Entering a long awaited motorcycle race, the crowd cheers and claps, not loud enough to cover the zips of the engines. Peering over the edge, 8 racers zip by, the one in front labeled 14 with the last name of 'Miller' written on his jacket, focuses as he crosses the finish line, winning the race. He kicks his bike and takes off his helmet, sweat gleaming on his furry forehead as he waves to the crowd and disappears into the exit.

On the way home from the exhilarating race, you noticed a similar bike broken down on the side of the road. Noticing the jacket that belonged to the racer you had your eye on, you rolled down the window, pulling over next to him

"Need any help?" you called out.