by Jeff Stone
I’d planned to ask Grandfather about these guys, but he had been napping when I’d gone into the house. He probably didn’t even know they were there. When Grandfather was awake, his senses were keener than those of anyone I’ve ever met. When he was sleeping, however, he was dead to the world.
I’d meant to mention the guys to Grandfather after he woke up, but I forgot. It had been the last day of school, and there were more important things on my mind—like today’s race.
“Open your eyes,” Grandfather said, bringing me back to the present.
I opened my eyes and found the molasses around my brain beginning to thin. I saw that Grandfather was now standing, and beside him was my best friend, Jake.
Jake was the same age as I was, and we went to the same school. He had shaggy blond hair and a pug nose, and he was a great rider. He was the one who had gotten me interested in racing bikes. If it weren’t for me, he’d have a roomful of first-place trophies instead of second-place ones, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was cool like that.
Jake was straddling his bike, his usual baggy riding clothes flopping in the warm breeze. I was glad he was here. Grandfather might hold back on some of the verbal abuse I was bound to receive.
Grandfather leaned over and stretched a hand out toward me. I took it, and he jerked me to my feet. I must have received a clean bill of health. Otherwise, he would have been more gentle.
Grandfather let go of my hand and walked over to my broken bicycle. He hoisted the twenty-eight-pound machine onto his shoulder as though it weighed no more than a woman’s purse, and nodded at the tacoed wheel. “Is this the result of mechanical failure?”
I nodded. “You could say that.”
“You should be more careful. Take care of your bicycle, and it will take care of you.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
He pointed to my aching jaw. “Would you like to tell me about that?”
“Not really. I let my guard down. I’ve suffered the consequences. I’ve learned a valuable lesson.”
“I hope so,” Grandfather snapped. “Meet me in the parking lot.” He turned and began to walk back up the trail, carrying the bike.
When Grandfather was out of earshot, Jake whistled softly. “Whoa, your grandfather sure is harsh, bro.”
I shrugged.
Jake glanced down at his handlebars, and I noticed a battered helmet hanging there—my helmet. He tossed it to me.
“I showed your skid lid to your grandfather while you were unconscious,” Jake said. “I told him it was trashed and that you probably cracked your skull after it flew off. I wondered if he should keep his hands off your melon in case you had, like, brain damage or something, but he must have guessed my thoughts because he pointed to your chin. What’s up with that?”
I saw the concern on Jake’s face and decided to tell him what had happened.
“My grandfather was right,” I said. “My head is fine. I fell off my bike and another rider kicked me in the jaw. I went out like a light.”
“No way! You mean that huge kid who was decked out in like ten grand worth of gear?”
“That’s the one.”
“He passed me early,” Jake said, “elbowed me on a turn and put me in third place behind the two of you.”
“He elbowed me, too. I was beating him, though, until my front wheel tacoed and I endoed over the bars. He rode up behind me, and as I bent down to move my bike, he blasted me with the kick.”
“Ouch.” Jake shook his head. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. It’s my own fault. Even my grandfather agrees. That’s why he’s being so cold.”
“You must have knocked a few screws loose, bro. You’re not to blame.”
“You don’t get it,” I said. “The bike broke because of a mechanical failure. My spokes were loose. It was my fault for not checking them before the race. That was my first mistake. After that kid elbowed me, I kicked him clean off his bike. I should’ve been ready for repercussions. My bad.”
“Ahhhh, soooo,” Jake joked in a cheesy Chinese accent, “kung fu master must never let guard down. Right, Grasshopper?”
I rolled my eyes. “Something like that.”
“If you’re all right, we’d better get going. Everyone is worried about you. Your grandfather asked all the parents to stay back at the starting line until he had a chance to look you over, but I have a feeling some of them are coming down here, anyway. A few of the moms were pretty freaked out when I rode up there to get him.”
“You went to get help?”
