I am fifteen years old and I live in Munich.

It is the year 2126.

Today, my parents and I are travelling by train to the BMX Youth World Cup at the Oker Reservoir.

A long year of training lies behind me.

Every day I rode my BMX bike.

Every day I repaired something on it.

Every day I dreamed about this race.

And now I have actually qualified.

As the train moves through the countryside, I wonder what the venue will look like.

An old reservoir without water.

It is difficult to imagine.

After a long journey, we finally arrive at the station near the dam.

The first thing I see is the enormous concrete wall.

It rises high above the landscape.

Behind it stretches a huge brown basin.

And in the middle of it stands a white city of tents.

That is where athletes from all over the world will stay during the competition.

It looks incredible.

We walk to the registration tent.

Inside, volunteers hand us our information packs.

Sleeping area.

Meal times.

Race schedule.

Training sessions.

Everything is perfectly organised.

Next to the registration area stand several gigantic screens.

A film is playing.

I stop and watch.

The screens show this place more than a hundred years ago.

Dense green forests cover the hills.

The reservoir is filled to the top with sparkling blue water.

People are swimming.

Children are jumping from jetties.

Colourful sailboards skim across the surface.

The place looks completely different.

The film explains that year after year less rain fell.

The water level slowly dropped.

For decades.

Until almost nothing remained.

Today only a small stream flows across the bottom of the vast reservoir.

My parents call me and we continue toward our tent.

Two hours later we are invited to inspect the racecourse.

Hundreds of riders gather at the starting area.

The track looks fantastic.

Eight riders will start side by side.

There are jumps.

Sharp bends.

Rock sections.

Sand passages.

And obstacles built directly into the landscape.

The most spectacular jump crosses the small stream that still runs along the floor of the old reservoir.

Everything looks futuristic.

Almost unreal.

As we walk along the course, a rider from Saxony joins me.

Her name is Heidi.

She studies the surrounding hills and asks,

“Can you imagine what this place looked like a hundred years ago?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“I just watched the film at the entrance.”

I point toward the hills.

“All of that was forest.”

Heidi looks around.

The hills are almost bare.

Only scattered shrubs grow on the slopes.

“And there was water everywhere,” I continue.

“The reservoir was completely full. People came here to swim, sail and spend their holidays.”

For a moment we both look across the enormous basin.

“That must have been beautiful,” I say.

Heidi nods.

“The air was probably less dusty too.”

The next morning, race day arrives.

The race officials explain the course one last time.

First comes the rocky descent.

Balance is everything there.

Then follows a deep sandy section leading to the jump across the stream.

After that, a rough climb through broken stones leads upward toward the old shoreline.

The finish line waits at the top.

Soon I am standing on the starting ramp.

I wear my bright racing suit.

My helmet feels tighter than usual.

Heidi stands right beside me.

We are in the first starting group of the day.

Thousands of spectators fill the slopes.

The giant screens glow above the tents.

Only seconds remain.

I think about Heidi's question.

Once more I look at the dry hills.

Then down at the small stream winding across the bottom of the reservoir.

I take a deep breath.

The rocks.

The jump.

The climb.

Everything is suddenly crystal clear in my mind.

I feel focused.

Electric.

Ready.

The countdown reaches zero.

And then the starting signal sounds.