“Okay, enough about the competition,” Ali says, interrupting my train of thought. “Lindsay, what do you do when you’re not riding bikes?”
“I haven’t really been riding bikes that long,” I say. “And until last week, I mainly read for fun. Which I still do.”
“Sure, but what do you like reading?” Ali asks, standing up to refill her water glass and stretch her long legs.
I reach over to my backpack and pull out the latest Wonder Woman issue that I’ve been going through. “I just started this one, and it’s great.”
“That’s awesome!” Jen says, grabbing it from me. “I love her bracelets. And Wonder Woman is one of my favorites.”
Jen clearly has some hidden depths. “I didn’t know you were into comic books,” I say. “Isn’t it kind of nerdy?”
“Are you kidding?” she says, smiling. “Wonder Woman is so cool! Think about everything she can do.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “I’ve been reading comic books for years. I don’t think it’s nerdy, but I figured you would.”
“No way! Have you seen the Wonder Woman animated movie?” she asks enthusiastically. I nod, still slightly shell-shocked that this super-cool girl likes the same thing I do. “It was great, right?”
I nod again. “Phoebe has it, if you want to watch it again,” I add. (I know we just watched it the other night, but honestly, I could rewatch it a million times. And who am I kidding? I already have rewatched it a ton.)
“I haven’t seen it and I’d be into it,” Ali says, sitting back down. “But, Jen, I didn’t know you were a closet comic nerd.”
“It’s true,” she says, grinning.
Phoebe stands up. “While it’s tempting to watch the movie with you yet again, I have some work I should do….But I’ll make you guys some popcorn; you earned it today.”
While she buzzes around the kitchen making movie snacks, we lay out some sleeping bags on the living room floor so we can watch in comfort as Penguin meanders around us, sniffing at pillows, socks, and Ali’s and Jen’s backpacks. He plops down by my pillow (I knew he’d still like me best!), and we settle into our sleeping bags as the opening credits roll.
I woke up this morning feeling a slight sense of dread. Why, why, why did I agree to enter a competition? Me!? I don’t compete, unless it’s a challenge for who can read the most books. (Me. I can.) This is madness. I’m not ready for this! I can’t get ready for this! I don’t know how the other girls are still asleep, and not panicking. I forgot about the competition as we watched the movie last night, but it hit me again right when the sun rose this morning and I’ve been freaking out ever since. Jen is snoring softly (ha!) while Ali is curled into a tiny ball in her sleeping bag—they didn’t even wake up when I slipped out of mine and got up to write at the table! I don’t wanna. Penguin, however, is scratching at my pillow, so I must end this journal entry and seek solace in dachshund snuggles instead.
Superhero Tip: Probably don’t commit to things when you’re under the influence of tacos and inspirational movies….Or maybe that’s the best time to commit to things?
Woof,
Penguin (and Lindsay)
(That’s not going to last.)
CHAPTER 19
After a quick breakfast of granola and yogurt, Phoebe loads us right back into the van and drives to Joyride for an early session.
“Okay, girls. Today we’re going to conquer the pump track,” Phoebe says to Jen, Ali, and me. We’re perched on a platform in front of a small wooden oval that has waves of wood three feet high. The point, as far as I can tell as I watch other kids sprint around it, is to pedal off the platform into the first hump, then somehow go faster and faster as they go around the thirty-second loop without pedaling. They seem to be moving their bodies more than their legs; it’s like a weird ballet.
“Those bumps are called whoops,” Phoebe explains. “And those turns, the ones that are slightly banked up the side so you’re a bit tilted, those are called berms.”
She explains that we want to focus on our body position and keep ourselves low to the bike, not coasting, while we stand straight up. Our elbows and knees should be bent, and before she lets us grab our bikes, she makes us stand like that for a while on the platform. It feels a little silly.
“Why don’t they pedal?” I ask, looking at the riders who are already ripping around the track.
“Great question!” Phoebe says. “It’s awesome that you noticed that. The key to riding a pump track well isn’t pedaling, although getting a bit of speed to start is a good thing. It’s all about moving your whole body with the bike,” she explains.
She rolls away and into the tiny jump line to demonstrate. It’s technically for little kids to play on next to the pump track, with little six-inch-high rollers, but she doesn’t seem deterred by that. Luckily, there are no speedy three-year-olds around. After she takes a couple of pedal strokes, she starts using her arms intensely, pushing down when she’s going down the slight declines, and almost pulling as she goes up the tiny inclines.
“It’s about timing your pressure into the ground over those rolls so you propel yourself forward,” she says, riding back to us. “So what we’re going to do is practice feeling where you want to push down, and when you want to let go and let the bike come up a bit.”
“Okay, say all of that again but in English,” Jen says, and for the first time, I find her sarcasm both hilarious and helpful. Ali looks just as perplexed.
We’re clearly all a little confused, so Phoebe tries again. “If I push you on a swing and you’re just sitting, you’re not going to go forever. You’ll slow down pretty quick. But you can do things, like swing your legs or push into the chain with your hands, and you’ll keep swinging forever even with a tiny push to start. The tiny push here is that initial pedaling, and if you move right, you’ll be doing almost the same thing you would on the swing.”