Jake nodded. “I was ahead of the pack and found you here, out cold. I turned around and stopped the other riders, then rode back to the starting line. I found your grandfather and he ran down here almost as fast as I could ride. He may look older than dirt, but he runs like a gazelle. No offense.”
“None taken,” I said. “Have you seen the kid who knocked me out? Did he finish the race?”
“He probably will soon. It looks like the jerk kept riding. There are fresh tracks continuing up the trail. I assumed he was ahead of you when you wrecked, and that he didn’t know you’d gone down. He’s too far away to call back now. I hope they don’t count the results of this race in our season total.”
“They won’t. He’ll be the only finisher. It will give him bragging rights, though.”
Up the trail, Grandfather called out, “Are you coming or not, Grasshopper?”
I felt myself begin to blush, and Jake whistled softly again. “Harsh, bro,” he said in a low voice. “Totally harsh. He’s got some good ears, though.”
“He’s not so bad.” Then I yelled, “Be right there!”
As I turned and headed for Grandfather, Jake whispered, “I’m so glad my parents don’t have ears like that. I would never be able to get away with anything.”
I hurried back up the trail on foot while Jake rode at my side. It didn’t take us long to catch Grandfather. Jake waved goodbye and cruised up the single-track as I held out my broken helmet to Grandfather, intending to swap it for my broken bike.
“I will continue to carry the bicycle,” Grandfather said. “It has given you enough trouble for one day.”
“What happened is not the bike’s fault,” I said, feeling like a white belt who has failed to pass his rank promotion test. “I’m to blame. I should carry it.”
“I am glad you realize who is responsible,” Grandfather said. “Even so, I will carry it. You were unconscious. You may become dizzy again.”
“Thank you, Grandfather.”
He nodded.
We rounded a bend, and I saw a group of adults that included Jake’s dad hanging out on the trail. Jake was with them. Jake’s dad called out, “Phoenix! Are you okay? We came down to see if we could help, but you seemed to already be in good hands. Who knew your grandfather could move so fast?”
“I’m fine,” I called back. “Just a bit of a headache. Jake was a big help. I appreciate you all coming down here, but we’re heading back now.”
“All right,” Jake’s dad replied, “glad to hear you’re okay. We’ll see you in the parking lot.”
Jake’s dad retreated with the group in tow. I stopped and waited. Grandfather stopped, too, no doubt sensing that I wanted to talk about something. I wanted to tell him about Slim and Meathead.
“Grandfather,” I said when the others were out of earshot, “did you happen to see a Chinese man this morning, or a big bodybuilder guy?”
“No. Should I have?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why do you ask?”
“They were out at our house yesterday while you were asleep. I forgot to tell you about it. Then today, my front wheel falls apart. I know I should have checked it this morning before the race, but it was fine on Thursday night. At some point between then and now, someone loosened my spokes. There are fresh tool marks on the spoke nuts. For some reason, I think those guys might be responsible.”
“That makes no sense, Ph
oenix. What were they doing at our home?”
“Taking soil samples from our septic field. They looked for real. They even had an EPA van.”
Grandfather raised a bushy eyebrow. “That is strange. I thought those agencies leave some type of notice that they have been on someone’s property. How do you know one was Chinese?”
“I heard him speaking on a cell phone.”
“What did he say?”
I looked down at my feet. “I, uh, didn’t hear well enough.”
Grandfather began to walk again, quickly. I looked up and followed. He was moving fast.
“I do not like the sound of this,” he said. “Where was your bicycle yesterday?”
“On the back porch, where I always leave it. It was locked to the railing, but anyone with a spoke wrench could have tampered with the front wheel. It would have only taken a few minutes.”
“Why do you think someone might do this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they wanted me to lose.”
Grandfather rubbed his long chin with his free hand. “Or perhaps they wanted to sabotage your bicycle in order to create a distraction. They somehow knew you would be racing this morning, and that I would be with you. If you were injured, we would be at the hospital for hours.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What is going on?”
“I do not know, but I can make a guess. This may not be about you at all, Phoenix. It may be about me. We have to hurry. I am afraid those men you saw may attempt to break into our home.”
