June 22, 2024

JETT LAWRENCE IS lining up a 10-foot putt in his bedroom as he explains why, when he’s not riding a dirt bike, he’s working on his golf game.

“I hate sucking,” says Lawrence, who has placed two golf balls on the carpet about 2 inches apart. His bedroom is large, sparsely decorated with a collection of candid Polaroids and a 4-foot-tall stuffed penguin in a polka-dot sunhat. Lawrence bought this house in a gated golf community in Dade City, Florida, in January, a few years after he took up the game. He rarely plays 18, but he’s obsessed with getting better. That same relentlessness drives him in motocross.

“I remember the first time I lost a race,” Lawrence says, his sandy hair curled into ringlets by the humidity. “I was 4 and got second.” He taps a third ball into the space between the others. “I bawled my eyes out,” he says, and sinks another putt. “My first 250 EMX race in Europe, I was 14 racing against guys in their 20s and 30s and I didn’t even qualify. I was bawling then, too. I hated that feeling.”

Lawrence hasn’t experienced that feeling much lately, at least not on a motocross track. Only 20, he is the fourth rider in history, and the first Australian, to win four titles in the 250 class of Supercross and Pro Motocross, and this summer, he moved up to the 450 premier class for Pro Motocross. In August, he became the first premier-class rookie, and only the third rider in history, to go undefeated.

“On the start line, I always think, ‘Could this be the moto when I get beat?'” Lawrence says and picks up his putter. With his square jaw and high cheekbones, he looks like central casting’s idea of a superstar athlete. “That fear is what pours fuel on the fire.”

On this Monday afternoon in mid-August, Lawrence is two weeks away from completing the undefeated season, but two days earlier, he mathematically clinched the championship. When he crossed the finish line, he cried. Then he sat away from the crowd, slowly turning the large, silver trophy in his hands and reading the list of riders his name soon would be etched alongside.

“Disbelief,” Lawrence says. “It’s something we never thought was possible.”

Motocross has long waited for a rider like Lawrence, a generational talent with pop star looks, effortless charisma and crossover potential. And he has arrived at a moment when the sport’s two U.S. series have unified for the first time and there are more ways than ever to capture and connect with fans.

“He’s a Michael Jordan,” says seven-time 450 champion Ryan Dungey. “There’s something special about Jett,” says motorsports icon Travis Pastrana. “We all see it coming,” says Jeremy McGrath, whose record 72 Supercross wins earned him the title, The King of Supercross. “He does things on a motorcycle no one can do,” says Ricky Carmichael, who’s known as the GOAT for his unrivaled success in Supercross and motocross. “He’s poetry in motion.”

With his fierce competitiveness, disarming honesty and innate charm, Lawrence is a blend of the great champions who came before him. And like those athletes, he wants to leave his mark. He already has set his sights on fundamentally changing the sport, down to the way motocross racers ride. But he still has much to prove.

“Jett has Pastrana’s charisma, McGrath’s showmanship, James Stewart’s creativity and Carmichael’s work ethic,” says Davey Coombs, president of motocross promoter MX Sports and founder of Racer X magazine. “But whether he is going to revolutionize the sport remains to be seen.” Lawrence knows that until he wins a 450 Supercross title, the most prestigious championship in motocross, there will be doubts. But he’s already thinking bigger.

“A realistic goal — it will be hard to do — is to beat McGrath’s Supercross wins record,” Lawrence says. “I’m coming in so young and will already be battling for wins straight away.”

LAWRENCE LIFTS HIS black T-shirt to reveal a rose tattoo on his left side, then points to the word “mindset” on the inside of his left forearm. “This was my very first tattoo,” he says. “That’s from my dad. He’s taught us that whatever we do, make sure we have the mindset to give 100 percent.” His six tattoos, all in black ink, came in quick succession this year after his parents, Darren and Emma, finally gave their thumbs-up. He rubs his right arm and hand, where he has three open-winged swallows. They’re his newest tattoos.

“They’re for Hunter, Tate and me,” Lawrence says, referring to his older brothers. “Hunter is on my hand because he’s the one leading us through most things. We’re always kind of following Hunter’s guide.”

That wasn’t the case when it came to getting the ink, though. Hunter, 24, also wants tattoos, but he’s taking his time to consider the art and the artist. Jett, on the other hand, doesn’t overthink. When he has an idea, he acts and doesn’t look back. Take those photographs in his bedroom.

