Thank You to the MX Community

Trent Haywood

A very sincere thank you to all those who, before and on the day, made today’s service for Trent Haywood such a special and moving occasion.

The superbly decorated casket was in Suzuki yellow, blazoned with the number 323. An array of dirt bikes welcomed the mourners. The tributes were impressive, heartfelt, warm and touched with humour and, even though there was sadness, the tributes were a reflection and a confirmation of the fantastic son, brother, friend and fellow motocrosser that Trent Haywood was.

The close to one thousand people who filled the Holy Trinity Church saw, and were, tangible proof that, despite a certain amount of inevitable risk, what riders gain from motocross is overwhelmingly positive.

There are the strong bonds that are created within families and between friends.  There is the respect for fellow riders, no matter what the colour of their bike or their age.  There is the help and support on hand for every situation.  And, especially impressive today, there was the maturity of the young friends and riders who took the floor in difficult circumstances and did Trent proud.

The motorcycling community is a strong family in itself and its strength lies in its people.

Through a guard of honour from the Tauranga Boys College MX team and a rousing haka, the yellow casket was loaded into the van for Trent’s last trip and Derek drove off to the revving of race bikes.

Thank you to Derek and Dee for creating the lovely young man who it was such a privilege to know. May Trent rest easy and in peace.

And here is the letter that was quoted during the service.  It speaks for itself - and for many of us.

An open letter from the parent of a teenage motox rider.

You ask me why I let my child do motox. I tell you try not letting them. You don't get it. 

You tell me I am the adult. That I'm the one who brought the bike. That I'm the one who provides the transport to meetings. You tell me I'm trying to live my dreams through my kid. I tell you you have obviously never been to our house. You have never seen my child's bedroom walls, lined with motox posters. You have never seen my child on a day when they are not riding: studying footage of other riders, reading motox magazines. Dreaming. You don't see it. 

You tell me I push my child too hard. That I'm putting my child at risk. You don't feel my child's passion. You don't feel what I feel when I see my child's heart on their sleeve every time they compete. You don't feel my heart when my child celebrates a win. Or despairs over a loss. You don't feel the emotional investment my child makes in going after their dream. I pick my child up when they need support to keep going. You don't understand it. 

You ask me how I can let my child go out on the track when I know the risks. I wonder if you will ask yourself the same question when your child gets their first car. 

You ask why the jumps have to be so high. I tell you to ask a rider. Only a rider knows the freedom they feel when they fly. I, like you, will never know it. 

You ask how I can stand to watch my child race. I tell you how most Sundays I feel sick. Caught between wanting my child to do well and wanting them to stay safe. 

We both want to keep our children safe from a whole lot of stuff that can hurt them. Forever. Motox is my child's drug of choice. Motox enables my child to fly. 

I support this choice for as long as my child lives this sport. Because without the freedom to fly, something within my child dies. 

And still. You Just. Don't. Get it.