Where Am I?

                                          



Where Am I?

I see people falling off motorbikes, going down hills and crashing, smoke rising.

I smell the exhaust pipe burning, and mud flicking around.

I feel grippy handle bars as we zoom back down the hill, my big feet trying to flick up gears.

I taste a huge fresh gust of wind blowing hard up against my face.

I hear the sound of motorbikes ripping through the wet damp grass.

Where am I?
Motorbiking through the bush.