The story I'm about to share with you is 100% truthful, and a very intense experience I will never forget. But before I share this story with you there are a few things you should know about me first. My mother and father got me and my siblings involved in the sport of dirt biking a little over 10 years ago. We have been riding ever since, but it's mainly an experience me and my father have shared for many years now. Being very experienced riders, we expected for this trip to be like any other we have gone on, little did we know that trouble loomed in the near distant future. It was a warm Friday during the spring of 2009 that my dad and I were packing up the gearbox, a fifth wheel trailer, in preparation for the big trip we always took with Bayside Church out to Yerington, Nevada for a weekend of fun filled activities, mainly on dirt bikes. We finally were underway for the four and a half hour trip to the desert. Stopping along the way for diesel and food, passing through the great snowy sierra Nevada mountains. Once we dropped down onto the flat of Nevada it would only be a few more hours till we reached our destination. The anticipation was building as we neared closer and closer to the camp site. We arrived that afternoon and set up camp, in preparation for tomorrow's 65 mile loop in the desert. That morning was especially cold, the bikes did not want to start, being that the temperature dropped to 35 degrees that night. It was almost as if a higher power was silently telling us to take caution, or to cancel the ride. Once we got the bikes started me and my dad went off down the desert path to a huge fork in the road, with paths leading 4 different directions. We were experienced riders that had been here before many times, so we were not paying much attention to the signs that were there. Well what we didn't know was that last season those very trails were remapped and given new titles. Me and my dad took off down one of the path's thinking we knew exactly where we were headed. As lunch time came, we arrived in a place we were not familiar with. We shrugged it off, ate, and got back on our way hoping to connect back with a trail we knew. As we entered into a ravine with cliffs on either side shooting up at least 30 feet, we hit an old ancient riverbed that we dirt bikers call "river wash" the wash part comes due to the sand that sits at the bottom, that is a consistency of ultra fine grains of sand, and is very hard to navigate through. As all dirt bikers should do, when one reaches the next intersection you wait for the person behind you. I waited at this intersection for a few minutes, that's when I knew something must be wrong, so I quickly turned around. As I traveled down the path I came to see the sight of my dad down in the sand not moving. The worst thoughts came to my mind. I quickly parked