By: Elena Mart

For years, Jiayi Lyu raced with the roar of engines in his ears and a silence in his heart.

While the world saw his rising success as a fearless motorcycle racer — tearing through curves, balancing on the edge of risk and glory — Jiayi’s family knew none of it. From the moment he first entered the world of motorsport, his dream came with a secret. One he carried alone.

He hid it not out of shame, but love.

Jiayi was raised in China, but his pursuit of education brought him to California. Like many other students, he arrived with expectations strapped to his back — a degree, a career, a secure future. What his family didn’t know was that he also carried something else in his luggage: a longing for speed, for the track, for the dangerous joy of racing.

In 2018, he began riding motorcycles. By 2021, he had earned his AFM (American Federation of Motorcyclists) license and started competing. The stakes were high, the learning curve steep. He endured crashes, bruises, and broken parts — but through it all, he kept quiet. When he got injured, he made up stories. When he won, he celebrated in silence.

“I didn’t want my parents to worry,” Jiayi later said. “I told myself: one day, when I have something to show, then I’ll tell them. But not yet.”

So, year after year, he lived a dual life — graduate student by day, racer by weekend. With each lap and every new podium finish, the weight of secrecy grew. He wasn’t just hiding a hobby — he was hiding the very thing that made him feel most alive.

Then came 2024. Jiayi had just completed a full AFM season, ranking in the top three in every class he entered — an impressive achievement for any newcomer, let alone a Chinese-born racer in a predominantly Western sport. But more than titles, something else was on the horizon: his graduation from the University of San Francisco with a master’s degree in International Studies. His mother was flying in from China to attend.

It was time.

In the quiet space between ceremonies and celebrations, Jiayi sat across from his mother and finally told her the truth that he wasn’t just a student. That he was a racer. That he had been risking his body for years, chasing something that made his heart race. He braced for her reaction.

But she didn’t scold him. She didn’t cry out in fear.

Instead, she smiled.

She said, “This is a sport that really suits you — I’m proud of you and fully support you.“

And then she asked, with a hint of humor, why he hadn’t told her sooner.

Jiayi broke down in tears.

For the first time, his two worlds collapsed into one — no more pretending. That weekend, she came with him to his race. There, among the hum of engines and the energy of the track, the AFM President met her personally after hearing Jiayi’s story. It was a quiet, poignant moment of recognition — not just for his racing, but for the road he had walked alone for so long.

That race weekend — graduation robe in one hand, racing gloves in the other — marked more than a milestone. It was a moment of freedom.

Since then, Jiayi’s story has resonated deeply, especially within the Asian and immigrant communities in the U.S., where unspoken expectations often steer children away from risk, especially toward unconventional careers like motorsports. Jiayi’s courage, not just on the track, but in confronting emotional vulnerability, makes his path extraordinary.

He’s now a proud representative for major international brands: BMW Motorrad, REV’IT!, AMSOIL, and Insta360. But perhaps his proudest moment wasn’t a podium finish or a million-view video. It was seeing his mother watch him race for the first time, her face lit up not with fear, but pride.

In the world of racing, there’s a split-second pause between the green light and the twist of the throttle — a moment of silence before the storm. Jiayi lived in that silence for years, between love and fear, between duty and dream.

But when he finally broke that silence, what followed wasn’t disaster. It was the freedom to be his true self.

And now, with nothing left to hide, Jiayi Lyu races louder than ever — not just for trophies, but for truth.