It’s the biggest week of the year in amateur motocross: the 2025 Loretta Lynn’s Amateur National Championship in Hurricane Mills, Tennessee, where the fastest young riders from across the country—and beyond—gather to do battle. I was lucky enough to qualify for this race five times during my amateur days, and I wanted to share a little about my experiences at the Ranch. The pressure during this one week is almost indescribable. For many, it’s a shot at turning dreams into factory deals. Every racer who’s lined up at Loretta’s has experienced the highs and lows, and for me, it was mostly lows. I never had standout results, but I did manage a few solid motos, which wasn’t bad for a kid from California who’d never ridden on East Coast dirt or even knew what humidity was until stepping foot on the Ranch.

Looking back now, the amount of time and money that goes into racing this event seems a little insane—something I didn’t grasp at 14, thanks to my incredible parents. I probably should’ve thanked my dad a dozen times a day for working his butt off just so I could chase my dream (I still thank him now). If you’ve been to Loretta’s, you know: rolling through those pits, you can see the small fortune sitting in the middle of Tennessee for one week. At the time of my first trip, I was a decent 85cc rider who made it out of the ultra-competitive West Coast regional. But racing back East was a whole different ball game, and that first year showed me just how different it really was. I didn’t have huge expectations; I was just stoked to be there, but getting beat down for a week wasn’t much fun. Thankfully, my dad was the most relaxed moto parent around. He only cared if I gave it everything I had, win or lose. The times I didn’t, usually from a crash or just riding dumb, he’d be upset. I get it now. He was spending serious money to give me this chance. So, kids: thank your parents, your supporters, whoever is helping you live this dream. It’s not cheap, and it’s definitely not easy.

My first Loretta’s was in 2006, racing the 85 (12–13) classes. Like I said, I got worked. Fast forward to 2010, I was racing the stacked B class, hoping to earn support and attention. By then, I had four years at the Ranch under my belt and felt as prepared as I’d ever been—or so I thought. The week started strong with a 4th in 450B. In 250B Mod, I got a terrible gate pick (36th), crashed off the start, and worked my way back to 16th—not great, but I gave it everything I had. Going into my second 450B moto, I had a solid gate pick and was confident. It was one of the hottest days Tennessee had seen in years. Just sitting on the line, the humidity felt like a punch in the chest. Still, I got the start I wanted and found myself in 2nd behind Justin Bogle. I stayed close for most of the moto, pushing harder than I should’ve, trying to catch him.

A little past halfway, things started unraveling. I came into the corner before the Ten Commandments, and my body felt like it was on fire. By the time the two-lap board came out, I was borderline delirious...my vision blurred, my energy gone. I got the white flag and entered Story Land, hitting a deep, rutted roller that nearly stopped you every lap. This time, it literally stopped me. I passed out. The next thing I remember was my buddy Jessy Nelson jumping the fence, pouring water on me, and helping me get my boots off. I’d never experienced heat stroke before, and for a second, I thought I was dying. The medics cooled me down, gave me an IV, and that was it...my Loretta’s was over. I was half a lap away from my first podium moto and sitting second overall going into the final race. Instead, I was packing up early. My dad and I drove 32 hours straight back to California; him to work, me to sulk. I felt like I’d let him down and wasted everything he’d worked for. He didn’t see it that way. He saw me give it everything I had, and that’s all he ever wanted.

At the time, I thought my shot was over. I was 17, devastated, and convinced my dream had ended. But out of nowhere, I got a call from the team manager of a Yamaha-supported Vance & Hines amateur program. They offered me a full ride: bikes, mechanic, travel...the works. I was stoked, mostly for my dad, who finally got some financial relief after years of shouldering it alone. His happiness meant more to me than anything. That opportunity lit a new fire in me. I went on to win classes at the Texas Nationals and World Mini the next year, and I believed I could finally win at Loretta’s. But motocross doesn’t always follow the script. I got hurt a month before the race and couldn’t compete. Ironically, that ended up being my most fun Loretta’s ever. No pressure. No racing. Just chasing girls and enjoying the week. Funny how that works, right?

The following year was my last at the Ranch, racing the A class. I wanted to be ready, not just for myself, but for the team that believed in me. I spent a month at MTF with my new teammate, grinding in the Southern heat and humidity to prep. I’d never trained so hard. I came in confident and fit. My week started with a fourth in 250 Pro Sport, coming from 40th gate pick and start. In 450 Pro, I drew chip number one—best gate pick. That luck lasted all of 100 yards. I crashed in the first turn, tweaked my knee, bent up my bike, and DNFed. Just another classic Loretta’s swing from high to low. I was still able to race, but in my second 250 Pro Sport moto, while running third, my fuel boiled, and the bike started cutting out, another DNF. In my final moto, I started from the outside and still finished fourth. My score was 4–DNF–4 for 12th overall.

Like I said, Loretta’s is full of ups and downs. Mine felt more like whiplash—great moments followed by brutal disappointments. At the time, each setback felt like the end of the world. But now, over a decade later, I see those weeks for what they really were: lessons. Sure, I wish I’d had better results, but I wouldn’t change those experiences. They shaped me. They taught me perspective—how to fight, how to bounce back, and that results don’t always tell the whole story. I wish I had enjoyed those moments more, instead of being so consumed with numbers and finishes.

Loretta’s is a big deal, but also, it’s not. Plenty of top pros never did great there. It’s one week, not your whole story. So to everyone racing: good luck, give it everything, and remember to thank the people who made it all possible. It’s one of the coolest weeks you’ll ever have as an amateur racer.