Spring, Speedway & Several Levels of Chaos

There was all that talk in the last blog about snowdrops, spring sunshine and fresh starts… and since then, life has absolutely launched itself straight back into chaos again.

If life had a group chat, ours would still be pinging constantly — loudly, chaotically, and usually at the worst possible time. Blurry pit-lane selfies. School reminders. Someone asking where their socks are. Me replying to messages in my head while trying to do six other things at once.

One minute it was snow days and quiet mornings… the next it was straight into speedway season with absolutely no warning. No gentle build-up. No easing ourselves back in. Just kevlars over dining chairs, shale appearing in places shale should never appear, and that familiar feeling of trying to keep everything together while life moves at full speed around you.

And honestly, sometimes it does feel like a lot. But it’s ours, and I wouldn’t really change it.

Pre-season quickly turned into boot camps, race bags, entry forms, licences, endless planning, constant washing and kevlars permanently hanging somewhere around the house or garden. And Chris — as ever — slipped straight back into it all like an excited kid at Christmas. Still, after all these years, the new season arrives and he lights up exactly the same. The buzz, the build-up, the routine, the smell of the bikes — it’s in his blood.

Meanwhile, I was at home spinning all the other plates — work, school runs, dance lessons, life admin, house chaos, and the invisible mental load that never really switches off. The kind of days where you suddenly realise it’s 9pm and you haven’t sat down once.

But somehow, even in all of it, there’s still nowhere else I’d rather be.

Half term then arrived with even more family madness in the best possible way. Chris’s sister came to stay with our niece and nephew, so we packed the week with plenty of memory making — woodland walks, a trip to the farm, soft play fun and all the usual cousin madness that comes with having the house suddenly feel twice as loud.

My sister-in-law and I even managed a few child-free hours in Leamington with a glass of fizz, which felt like luxury at this stage of life.

We were invited by the World Speedway Riders Association to the Celebration of Speedway event at Hertfordshire Zoo, which turned out to be such a lovely day for all of us.

Cruz’s bike was proudly on display beside the stage, and he was absolutely proud as punch seeing people stop to admire it throughout the day. We spent time exploring the zoo together, with the baby meerkats quickly becoming the kids’ favourites.

One of the biggest highlights was Chris feeding one of the tigers — very fitting for “Tiger” himself — and the children absolutely loved watching it.

Cruz was also asked to warm up Gordon Kennett’s old bike, which he loved every second of, and was a naturally - while Chris jumped on another to help get it started.

Later in the day, Chris was interviewed on stage before Cruz joined him to draw the raffle winners — a job he took very seriously.

Before life got even louder though, I escaped to Cornwall for a week to stay with my parents. I spent time at my happy place — the beach — watched the sunset from Widemouth Manor, switched my brain off for a few days and fully appreciated not having to cook. Simple things… but exactly what I needed before life got loud again.

Amara-Mae had her big dance show the week before her birthday — three nights, costume changes, hairspray clouds, emotional mums, and that sparkle in her where she just completely comes alive on stage. I sat there feeling ridiculously proud in that emotional-parent way you try to hold together but never quite manage.

And somewhere in the middle of all the sequins, stage lights and proud-mum tears, our little Amara-Mae somehow turned eight. Eight. That beautiful age where she’s still my baby one minute and a full-blown independent diva the next. One minute she’s asking me to hold her hand, the next she’s rolling her eyes because apparently I “don’t do her hair right”.

I absolutely adore this stage of her — watching her slowly grow into herself while still needing me in all the little ways she probably doesn’t even realise yet.

Alongside all of that, she’s still waiting for specialist support for her ongoing health issues. Seven years now of appointments, waiting lists, unanswered questions and trying to navigate a system that feels unbelievably stretched at times. I’ll always be grateful for the NHS, but long-term waiting and uncertainty can feel incredibly hard sometimes.

But through all of it, she just keeps going. Dancing, laughing, carrying on and showing more strength than she probably even realises herself.