A few months ago, Hunter purchased a high-end digital camera, downloaded a bunch of apps and started teaching himself about film simulation settings. “I tell Jett all about it, how I like a certain style of photo and how I’m learning this new craft,” Hunter says. “I finish explaining it all and he goes, ‘Cool.’ Then he goes to Walmart and buys a Polaroid.”

That’s been the story since the Lawrence boys were little. “I just wanted to do whatever Hunter was doing,” Jett says. That’s why he started riding moto in the first place.

The Lawrences were not a dirt bike family. When the boys were young, Darren, 50, got into muscle cars and drag racing. Emma was just trying to keep up with three energetic sons. The family went on weekend camping trips where Darren and the boys rode friends’ bikes without ever planning to buy their own. But then something clicked with Hunter. By the time Jett started riding, Hunter wanted to race. On Saturday nights, families from their neighborhood gathered to watch American motocross racing on TV — a week behind because of the delayed broadcast schedule in Australia — and young Hunter grew enamored with the sport’s stars. “I was more interested in the pizza,” Jett says.

But riding was a different story. Jett often disappeared for hours on his blue Yamaha PW 50 while his dad and Hunter worked on cornering and starts. “He would ride his bike until it ran out of fuel,” Darren, who everyone calls Dazzy, says. “He’d wee his pants.” “He was only 4 or 5!” Emma interjects. “I’d have to carry the gas drum down to wherever he was,” Darren says. “I’d be like, ‘Dude, couldn’t you stop and do a wee?’ He’d look at me as though I was stupid. Of course, he couldn’t stop.”

For Jett, riding was a passion long before it was a purpose. As Darren studied the technique of the best riders and learned how to teach his sons the sport, he noticed Hunter would soak up every instruction, while Jett wasn’t much interested in being told what to do. He just wanted to go fast, hit every bump and jump on the track. He didn’t respond well when Darren told him he needed to slow down and learn proper technique.

“When you have your first child, you give them lots of verbal instructions,” Darren says. “Watch out. Don’t trip on that step. Get your hand off the stove. By the time the third one comes, he watches his brothers, or he just trips over the step and learns.”

That’s how it went for the brothers on a motocross track. Dad would explain to Hunter how to do something, Hunter would put in the work to figure it out and then Jett would “watch me do it once and go and hit it perfect,” Hunter says. “Then me and Dad would laugh about it on the car ride home.” Off the track, Jett was a typical little brother. “He’d break my toys, come in my room and drive me up the wall,” says Hunter, who was protective of Jett but also gave him the gears any time he could. “Dad would always say, ‘You two need to sort your s— out now because you’re going to be best mates when you get older,” Hunter says.

Despite their different styles, wins came quickly for both brothers. Hunter (“Hunta” in an Aussie accent) earned a reputation for racing with maturity beyond his years. Jett earned the nickname “Little Swappa” because of his wild, hang-it-all-out style. “A lot of people told us our boys had talent, but we never had the money to see if what they were saying was true,” Emma says.

In 2011, at age 12, Hunter won the Australian national title in the 65 class and earned an invitation to compete in the Junior World Championships in Cingoli, Italy. It was his first opportunity to test his skills against the best riders his age in the world. Motorcycling Australia picked up the cost of Hunter and Jett’s flights and accommodations. The family needed only to come up with the money for Darren’s airfare.

Hunter crashed in the opening lap but fought back to an impressive fifth overall. “That’s when he was like, ‘This is what I want to do,'” Emma says. He started setting his sights on racing in America. Jett was just along for the ride.

JETT REMEMBERS HIS family’s decision to move to Europe as the start of an adventure. Hunter remembers the pressure.

In the four years after Hunter raced in Italy, the brothers climbed the international ranks. But the family fell on hard times after Darren’s construction company ran into financial trouble. “Any dollar we had went to paying off a debt or buying gas for the boys’ motorcycles,” says Darren, a stucco mason. To supplement his construction jobs, he found work in a coal mine, which took him away from home for weeks at a time. “I understood the situation more than Jett,” Hunter says. “I heard conversations around the house and felt the stress of it. When Dad was gone, I was the man of the house.”

The family was just starting to rebuild their lives financially when Darren received a call from the head of Kawasaki’s factory team in Europe. “I was standing in front of our garage in Landsborough,” he says. “I’ll never forget it.”

