Moore Caleb - Catching the sky: two brothers, one family, and our dream to fly

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Copyright 2016 by Colten Moore with Keith OBrien

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First 37 INK/Atria Books hardcover edition January 2016

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Interior design by Paul Dippolito

Jacket design by Peter Garceau

Jacket Photographs Juhokuva/iStock

Author Photograph by iFly Photography

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-5011-1724-4

ISBN 978-1-5011-1726-8 (ebook)

For my mother, my father, and Caleb

But why, some say, the moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they may well ask why climb the highest mountain? Why, 35 years ago, fly the Atlantic? Why does Rice play Texas?

President John F. Kennedy, giving his famous moon speech at Rice University in Houston, Texas, September 1962

PEOPLE ALWAYS want to know why I take the risks that I do.

Am I afraid? they askwhen really, what they mean is, Am I crazy? When I set out to write this book, I wanted to answer these questions by not only telling my personal story but also by placing that story in the broader context of American risk-taking, of men and women, pursuing sports, on the edge. To do that, I needed to work with an accomplished reporter and authorand it was clear that Keith OBrien was the right choice. This is my story, my brothers story, and my familys narrative. But hopefully, in the end, its more than just that. Am I afraid? All the time. Am I crazy? Arent we all?

THE STORM moved in at nightfall, spitting snow from the sky. I wasnt concerned about it and, of course, neither was my brother. Caleb never worried about anything: not what people thought of him; not the backflips he was about to do on a quarter-ton snowmobile three stories up in the air on national television; and certainly not a little storm closing in on the mountain. By Colorado standards, the storm was nothingjust a little snow, with some ice and low visibility later, maybe. But who cared? This was Aspen, ESPNs Winter X Games, our one chance every year to prove we were the most talented freestyle snowmobilers alivethe best at flipping the machines. Of course there would be snow. There was supposed to be snow. And, anyway, it just added to the ambiancethe whole feeling that this was big, that there was magic in the cold winter night. The snow, falling from the heavens, seemed to sparkle in the lights on the mountain.

I looked at Caleb, sitting atop his black-and-red two-cylinder snowmobile emblazoned with a gold star and his beloved No. 31. He looked readyhis usual selfand that put me at ease. His practice runs in recent days had been shaky at times. In the weeks before we arrived in Aspen, Caleb had crashed all too often as he honed his tricks for the competitionuncharacteristic tumbles that left his body bruised and his back aching. While Caleb didnt seem to dwell on his mistakes, I certainly did, rolling them over in my mind. But then, that was methe younger brother, always stewing in silence. Did I have what it took? Could I really do this? We were from the panhandle of Texas, where hills are hard to find and snowstorms about as likely as a stampede of dinosaurs. Did we really belong on this mountain with Canadians and Minnesotans, guys who had been riding sleds all their lives? In recent years, I had worried about that a lot. And so, yes, I had noted Calebs crashes in the days before Aspen. I could see my brother was pushing himself, pushing the edge of what was possible, anything to win his first gold medal at the X Games.

But that afternoon in our final practice runs on the course in Aspen, Caleb had been perfect, nailing down his seventy-five-second routine of flips and jumps. He was dialed in and he knew it, flashing his country-boy smile to the cameras and predicting a big night. Its going to happen, he said as the sun went down and the cold began to set in.

Now everything was in place: the riders, the television trucks, the crowd. Fifteen thousand people had gathered on the mountain to watch. A million more were viewing at home. And ESPNs broadcast was ready from Aspen, about to go live to the world. Were at two minutes right now, a producer informed us, standing in the snow at the start of the course.

Two minutes, he said again.

A hush fell over the riders. Even the producer wouldnt speak much anymore, flashing hand signals instead to let us know that it was time.

One minute to go.

Thirty seconds.

Five, four, three, two, one...

Caleb straddled his sled and revved his engine, pulling on the throttle. He was alone on the coursethe first of eight finalists to go for the night.

THE ANNOUNCERS were almost giddy as the competition got started. The infamous Moore brothers, the play-by-play man called us on television, as ESPNs cameras panned to my brother wearing his goggles and helmet. Caleb has been throwing down in practice, the TV commentator added. Hes got the big tricks. But Im really hoping he can smooth out that run.

My brother looked square into the camera as he pulled away, stood up on his sled, popped a wheelie in the snow, and acknowledged the crowd with a raised fist and a flick of his fingerclassic Caleb, always the showman. Then he turned, hit the throttle, kicked up a cloud of snow, and peeled off toward the first ramp, whipping through the flurries falling from the sky. He landed his first jump just fine, flying some ninety feet through the air, as he let go of the handlebars, held on momentarily with his feet, and then grabbed the bars once again. But it wasnt exactly perfect. The nose of his sled came in a little high, causing it to slam into the snow as the back treads touched down againa fact the announcers pointed out to everyone watching at home. He had stomped out the landing, but still. A little tentative start there for Caleb Moore.

Tentative was the last thing Caleb ever wason that day or any other. The word most people used to describe him was fearless. Hed first proven it racing and jumping ATVs on backcountry dirt racks in rural Texas and, later, on this very mountain in Aspen, on a snowmobile. But there was certainly reason to be tentativefor Caleb, for me, for all of usif you let your mind go there. Wed all been injured riding, snapping bones and suffering countless concussions. No one could say exactly how many. Its not like we always went to a doctor. Even if my parents demanded that we go get checked out at a hospital, wed ignore them at times, especially Caleb, once he turned eighteen. He wanted nothing to do with doctors, nurses, or paramedicsanyone who might keep him from riding, from being free. Once, while practicing for an ATV freestyle show in Amarillo, the engine on his four-wheeler bogged out and diedin midairtwo stories up. He jumped off the floating hunk of metal and slammed down onto the hard floor of the empty arena, injuring his back. For months afterward, Caleb ached, struggling to walk or sit at times. Chiropractors became his best friends. But he refused to see a doctor, fearing hed be told to stay off the machines. It was only later we learned that he had cracked a bone in his back that day in Amarilloa serious injury that would have sidelined just about anyone, in any sport. Not Caleb, though. He rode like that for months. Im fine, hed say, rubbing his lower back. Ive got this.