We reached the parking lot just after Jake’s father and the other adults. We headed for our old Ford Ranger pickup, and I noticed someone leaning against the pickup’s hood. It was the kid who’d kicked me in the face. He turned in my direction, and my jaw dropped. I knew him.
His name was Ryan Vanderhausen. His rich uncle blew more money on equipment and training for him than most families earned in a year. Ryan had spent the past semester with his uncle in Belgium, where cycling was more like a religion than a sport. It wasn’t unheard of for riders to get a lot better, or athletes to gain a lot more muscle, by training hard, but what I saw out on the trail and standing before me now was unreal. I could hardly believe this was the same kid Jake and I had smoked time and again last year. Ryan was fourteen then, which meant he was fifteen now, but there was no way a normal kid could have grown that much in a single semester.
I looked over at Jake. His eyes were as big as mine. Jake’s dad whispered something to him, and they headed to their minivan, shaking their heads. They were probably thinking the same thing I was. What on earth happened to Ryan?
“Ryan?” Grandfather asked.
Ryan smirked but said nothing.
From behind Grandfather’s truck came a tall, thin man wearing a full road bike racing kit. The man’s riding shorts and short-sleeved jersey were skintight, and his legs were shaved. His brilliant white socks glowed against his deep “roadie” tan, and he had on one of those silly little hats with the tiny brim that bike racers wore in the old days beneath their leather riding helmets. Somehow, though, he still managed to look dignified.
I knew exactly who he was—Dr. Vanderhausen, Ryan’s uncle. “Dr. V,” as he liked to be called, looked almost exactly like Ryan’s father, which was eerie. Ryan’s dad had died of cancer last November. I’d met Dr. V at the funeral. He was a chemist, and he’d gotten rich by developing a diet drug. He’d sold his company for hundreds of millions of dollars and was now enjoying an early retirement.
“Phoenix Collins!” Dr. V said with a cheerful Belgian accent. “Chinese first name, Indiana last name. I remember you. You still look as unique as ever. I bet the girls go crazy over those green eyes.”
I didn’t reply. For some reason, Dr. V gave me the creeps.
“I’m sorry that you didn’t finish the race,” Dr. V continued. “I understand you are normally the man to beat. What happened? Did you have some sort of accident?”
I felt color rising in my cheeks, and I glared at Ryan. I’d always considered him a friend until now. He was an aggressive rider, sure, but he would never have kicked or elbowed Jake or me before spending all that time with his uncle.
I looked at Dr. V. “Why don’t you ask your nephew what happened?”
“Me?” Ryan asked coyly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I blew past you after the root section, and that was the last I saw of you or anyone else. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up with me anymore.”
I ground my teeth, and I felt Grandfather place his hand on my shoulder. “We should leave,” he said.
“Just a moment, sir,” Dr. V said to Grandfather. “Please excuse my rudeness. Greetings to you. I trust you recall we met at my brother’s wake. Allow me to assist.” He raised his arms to take my bike from Grandfather’s shoulder, but I rushed forward to take it.
Dr. V stepped aside and grinned. “I would never let anyone touch my bike as a boy, either. I see that you ride a rigid aluminum frame, Phoenix. How … traditional. Have you ever tried full suspension?”
“You mean like Ryan’s five-thousand-dollar carbon bike with more shocks than wheels?” I asked, unable to stop my sarcasm. Dr. V was really bugging me. “I don’t think so.”
I walked to the bike rack attached to our pickup truck’s trailer hitch and began to secure my four-hundred-dollar bicycle. I could never afford a bike like Ryan’s.
Dr. V stepped around the truck. “Actually, Ryan’s bike frame is made of magnesium, not carbon fiber, and it cost twelve thousand dollars. It’s state-of-the-art featherweight technology. Nothing but the best for my team members. You could ride one, too, if you play your cards right.”
I stopped. “Huh?”
“Have you ever heard of cyclocross?”