Kawasaki wanted to sign Hunter, then 16, and bring him to Europe to race full-time. Darren and Emma knew how big an opportunity this was. The transition from Australia to the U.S. had proved difficult for many young racers. But two-time 450 champion Chad Reed, the most successful Australian to make the move, had drawn a blueprint through Europe. “I learned a very high level of racing but with much less pressure,” Reed says. “I learned success came with TV cameras and media and gained an understanding, at an international level, of what it takes. It made the transition to the States smoother and easier.”

But Darren and Emma had seen other families send their kids to race abroad without supervision or with only one parent. “I told them we would not split up our family,” Darren says. He told the team his sons were a package deal.

Moving to Europe meant homeschooling Jett and Tate, who is autistic and had never been on a plane and needed special care. It meant leaving their friends and family, selling their home and everything they owned — Darren’s muscle cars, the bikes, the boys’ toys — to come up with enough money to live for a few years.

Darren left for Europe with Hunter and Jett first, while Emma sold their house. They’d staked everything on making the move work. “I’d do the shopping while dad worked on our bikes,” Hunter says. When their work visas fell through a few months after they arrived, a Kawasaki executive suggested they just go back to Australia. “We didn’t have anything to go home to,” Darren says.

As the money started to run out, Emma worked out visas through Cyprus, which required all five of them to make overnight trips there every three months, and the family cut costs wherever possible.

Instead of flying like most racers, Darren drove the boys from Den Dungen, the Netherlands, to races as far away as Latvia and calculated precisely how much money they could spend on food each week. “A bowl of oatmeal with cut-up apples and bananas worked out to 37 cents,” Darren says. “Tins of tuna were 60 cents. A baguette was a dollar. I’d make a sandwich, cut it in half, take one bite out of each half and give the rest to the boys.”

After the Netherlands, the family moved to Belgium, and then Germany, where the boys spent time living and training at the home of Heiko Klepka, the father of two-time 450 motocross champion Ken Roczen, whom they met through their Kawasaki team manager. “I learned work ethic and how to organize my training days,” Jett says. “The kids who were around taught me swear words in German.”

In Australia, Jett had been a popular kid. He surfed, played soccer, raced BMX and took dance lessons at a local studio. He competed in hip-hop competitions, even choreographed routines and took third at a national competition in 2014, the same year he won the junior motocross world championship in the 65 class. But in Europe, he had a hard time meeting new friends. “In between races, I’d stay home and do a lot of drawing,” he says. “I’ve always loved art and most of the kids my age didn’t speak English.”

Hunter had finished school, so racing was his full-time job. Although Darren and Emma tried to shield him from the pressure, “I knew it all was riding on my shoulders,” he says. Jett was still too young to earn meaningful contracts, but Hunter’s success could change the family’s lives. He lined up at races hoping to get noticed by an American race team, while Jett developed his skills away from the spotlight.

Hunter used the pressure as motivation. “Dad would tell me, ‘As long as we give 110 percent and are 1 percent better each day, we’ll get there,'” Hunter says. “He’d say, ‘I can’t tell you how right now, but just keep believing and working hard.'” They never considered a Plan B.

“I’m sure it was hard on Hunter,” Jett says. “The pressure was on him to get good enough results to start getting paid so we could live. I was happier when he did good than when I did, because it was more beneficial for our family. That changed once we got to the States. That’s when I felt the pressure.”

“THIS TIME, WATCH HIS FEET.” Darren is standing on a tabletop jump in the center of a private motocross track in Dade City, Florida, on a Tuesday morning in mid-August. From this vantage point, he can see every corner and rut. Throughout their careers, Darren has remained his sons’ coach and is known for his creative approach to the sport and fanatical attention to detail. He once called up Jett’s gear sponsor to suggest a design change to his boots and encourages Jett, Hunter and the other young riders who train here to bring their dogs to the facility, which they call The Dog Pound, for the calming endorphin release the pups provide to the boys between motos.

“Darren’s relationship with Honda is probably the first of its kind,” says Lars Lindstrom, team manager of Honda HRC, the Lawrences’ current team. “He’s involved in engine development, chassis development, suspension, all of it. He holds us, the boys and himself to a high standard.” At the track, he misses nothing.

“Arches. Arches. Now he’s on the balls of his feet,” Darren says, narrating Jett through a lap. The brothers are 10 minutes into their first training ride of the day at the 63-acre facility they purchased late last year. It was built by Reed, who sold it in 2016, and is about a 20-minute drive from Jett’s home, where he lives with his parents and Tate, and about 40 minutes from the house of Hunter and his wife, Cynthia. Although it’s not yet 10 a.m., the mercury is already pushing 100 while the humidity hangs near 80%. “Stay light. Stay light. Did you see that adjustment?”