It’s starting to make sense. Ali and Jen are nodding, though they look nervous too. Jen, of course, volunteers to go first. She pedals a few revolutions and heads down onto the oval. She hits the first hump and sails smoothly over it. She goes over the other side, sets up for the next bump, and, as she heads up, starts to pedal. The pedal clips the top of the bump, knocking her off balance, and she skids slightly, makes it down, but veers off the oval track and comes to a stop. She looks a little defeated, but she’s not cursing or shouting, so that’s a plus.
Ali looks terrified now that Jen didn’t make it, but she gamely pedals down and onto the oval. She makes it over two humps before she pedals and does the same thing Jen did—she almost saves it but rolls off the course and over to where Jen stopped on the side of the track. The two are standing there, waving me on.
“Just remember not to pedal once you’re going over the bumps, even if it feels like you have to,” Phoebe whispers to me.
I start pedaling and drop onto the track. The first bump looms ahead of me. I close my eyes and feel my muscles tighten up, but then feel a bit of a whoosh of air as I start down the back. I made it! My muscles relax, but I don’t have time to even consider pedaling before I’m already up and over the second. The same thing happens on the third.
The fourth one, though, I see coming, and I feel like I don’t have enough speed to make it over, so against Phoebe’s suggestions, I try to pedal, and immediately clip the pedal on the wood and end up scooting down the backside out of control and off the course.
Ali and Jen ride up to me. “You did great!” Ali says, while Jen—who, judging by her expression, clearly expected to do the best—just nods and smiles tightly. Meanwhile, I’m stunned. “How did you get over the third bump?” Ali asks enthusiastically.
“Fear, mostly. And I kept my eyes shut at first,” I say honestly, shrugging.
“Maybe don’t try that as a tactic,” Phoebe says, rolling up to the thre
e of us. “But Linds did do a couple of things that I didn’t even really explain…even if they were by accident.” She nudges me with her hip playfully, so I know she’s actually pretty proud. “So let’s go again.”
Ali and Jen race each other to the starting drop-in, while I pedal back next to Phoebe. “I really did okay?” I ask.
“You did awesome. But next time, try to keep your eyes open the whole time! Trust me, you never want to hit a jump blind,” she says. “And remember that tense feeling when all your muscles tighten up when you’re nervous? That’s sort of like how it should feel when you push down—and then, when you’re going up, pretend that you’re floating. Relax at the top, and then do it all again.”
“Tension. I can do tension,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “I’m great at tension.”
“Tell me about it,” Phoebe says, and I think she gets what I mean—being tensed up and tight is kind of my natural posture on the bike still. We do what feels like hundreds of laps, and by the end, we’re almost all the way around without pedaling. Phoebe explains that a pedal stroke occasionally isn’t a bad thing, but shows us how to do it when we’re between the bumps—never when we’re on one.
And after a few slips, Jen is smooth. “It’s easy once you get it the first time,” she says casually—but I saw her hand quivering a tiny bit before she started that run. Ali already mostly figured out the technique, and is trying to jump and actually get air over the bumps. Me? I’m just focusing on getting Phoebe’s push-and-float method down and doing it every single time.
As we’re all walking out, the girls run ahead to meet their rides at the front. Phoebe tells me I did really well.
“I don’t think I did that great,” I admit. “I was feeling okay and wasn’t scared by the end, but I wasn’t getting in the air like Ali was.”
“Yeah, but did you notice that when she did that, she wasn’t pushing, she was pulling?” Phoebe asks. “Later, that’s going to slow her down. You focused on learning the basic technique, and that’s how you get good. That’s rule number one when you’re working with me, and with any good coach.”
Hmm.
It’s been a couple of days, but I’m back and about to go practice on the pump track by myself. It’s early in the day, and we came in before the park opened so that Phoebe could get some work done in the office. She doesn’t just work with Ali, Jen, and me, she explained today: she helps manage the park and coaches on the side—not just the three of us—and apparently she’s in pretty high demand.
She’s way busier than I realized. When we walked in, the guy who I think owns the whole park practically fainted with relief that she was there to help him with something, and she’s been in the office on her computer for way longer than I think she expected. I already read for a while, ate breakfast, and practiced on the pump track—I’m on a break now, since Phoebe says the worst time to practice is when you’re already tired.
Superhero Tip: Resting is just as important as riding if you want to get better. Phoebe hasn’t gotten to ride or rest yet, and I can see her face going from early morning still-sleepy to straight-up grumpy.
It’s time for me to head back out, even though I’m still a little bit sleepy. I don’t want to wake the beast, or she might really turn into a supervillain!
Feeling sluggish,
Lindsay
(That’s not inspiring.)