I tried not to roll my eyes. Of course I’d heard of cyclocross. People race road bikes outfitted with mountain bike–type knobby tires over manmade courses that contain obstacles such as wooden barriers and sand pits. Sometimes they even race in snow. It’s ridiculous.
“Cyclocross is essentially steeplechase on bicycles,” I said.
“That’s right,” Dr. V replied. “I formed a European cyclocross team last year, Team Vanderhausen. Our slogan is ‘V equals Victory.’ To be honest, we didn’t do so well, so I’ve built a cutting-edge training facility here in the United States in Texas Hill Country, just outside of Austin. I’m recruiting new talent to try our luck on the American circuit. Ryan and I are flying down there tomorrow and we’ll be there all summer, preparing for the autumn cyclocross season. Would you be interested in coming down to train with us for a month or two? I am curious to see if you’re as good as everyone says. They say you are as fast as an adult. I will pay all of your expenses, of course.”
“What?” Ryan said indignantly, pushing himself away from the truck. “You never told me this. You want me to ride with him? No way!”
Dr. V looked at Ryan. “Afraid of a little competition? I would have thought those vitamins you’ve been taking lately had grown some hair on your chest, along with all of those muscles.”
Ryan looked as though he’d been slapped in the face. He stormed off. I saw a large woman climb out of an expensive sedan and begin to hurry after him. It was his mother. She caught up with Ryan and tried to put an arm around him, but he shoved her away, a look of disgust in his eyes.
Ryan was being a total jerk. His mom had always been nice to Jake and me. I’d never seen Ryan act like this before, to her or anyone else.
Dr. V looked at Grandfather and shrugged. “Irritable teens,” Dr. V said. “What can you do?”
Grandfather said nothing. He removed the truck keys from the pants pocket of his sweat suit and opened the driver’s-side door. I finished securing my bike to the rack and headed for the passenger side.
“Well?” Dr. V asked me. “Are you interested?”
Part of me was flattered that he’d given me an invitation, but I had no interest in riding cyclocross. It was a silly sport. Even worse, Dr. V wa
s creepy.
“No, thanks,” I said, climbing into the truck.
Dr. V reached into one of the water bottle pockets sewn into the back of his riding jersey and pulled out a business card. He handed the card to Grandfather and said, “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Grandfather glanced at the card, then handed it to me. I could tell that he already sensed how I felt about the offer.
“Would you like to go to Texas this summer, Phoenix?” Grandfather asked.
“Nope,” I replied. “Too hot.”
Grandfather started the truck and nodded to Dr. V. “Thank you for your kind offer, but I am afraid my grandson has declined. We must go now.”
Dr. V opened his mouth to say something more, but Grandfather dropped the transmission into drive and spun the wheel, peeling out of the parking lot.
I breathed a sigh of relief as our small pickup truck raced down the road. I was glad to be away from Dr. V, and from Ryan. I still couldn’t believe how much Ryan had changed on the outside, as well as the inside. While he was never a good friend, I did go over to his house a couple of times with Jake to hang out. Ryan wasn’t disrespectful toward his mother then like he was today. In fact, he was so tight with his parents that I really envied him.
When Ryan’s dad died, Grandfather took Jake and me to the funeral. Ryan seemed to appreciate that we were there, but we didn’t know what to say to him. Ryan’s dad and Dr. V had been elite cyclists when they were young, so Jake and I mostly just stood around and listened to the other cyclists who had come to pay their respects. There had been a lot of whispering about whether Ryan would keep riding without his father. Clearly, he had, and while he was in Belgium, he’d obviously taken it to a whole new level. He was different now, though, and I was certain that Dr. V was responsible.
I turned to Grandfather to talk with him about Ryan, but Grandfather was lost in his own thoughts, so I let him be. I pressed my palms against the dashboard, feeling anxious about what we might find at home. We lived only a few miles from Town Run Trail Park, and the way Grandfather was driving, we would be there in a couple of minutes.