It doesn’t take a trained eye to recognize Jett is fast. But it’s not his speed, or his feet, that demands attention as much as the way he seems to float above the track’s gnarled features as if his bike is fueled by helium. Lap after lap, Jett rides his Honda CRF 450 like he’s waiting for an artist to paint him. Little Swappa is long gone, replaced by a rider who’s known today for having the best technique in the sport.

“Jett watched Hunter do it first, and then he perfected this style of riding,” Darren says as Jett glides through a section of braking bumps.

“Whether you’re an amateur or a pro, you are studying Jett,” says Dungey, who retired from the sport in 2017 but returned last summer to race a season of Pro Motocross. “Most riders think they have to muscle the bike and they’re hard on the gas and override the track. Jett has good throttle control and isn’t bombing into corners and grabbing a handful of brake. If other guys are braking 40 feet before a turn, he’s braking at 60 feet and letting off the gas early. It’s fast but looks effortless and you’re going to see his style more. If I was still racing, I’d try everything Jett is doing.”

At the biggest amateur race in the world this summer at Loretta Lynn’s Ranch in Waverly, Tennessee, young racers emulating Jett’s efficient, technical style posted videos to their social media highlighting “the Lawrence effect” on the way they ride.

“For so many years, it’s been clutch it, rev the heck out of the bike and go as fast as you can,” Jett says. “No one put any thought into it. Hunter and me, we’re kind of changing the game. There’s a faster way to go without being so erratic, which makes the rider safer. We can go around a racetrack at almost our 100 percent, and we are fine going that close to the edge.”

That style marks a significant shift in riding technique. Since Carmichael dominated in the 2000s, motocross has been defined by uber athletes who out-suffered their competition during the week and used their fitness and fearlessness to ride at the edge on race days. That “older-fashioned mindset,” Carmichael says, meant a rider relied less on finesse and racecraft than on toughness and pure speed. “My style was very loose and not very precise,” Carmichael says. “It wasn’t calculated, just in-your-face and hard-nosed like a lineman in football. Jett is like a quarterback, where precision is absolutely the most important thing.”

During a race, Jett has an uncanny feeling for what the bike is doing beneath him and an ability to focus deeply in the moment while also studying how the track’s ruts are breaking down and planning line changes three laps ahead. He knows the sections of the track where he’s cutting tenths of seconds from his lap times and uses those spots to execute passes quickly and efficiently. “I can find a way around anyone,” Jett says, “no matter who it is.”

“I RODE MY HEART OUT, and I rode for this doughnut.” Jett is standing on the podium at the Monster Cup in Las Vegas, his first nationally televised race in the U.S. It’s October 2019 and the family has just moved to California after both brothers earned rides with Geico Honda, which folded in late 2020. Hunter, 20 at the time, is preparing to make his 250 professional debut in Supercross in February. Jett, 16, is a relative unknown — until this moment.

“I’m going to enjoy it,” Jett says, as he bites into a glazed doughnut and offers to share it with the television reporter. Many in his camp groan. They don’t know how fans and his new sponsors will respond to a rider going off script and eating sugar on the podium. And they aren’t sure this is the image they want Jett to project after his first big win.

Then fans start showing up at his pit before races with bags of doughnuts. That interview was the perfect icebreaker, a tiny window into who Jett is when his helmet is off.

“In the ’90s, McGrath made motocrossers the cool guys in the bar,” says Jett’s agent, Lucas Mirtl. “Then we bred robots who wanted everyone to know they’re as fit as triathletes. But this is entertainment. People want the cool guys. No one wants to know you eat rice cakes and cycle four hours every morning. When you win, show everyone that it meant something to you. When you’re pissed, show that you’re pissed. Jett is genuine and relatable.”

From the outset, Jett had the makings of a star. But he had to learn how to become a champion. And no moment was more important in that development than the third race of the 2020 Supercross season at Angel Stadium four months later.

At the time, Hunter was midway through the toughest two years of his career. Shortly before what was supposed to be his professional debut in 2019, he broke his collarbone. Then he tore his ACL, broke his collarbone again and dislocated his shoulder. He eventually learned that an autoimmune disease was largely to blame for his body’s fragility, and he contemplated giving up racing. During that time, expectations shifted to Jett. “Hunter had carried the weight ’til then,” Jett says. “When he was having a bad run and going through the injures, it was my turn to keep it going.”