And then, just like always, speedway season arrived back in full force.

It started with Glasgow press and practice — and somehow Cruz managed to behave better than most of the adults there. The photos of him and Chris together in matching kevlars, especially the Union Jack portraits, honestly didn’t even need captions. Those little moments hit me more than I probably say out loud sometimes.

Meetings were suddenly coming thick and fast for both King’s Lynn and Glasgow. And alongside all of that, Cruz is absolutely loving every second of getting laps on track whenever he can. Whether it’s mascot duties at King’s Lynn and Glasgow, demo laps at Plymouth, or any other opportunity that comes up, he’s there in full race mode straight away.

Then at home it’s straight back out into the field with Chris — bikes, mud, engine noise and endless conversations about how to make everything “faster”. Which, judging by the state of the workshop lately, appears to have become their shared life mission.

Right before Easter, Cruz had one of those proud-parent moments that completely catches you off guard. He received an Excellence award at school, and honestly, seeing his face light up when he spotted us in the room meant more than the certificate itself.

We’ve always known he’s bright, but moments like that remind you it’s not just about ability — it’s about effort, confidence and quietly growing into themselves.

In amongst all of that, a quick birthday celebration of my own. Nothing huge. Nothing over the top. Just one of those reminders to stop for a minute, enjoy the people around you and appreciate the quieter moments in between all the madness.

At this stage of life, that feels more valuable than anything extravagant.

Easter ended up being one of those rare little pockets of calm in the middle of everything else. Chris’s mum came to stay, we squeezed in canal walks, pub stops, a trip to the Space Centre, plenty of gardening, and for once actually enjoyed some proper spring sunshine.

Chris and I also escaped for a spa day together at Eden Hall — no noise, no rushing, no chaos. Just a chance to properly stop for five minutes and breathe. And honestly, it was just really nice to be us for a day. Not mum and dad, not sorting schedules or race plans or life admin — just Mr & Mrs, enjoying each other’s company properly away from all the chaos for a little while.

And I think somewhere along the way, between being mum, wife, organiser, nurse, taxi driver and the person constantly holding everything together behind the scenes, it’s easy to forget there’s still a version of you in there too.

Not somebody needed by everyone else for five minutes. Just… you.

I think that’s something a lot of women quietly lose for a while without even really noticing it happen.

So those little moments lately — Cornwall, the spa day, sitting quietly by the beach, even just laughing properly without thinking about the next thing on the list — have reminded me that I still matter a bit too.

And honestly, I’m still learning how to find that version of myself again amongst all the chaos.

A bit of a rest, recoup and reset before life launched itself back into full speed again.

And somehow we even managed to catch the hottest day of the year so far down in Warwick with the camper, the kids running wild while we sat by the water trying to slow time down for a little bit. Those simple days always end up becoming the important ones somehow.

A couple of days later I’d ended up in A&E with a foot literally twice the size of the other one. Luckily nothing was broken, but apparently crutches and a medical boot were now my latest accessories.

And while all of that is happening, Mia-Faye is quietly stepping into a completely different chapter of life. Concerts with friends. More independence. Growing up far quicker than I’m emotionally prepared for.

And somehow… my little preemie baby turned 17.

She’s never been the type to follow the crowd or ask for every new trend she sees online. No huge demands. No endless lists of things she “needs”. She’s always just quietly been herself.

But she’s always wanted to drive.

So of course her first driving lesson was booked for the day after her 17th birthday.

We surprised her her first little car — a Fiat 500 — and watching her reaction honestly made my heart burst a little bit. Because it wasn’t really about the car. It was about freedom, independence, and watching her slowly spread her wings while part of me still wants to freeze time completely.

To celebrate Mia-Faye turning 17, we all headed down to Plymouth with Chris for his Glasgow fixture. Plymouth always feels a bit like a reunion, catching up with family and friends - like no time has passed.

