rushed for the middle to inside lane, he would throw every combination possible, in order to make head way by the finish line. Hovering in a close radius near Martin Davalos the two looked to flourish in this newly manicured layout. He relished in the tacky clay, putting the 250f where he wanted, and letting the throttle unleash terror where she may. He would make his way past the halfway portion of the moto, into the subsiding time of the clock. Landing off the triple, his left leg would be out, as he would sit down prior to landing. Always a move ahead, it was all he could do to keep the pace towards the finish line; he would hold off Davalos, placing first. The main event was here, and the fans were on their feet. The roar of cheers, almost hollowing the sound of these machines, would electrify his race-ready mentality. Cresting the tunnel- jump in the opening laps, he would be out front, looking to settle into a great pace! All seemed to
be well, holding off Osborne after his furious holeshot. He wouldn’t waver, and his bike would be begging for mercy. With Osborne just near, as the race would go further, it was though he through his mind into overdrive, absolutely obliterating the whoops, and keeping the motor oozing with power up the face of the triple. And all of the sudden, the number thirty-five machine would endo! The pressure would overtake him, and he would fall to the ground. Pushing back a few positions, he was rattled; and then disaster would strike again! Another mishap before the whoops, getting stuck with
a lap rider. The white flag would come around, and he would sit fifth, devastated. With just one more go around, if he could hold his composure, he would secure the spot. Fifth overall would be his, and devastation would overwhelm him.
38 GRITMOTO • MARCH 18, 2018