It was Hunter’s turn to watch and learn from Jett.

That night in Anaheim, Jett stunned the crowd. In the 250 main event, he led the race for 16 laps, but in the penultimate lap, defending series champion Dylan Ferrandis passed him. Instead of closing out the race, taking second — and earning the first podium finish of his career — Jett saw red. On the final lap, he lost control of his bike in the whoops and crashed into the face of the next jump. Ferrandis won the race. Jett was carted out of the stadium in tears with a concussion and a broken collarbone. He had no regrets. “I’ll never settle for second,” he posted to his social media that night.

It was a defining moment for Jett. Race fans were captivated. He showed his hunger, that he had the speed to compete with the best in his class and that he wouldn’t back down from a fight. As he healed from his injury, anticipation built to see him back on the track. “I loved that Jett was this dorky little 16-year-old kid ready to take on the world,” Reed says. “I had so much respect and love for that. I couldn’t wait to see him back out there.”

The morning after the race, Jett and his dad went to the Laguna Niguel home of Johnny O’Mara, a Supercross champion turned trainer known for helping to guide the careers of Carmichael, Stewart and Dungey. O’Mara had been working with Jett and Hunter for about a year and was taking Jett to the orthopedic surgeon that morning. But first, he wanted to talk.

“I know he had a broken collarbone,” O’Mara says. “But I was livid.” O’Mara expected Jett to make mistakes at his age. But he also wanted Jett to learn. O’Mara told him that type of hot-headed decision-making would not keep him in the sport for long, and it would not win championships. He told Jett that to become a champion, he needed to learn to live with finishing second sometimes. He also invited someone else to the house to help him get the message through: Carmichael.

“I shared with Jett some of my own rookie mistakes,” Carmichael says. “I asked him what he thought happened so the next time he was in that situation, he knew what to be mindful of. He listened. He doesn’t think he knows it all and I never see him make the same mistake twice.”

O’Mara says he learned as much about Jett that day as any. “He’s a sponge,” O’Mara says. “In his craft, I haven’t seen anybody better. [That race] taught him he needs to be patient and smart.”

AT HOME IN FLORIDA, Jett is trying not to think about the history he can make two weeks from today. He’s not superstitious or afraid to talk about the perfect season, but he also isn’t sure he’s placing as much importance on it as everyone else. “I’ve already done my job,” he says. “I won the championship. I could just take the next two weeks off.”

There’s a part of Jett that truly feels that way. But there’s another part of him that wants more than anything to hear his name spoken in the same breath as Carmichael and Stewart, the only riders to race undefeated seasons. He lives for the big moments. “He’s a showman,” Mirtl says. “I swear if someone told Jett that there was no crowd and the TV satellites went out and they couldn’t broadcast Saturday’s race, he’d get lapped.”

Around the sport, Jett’s pursuit of an undefeated season was as big a moment as any. He’d already delivered Honda its first 450 Pro Motocross championship since 2004. Now he had the chance to match Carmichael’s perfect season from that year. The topic filled motocross message boards and dominated dinner conversations. “If Jett runs the table in his rookie year on the 450,” Pastrana said the week before the final race, “that’s something that will probably never be done again.”

At races, men waited for hours to thank him for making their wives, sons and daughters fans. College students told him they set 6 a.m. alarms so they wouldn’t miss T-shirt drops on his website, Jettson.co, home base for his apparel company, which pulls in seven figures a year. “I have two daughters, 17 and 15, so of course, they’re Jett fans,” McGrath says. “In this house, we’re all Jett fans.”

At meet-and-greets and VIP dinners, Jett seems to have endless energy for his fans, and they repay him with loyalty. A drop on his website of doughnut-themed goggles, a collaboration with his sponsor, 100 Percent, sold out in 60 seconds. Last year, he sold $350,000 worth of replica jerseys in five minutes. The going rate for a social media campaign with him is $200,000.

In 2022, Jett launched Jettson Donuts, “a company fueled by youthful rebellion,” and sold boxes of four doughnuts, with icing to match that week’s racing gear, at Supercross races for $30. He and his partners sell Jettson Donuts gear and plan to open a brick-and-mortar store in New York City. “There’s more depth to Jett than being a good motocross rider,” Mirtl says. “That’s his job. These are his passion plays.”

