I whipped my striped ball cap `round my sweaty gross head,
And stood like a cowboy, ready to draw his last hand.
Rusty cut his wheel sharply, spewing a cloud of thick dust,
Belting, "You can't jump that old tree with that scrap metal junk."
Mother Nature's fierce wrath blew Old Glory down,
With his branches jammed deep into the soft muddy ground.
Testosterone filled ten year olds drunk,
We figured this ramp of ours would put us over that stump.

She had jiggly handles and three coats of color,
And that damn chain had a habit of flying off with no warning.
But, no matter what ailments this baby had suffered,
Like a timeworn bruised mitt, better was rougher.

She and I gazed out toward that thick aged dark oak,
While Rusty held back, firing up his next smoke.
I said, "When I get on the ramp, I'm gonna bring up the front,
By landing back first, I can ride it down soft."

The bearings creaked loudly as I peddled the pump,
With the breeze roaring wilder, racing toward that thick stump.
I think of those days of first dates and group speeches,
There comes that last moment where it's too late for excuses.

Those wheels echoed hoarsely with the ramp underneath me,
And at the end of the track, I yanked up and gasped deeply.
There is no feeling around that will ever compare,
To that rush of the silence with your bike in the air.

But man, that rush blinked from free to fierce fast,
As a branch grabbed my wheel and dragged me to crash.
I played out the drama as Rusty flew in with a gust,
He said, "Are you alright, you fool crazy nut?"

I held it together and even kept a straight face,
Then I cracked one eye open and said, "I am the ace".
At that moment he knew, he knew what was next,
It was his turn to try, to try to beat the best.