I probably should have anticipated Kevin’s great interest in motorcycling, motocross in particular. 

When Kevin was about a year old, he had one of those little push-type vehicles.  One morning I saw him poised at the top of a set of stairs about 5 steps high.  He was contemplating them intently, and all of a sudden he got a look on his face that made me know his plan.  He was too far away to reach – he was too fast, anyway.  He gave a shove and went tumbling to the bottom.  Luckily, other than a few bruises, he was OK.

By the time he was three, he had graduated to a real tricycle.  Our house was at the bottom of a 15 foot high hill with a 50 foot long gravel driveway with a 90 degree left turn at the bottom.  He would drag his tricycle to the top of the hill and come flying down – feet held wide to avoid the peddles.  At the bottom he would use his feet for brakes and gravel sprayed in all directions as he reached the bottom.  Usually, he slowed enough so that he didn’t hit the bushes too hard.  Sometimes he actually made the turn, wheels sliding in the gravel.  Unfortunately, he sometimes crashed and many times he would come in crying, with gravel imbedded in his arms and legs.  No matter how hard we tried to keep him away, he kept going back for more.  I thought of these episodes a lot when Kevin was riding motocross, especially when he got hurt.  I think of them now when I see Kyle out there on his motorcycle.