All of this comes at a time when motocross is as visible as ever. Its two U.S. leagues — Supercross and Pro Motocross — merged this year and added a three-race playoff that culminates in the inaugural SuperMotocross World Championship at the Los Angeles Coliseum on Sept. 23. The points are so close after two events that the final race in L.A. has become winner-take-all between Jett, Roczen and Chase Sexton, the 23-year-old reigning 450 Supercross champ with whom Jett is developing a must-watch rivalry.

It’s hard to imagine another rider with this reach aside from, perhaps, Pastrana. But No. 199 didn’t have the benefit of social media for much of his career and would be the first to admit he never captured the Taylor Swift demographic in the way Jett has. But like Pastrana, Jett is a motivated entrepreneur who wants to grow the sport authentically, by winning races, having fun and sharing his experience.

“On the bike, Jett is a champion, Red Bull guy, factory Honda, Australian accent, all the ingredients for a big head,” says Alpinestars athlete relations manager Jose Luis Calvo. “Off the bike, he’s down-to-earth, goofy, a little bit naïve. He’s easy to sell to a non-motocross audience. He’s the Justin Bieber of motocross.”

“IT DOESN’T FEEL REAL.” Thirty minutes after Jett crosses the finish line on his undefeated season, he’s on stage at Ironman Raceway in Indiana wearing a pair of gold goggles around his neck and a white T-shirt with a “1” and “Hunta” in red, in the style of the Honda logo. Jett has won five consecutive championships culminating in this moment — the greatest performance ever by a premier-class rookie.

But it’s not his success he wants to talk about. “I want to start off by saying congrats to Hunter,” Jett says into the microphone. An hour earlier, Hunter clinched his first 250 Pro Motocross championship, his second 250 title in four months. “I don’t think anyone deserved that title more than him,” Jett says.

The brothers spend the afternoon giving interviews and signing autographs. But their celebrations are short-lived. They’re back on the track Monday morning to train for the first of the three SuperMotocross races, which will take place on hybrid tracks featuring elements of motocross and Supercross. Darren is there, too, tracking every turn and making sure his sons make every practice lap count.

“Dad’s not a super emotional guy,” Hunter says. “We never have a moment where we stop and talk about what we’ve done or that we’ve made it. We’re always striving for the next thing.”

Earlier this year, however, Hunter and Jett did take the time to celebrate becoming the first brothers to win titles in the same year. They used part of their championship bonuses to buy matching 2014 Ferrari F12 Berlinettas. Then, for Father’s Day, they bought Darren a 1968 Camaro. It’s black with a dark gray stripe down the middle, just like the one he once owned in Australia.

“It was his baby,” Hunter says. “He had to sell it when we were going through rough times. To repay him back was a goal.”

JETT STEPS OUT of an ice bath and wraps himself in a towel. He and Hunter are done riding for the day, so he changes into a black T-shirt and shorts, slips into red Crocs over black socks and sits down beside his brother. Although he has yet to line up for a Supercross race on a 450, he’s already considering his legacy, what he “wants to leave the sport with, and leave for the sport,” Jett says. He wants to break records, but he wants more than that.

“I want to leave the knowledge that you can work your butt off and also have fun,” he says. “And I want to have an impact on bringing technique back to the sport. Then if kids pick up on the way I ride, put it into their programs and beat the records I set, that will be a cool feeling.”

At the Coliseum on Saturday, the brothers will have their final chance to each win titles. Then Hunter will move up to the 450 class. In January, they will line up together for their first Supercross race in the sport’s big leagues. From then and for the remainder of their careers, no matter who else is on the track, they will be each other’s greatest competition. They’ve been preparing for this their entire lives.

“People always ask, ‘Oh, are you happy when your brother wins?'” Hunter says. “And I’m like, yeah, obviously. It’s my blood out there. I’m more nervous watching him race than I am when I’m on the start line.

“We’re brothers first,” he adds. “When the helmets go on, we race each other hard and clean, and the results will be what they’ll be. In 20 years, I don’t think we’ll care who has more titles. That won’t move the needle in our lives. But we want to be able to look back with our family and say, ‘Wow, Jett and I dominated the sport, and we did it together.'”

And if they win the SuperMotocross titles on Saturday, how will they look back on their remarkable 2023? “It’d be unreal,” Jett says.

“Six titles for our family this year,” Hunter says. “The year of Lawrence.”

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