CHAPTER 20
The park is open and buzzing with kids, but it’s not as scary as before—instead, I relish the feeling of being one of the cool ones who get to practice before it’s even open. As I’m taking another quick break from going around and around the track (and getting a little dizzy after quite a few rounds), Dave—the cute boy I met last week—skids to a stop in front of me. I have a half second to note how happy I am that I’m wearing my new dark blue jeans and the fitted purple T-shirt with the white pocket, plus my new shoes. Phoebe finally harassed me into trimming my hair, and it’s now just a little longer than shoulder length—though you can’t tell today, since it’s in a French braid. But the big change is bangs, which help highlight the best part of my outfit: the new glasses, which came in yesterday.
“So are you going to do the competition?” he asks, without so much as a hello. All anyone’s been talking about is this competition, though, so I’m not surprised.
Either way—he’s talking to me! But also…yikes: competing. “Phoebe signed me up, but I’m just not sure I want to do any kind of competition. I’m not very competitive. At least, I never have been. I’ve never competed,” I reply. I blush realizing I probably should have played that a little cooler; he didn’t need my life story. Or for me to repeat the word “compete” so many times. For someone who writes a lot, my vocabulary is not so good with the talking and the words.
“Why not? You’ve been doing great on the pump track. I saw your bunny hop practice earlier today, and you’re getting a lot better.”
“Sure, but I’m still not that good,” I reply. “And what if I fall? Or don’t get any air on the jump line?” That’s what I’m really nervous about. It’s not a competition for who can bunny hop a line on the ground. I’ll need to combine what I’ve been doing on the pump track with the bunny hop motion and try to actually sail over those bumps, which will be bigger than anything I’ve been practicing on so far.
“So you fall. Who cares?” he says, pushing his hair back. Man, he’s cute. Behind him, Phoebe rides by and mouths something at me. I think it was “Act casual.” She’s followed by Jen, who points at Dave and gives me a thumbs-up. Super subtle, girls. Thanks. (Luckily, Dave didn’t notice them. I don’t think.)
“For what it’s worth,” he adds, “I think you should do it. And if you want some pointers, I can show you around.”
I nod. At least, I think I nod. My head has kind of gone numb.
“How about later this week, maybe the day before the competition?” he asks. “I know I need to get in all the practice that I can manage—it’ll be my first time in the intermediate category.”
My inner monologue is shrieking and wondering why I didn’t think to ask him if he was competing (smooth move, Lindsay), and my sensors are going off and telling me that a superhero would never be this tongue-tied—we’re always ready with a witty quip—but all I can do is stammer out, “Sure, that sounds g-good.”
He smiles and nods, but then his friend, dressed in all black and covered with logos of bike brands, rolls over and glares at me. Not to be judgmental but…I don’t like his face or his attitude. He’s got dirty-blond hair sticking out of the top of his helmet, and while he might pass as cute if he were looking friendly and smiling, his closed-off face makes him seem like he just doesn’t want to be friends with anyone. And he doesn’t look nearly as cool as Phoebe does when she’s wearing all black.
“Are you ready to go actually ride bikes now?” he asks Dave, ignoring me as he stands right between us.
“I was talking to Lindsay,” Dave says, quickly shooting me a smile. I try to smile back at him, but before my lips curl up, the kid is talking again and my smile immediately stops.
“Why? Girls shouldn’t even be here,” the scrawny kid replies, still not actually acknowledging me, just staring accusingly at Dave like he’s the one in the wrong here. “She’s probably with that loser tomboy Ali and that stupid princess Jen. They just get in the way every time I’m trying to practice, and with the competition coming up, it’s so annoying. I mean, they’re not going to win that gold frame, but I absolutely can…if they’d stop getting in the way.”
It’s so rude and out of nowhere that I can’t even think of a retort.
“Ignore him,” Dave says, looking over jerk boy’s shoulder at me. “He’s just in a bad mood today. Sam, why don’t you go over to the expert line and get started working on those jumps. You need all the practice you can get if you really
think you stand a chance of winning that bike frame.” He doesn’t say that in a mean way, just dismissive, so Sam doesn’t really have a choice but to leave us alone.
As Sam rolls away muttering about girls getting in the way, Dave apologizes for him. “He’s always been kind of mean,” he explains. “I never liked hanging out with him when we were kids, and since he started competing on the bike, he’s been even harder to deal with—especially with the competition coming up and that gold frame as a prize. He’s a total show-off, but he’s also not that good compared to some of the guys who ride here, so he takes it out on the new kids in the park.”
“Are there other guys like him here too?” I ask—and I’m afraid that if the answer is yes, I’m going to just go wait in the van and never come back.
Dave smiles. “Luckily, not too many. Sam’s having a tough time right now especially because his older sister has been doing really well in competitions out on the West Coast, and he hates getting shown up by her. I think that’s why he’s especially annoyed to see you girls coming in more often.”
“So why do you hang out with him?” I ask. “He seems to know you pretty well.”
“Yeah, his parents and mine are good friends, so we carpool here,” Dave explains, looking pained. “I’m kind of stuck with him, especially when his other friends aren’t around.”
“He has other friends?” I’m surprised that I managed to come up with something that good. Also, Dave is pretty thoughtful for a boy. Most of the boys I know at school are…well, they’re low-level henchmen at best. But Dave seems like he has hero potential.
Lindsay's Joyride Page 9
