Ken Roczen: “When I first met her, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think too much of it. She wasn’t what I expected, not at all. At that point in my life, everything revolved around motocross, was taking shape, and I was consumed by the Game, the Club, the road ahead. Romance? It wasn’t on my radar. But—she—she walked into my life like a different kind of force, something I hadn’t known I needed.
At first, it was subtle. The way she laughed, the way she noticed things that no one else did. It wasn’t flashy; it wasn’t loud. It was quiet, steady, grounding. I was used to speed, chaos, adrenaline, and risk—but her presence? It was the calm I didn’t know I’d been searching for. She challenged me, too, in ways that weren’t confrontational but meaningful. She asked questions I hadn’t thought to ask myself. And slowly, very slowly, I realized that I was drawn in, not by excitement or thrill, but by something far rarer: authenticity.
I began to see parts of myself that I’d buried under the bike, the training, the pressure to perform. She made me laugh in ways that had nothing to do with victory laps or podiums, and I found comfort in that. She was patient, understanding the madness of my life yet never demanding it change overnight. It was the first time I felt like someone could see me—not just the racer, not just the persona, but me, the person.
Looking back, I understand now why that first impression didn’t matter. She didn’t fit any mold, didn’t play by the rules I’d set for the people around me. And yet, in her unpredictability, in her quiet strength, she became one of the most important parts of my story—my anchor amid the chaos of motocross, and the reminder that life isn’t just about the next lap—it’s about the people who make it worth racing.”
