It flashes past in a blink. Cross is so fucking hard but then over too soon. Power-sapping grass and long laps put the hurt in front. You're not thinking about refueling or much beyond swallowing the blood in the back of your throat. The subtlety of the bike on off camber grass, the feel of the planned drift setting up the next turn before the one you're on is done...all of it rests in your brain like a bee hive. Buzzing with doubt, brimming with questions about how much is left in the tank. Did that last effort empty it? Are there any chasers knocking on the backdoor? Then you get the bell and whatever-it's over. But I want more! I'm not done. What about the pain I haven't yet had? I want that. I paid good money for some abuse and god damn it I want my fucking pain!