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JUSTIN BRAYTON
450 SX / 1ST
IMAGE / KILPATRICK WORDS / MATTINGLY DESIGN / MOTOPLAYGROUND
>> All in attendance look around as they are surrounded by enormous, silent bodies of water. Surrounded by walls and clouds of steam, the air seems much harder to inhale, with both the intensity of the event, and mugginess of the Atlantic rising within close proximity. As each round has past, the gauge of the thermo- stat has ascended, leaving each contender wiping their brow. Embracing the heat for the round of 2018, however, was that of Justin Brayton. Salivating upon his arrival onto the grounds of the track, he absolutely couldn’t wait to unleash the power his machine withheld. On the referee’s signal, he scorched off of the line, and began to con gure the optimum route around the raceway. Braking bumps would begin to form instantly, with each tire adding miniscule amounts of sand on every passing. These abrupt mounds were acting as landmines, with any particular square edge containing the ability to plummet a competitor into
the ground. Scoping the horizon left and right, his scope of zoom eyed the checkered ag, as he would absolutely every berm in sight. As the ag waved in the distance, he vaulted over the line, knowing that he’d propelled himself into the night with a wave of momentum. The eld would amass behind the gate for the heat race, and he quickly asserted himself as an alpha male going into turn number one. Riding the rear fender beside the straightaway parallel with the concrete, he headed into the nish line looking to sweep the eld, as the green ag would wave. He maneuvered through the whoop section, as the lines had been squished together for the mean time, thanks to the track crew’s preparations. He would then volley into the gigantic anthill that followed, and spray all foe behind, as he scorned down the backside. He began to try new lines, as he knew any and every piece of ammunition he could add to the arsenal, come time for the main event, would be handy. He weaseled his way from Marvin Musquin as the laps would continue, the lap times hovering near the minute and ten mark. Piecing together this puzzle of a track, he would come across the line with a rst place. The main event is now here, and with a nal st bump to his mechanic, the ma- chine was ready to pounce. Ripping into the sand, his tread would follow the balance beam of a rut outside of the starting gate, rubbing elbows with the pack as the funneled into the opening bend. As the eld would sort themselves out, he lunged for the throne, with pressure from the likes of Christian Craig and Marvin Musquin in his surroundings. The chassis danced all the way up the series of dragon’s backs and step overs, just after the infamous Supercross triple on the far side. Musquin would make the move on lap three, seemingly pushing Brayton to the wayside. All seemed to be lost, until Musquin would loop out, just before the mechanics area! The lead was his! He would then rip into the following right-hander, seemingly dancing off of the step-on, step-off that followed. Avoiding havoc just after the treacherous wall-jump, this portion of track began to appear as a fox-hole; but there wasn’t any hiding on his part, as he would ght off a surging Eli Tomac, running in second as the timer counted down. Tomac would close, lap after lap, but not able to make the pass. With a gap looming near the three-second mark, he would launch into the nish line double, hearing the screeching of cannon’s blast around. He was the new king of the castle, adding his name to the wall of prestige for all to remember.
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GRITMOTO • MARCH 11, 2018