“Jett Lawrence is my weakness,” I said it out loud, and to be honest, it wasn’t something I expected to say. But after all the years I’ve spent racing, I’ve learned that sometimes the truth just hits you like a freight train. It doesn’t matter how many championships you’ve won or how many records you’ve broken—there’s always someone out there who can make you dig deeper, push harder, and question everything you thought you knew about the sport.
And right now, that someone is Jett Lawrence.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve always had fierce competitors. There have been plenty of guys who’ve made me work for every inch on the track. But Jett? There’s something different about him. He’s got this swagger, this natural talent that seems almost effortless. When I watch him ride, it’s like everything clicks for him in ways that don’t always make sense to me. It’s smooth, fast, and almost like he’s one step ahead before the rest of us even realize what’s coming.
I’ll admit, there’s a bit of frustration there. I’ve spent years perfecting my craft, grinding every single day to get better. I’ve learned the hard way that no one just gets handed anything in this sport—you’ve got to earn it. And here comes Jett, this young guy, stepping into the limelight and making it look easy. It’s not easy to swallow. You want to believe that you’ve still got the edge, that experience will always prevail. But there’s something in Jett’s style that has me second-guessing myself at times. And that’s where I’m at now.
I’ve been around long enough to know when I’m facing someone special, and Jett is that. The kid is fearless, not afraid to make a move, to push the limits of what we all think is possible on a dirt bike. I don’t know how many times I’ve thought, “How the hell did he do that?” after watching one of his runs. And that, right there, is why he’s my weakness.
When I’m out on the track with him, it feels like there’s an added pressure. It’s not just about winning anymore—it’s about keeping up, pushing myself in ways I didn’t think were possible. The level of intensity Jett brings to every race is something I have to match, or else I’m left behind. And let me tell you, that’s no easy task.
But here’s the thing: I respect it. I respect the hell out of him. Yeah, Jett’s my weakness, but that’s because he challenges me in ways no one else does. He’s not just another rider on the track. He’s a constant reminder that there’s always more to learn, always more to give. That’s what makes this rivalry so damn interesting. We’re not just racing for first place—we’re pushing each other to be better. I can’t afford to get complacent, not with him breathing down my neck at every turn.
The thing is, every time I go out there, I know Jett’s going to give me everything he’s got. And I’m not backing down either. I’ve always been known for my grit and determination, and I’m not about to let a kid like Jett take that from me. But I’ll be the first to admit, he’s got a special fire that lights a different kind of competitive spark in me. It’s the kind of fire that keeps me up at night, makes me reanalyze my approach, and pushes me to step my game up every time I line up next to him.
At the end of the day, this rivalry—this competition—only makes both of us better. And as much as it stings to say it, Jett Lawrence has become the one thing I can’t ignore. He’s my weakness, but also my motivation. So when we line up at the next race, I’ll be doing everything I can to prove that experience still counts for something. But I’m not fooling myself. I know exactly who I’m up against, and he’s hungry. Just like me.