We met up with family beforehand for food and a birthday cake for Mia-Faye before heading over to the track, which made it feel even more special.

Once at the track it was the usual hustle of people in the pits and selfies and autographs, and Cruz impatiently waiting for some laps.

Cruz took to the track before the main meeting for two sets of demo laps and honestly… he was flying and living his best life.

Not that I could properly watch any of it.

Watching Chris ride has never exactly been relaxing — all action, riding the boards, never knowing when he’s going to throw himself at a gap most people wouldn’t even attempt. But watching your child out on track as a mum feels like a completely different level of anxiety altogether.

So naturally, I spent most of it hiding behind the air fence pretending I was absolutely fine, whilst Mia-Faye and Chris captured the moment.

The meeting itself felt endless — delays, crashes, stoppages, the usual speedway chaos dragging the night later and later while all the kids slowly started fading. Suddenly it was somehow 10:30pm before we were even loaded up and leaving for home with an ETA of around 1:45am.

This felt particularly brutal considering Chris had raced at Glasgow the night before.

And thanks to me still hobbling around in my medical boot — now affectionately renamed “LouBOOTin” — I couldn’t even help with the driving. So there we were — exhausted, surviving on snacks, caffeine and questionable life choices up the M5 motorway in the middle of the night, wondering how this had somehow become normal life for us.

And yet weirdly… I wouldn’t swap it either.

Then came the moment Cruz has been hounding us about for well over a year — his very first grass track meeting. A whole new level of nerves, excitement, pride and absolute emotional carnage on my part.

I think that whole weekend probably deserves a blog of its own, mainly because I’m still not entirely sure how my baby ended up on a race track while I sat at home drinking prosecco pretending I was completely fine about it all.

(Spoiler: I absolutely was not)

So I’ll save that story — the build-up, the chaos, the big dreams — for the next blog. Because that one deserves its own space.

We took a family trip over to the new Northampton Shale Way recently for their first meeting. With it now being our closest circuit, we wanted to go and support the new track and British Speedway as a family.

Despite not actually racing that night, Chris still spent most of the evening chatting, posing for photos, signing autographs and catching up with people, which I think says a lot about the speedway community.

Meanwhile, the kids enjoyed the night, especially the dessert bar.

It felt really unusual for us, because normally, if we’re at speedway, Chris is the one out on track racing. So actually getting to go together purely to watch felt strange.

That’s speedway all over sometimes — the highs and lows arriving almost side by side.

After the high of Plymouth and the excitement of Cruz’s first grasstrack weekend, life swung the other way just as quickly — because only days later came Glasgow.

The season’s barely begun, and already it feels like crash after crash across the UK and Europe.

Chris already having 2 crashes - Berwick, Northampton and Glasgow to follow. Each one different, each one leaving its own mark, and each one reminding you how brutal this sport can be at times.

I stayed up until nearly 3:30am Friday waiting to make sure Chris got home safely after the Glasgow crash. It was one of those rides where he looked capable of pulling off something pretty phenomenal.

Off a 15-metre handicap and charging through the field, I already knew what was coming in that final lap — that heroic move, that last push — because Chris has never really been the type of rider who settles. If there’s even a chance, or half a gap, he’ll go for it.

But coming into the final corner of the last lap, the back wheel lost grip, spun him round, and down he went - hard.

With me still sporting my medical boot, Chris crashing for the 3rd time honestly felt like the universe was slightly overdoing the chaos at this point.

People were messaging me saying he looked okay because he’d gone back out practicing after Heat 15 insisting “the bike didn’t feel right”. But when I talked to him after, and when he walked through the door early hours the next morning - I knew differently.

People always ask what it’s like loving someone who races speedway. And honestly? It’s complicated.

Most of the time, you learn to live inside the adrenaline and the noise of it all. The engines, the atmosphere, the routine of race nights. You almost train yourself to stay calm, especially when you have children.

Until the second something goes wrong, and then everything inside you drops instantly. That horrible split second where your stomach turns before your brain has even caught up. The waiting. The silence. The looking for movement from across the track. The wait for a text or call that feels like forever.

People sometimes forget that behind every helmet is still somebody’s person, somebody’s family is waiting for that text or that first thumbs up from across the track.

Even after all these years, I still don’t think that feeling ever completely leaves you. You just get better at hiding it.

Although Chris often bounces back up quickly thanks to adrenaline, it’s afterwards you really see it. The limp walking through the door later that night. The stiffness the next morning. Bruises appearing days later. The exhaustion. The frustration.

The unofficial nurse role continues — as it does every season — wrists strapped, ice packs everywhere, and Chris insisting he “doesn’t need painkillers” while very obviously needing painkillers.

There’s been a lot of conversation around rider insurance this year, and when you love somebody who races — especially high-speed bikes with no brakes — those conversations suddenly feel very real.

And if I’m honest, it led to some very deep conversations at home between me and Chris.

After all, how do you even begin to put a price on someone’s life?

With the season starting the way it has with all these crashes, it’s another reminder that behind all the entertainment and race nights, there’s a very real human side to the sport.

British Speedway still feels like it’s constantly trying to find its footing sometimes — brilliant in moments, frustrating in others, full of passion but still fighting for the recognition it deserves.

No mainstream TV deal. Constant uncertainty. Clubs and people inside the sport still grafting endlessly simply to keep it moving forward.

Despite all of that, the pull of speedway never really disappears. The racing. The adrenaline. After 29 seasons, it’s part of who Chris is.

Through all of it — the good weekends, the difficult ones, the crashes, the celebrations and all the chaos in between — we’re always genuinely grateful for the messages, support and kindness people show our family. It never goes unnoticed.

In the middle of all of that… we just keep living it.

King’s Lynn’s first home meeting, Cruz also fully embraced mascot life for the 2nd year running — maximum confidence, maximum energy, maximum enthusiasm. After his four laps, he came in slightly too hot after the chequered flag, Chris tried to catch him, and the whole thing ended with Cruz falling off.

He was completely fine. Very proud of himself and amused. I found out about it from home on the internet afterwards, with a turn in my stomach…

Life doesn’t wait — racing, school runs, work, travel, house madness and life generally moving at 100mph — work at JLR continues to be completely flat out. Constant pressure. Constant change. Everyone grafting through it.

And somehow, days in the office always seem to end with little treats from my colleagues — Starbucks, Easter eggs, gift vouchers, boxes of chocolates and fizz appearing out of nowhere.

And somehow, amongst all the speedway madness and family life, I’ve quietly kept building my own career too — something I’m probably not proud of often enough.

Some days it all feels relentless — everyone needing something, calendars full, phones constantly buzzing, always trying to keep up with where everybody needs to be next and what needs to be done. But then one of the kids laughs, or Chris comes in buzzing after racing, or there’s a random perfect five-minute moment in the middle of the chaos - and suddenly it all makes sense again.

Chris doesn’t just race speedway. He lives and breathes it. Twenty-nine seasons in British Speedway still grafting, still humble, still pulling off his signature moves. Nearly three decades on, and the fire still burns just as fiercely.

Lately life has felt like very little sleep, constant movement, and a few perfect moments I’ll probably remember forever. The chaos never really stops — it just changes shape. And somehow life still keeps moving, far too fast.

Amongst all of it, we still keep finding the magic in the moments that matter most. The tiny ones. The loud ones. The ones that catch you off guard. The ones that remind you why you keep going.

And judging by the emotional state I was left in after Cruz’s first grass track meeting… I’d say the next chapter of chaos has already very much arrived.

Same chaos. Same people. Same love.

And if you know us by now, you’ll know we’re only just getting started….

Photos - Team Harris / As per Watermark

Love, Life & Kevlars - by Emma-Louise Harris | 2026 ©️