Phoenix

by Jeff Stone

  I gave it all I had, but it wasn’t enough. I’d burned myself out on my initial sprint. Ryan caught up with me and threw a punch at my ear. I tapped my brake levers and turned my head, barely missing the blow.

  Ryan pulled ahead.

  I spat and hammered as hard as I possibly could, determined to catch Ryan, but I couldn’t.

  We rounded a bend and went over a hill, and I saw that we had looped back into the field. I heard a cowbell begin to ring, and I could just make out Hú Dié jumping up and down in the distance, swinging the bell like a madwoman. She must have had it stuffed in one of her suitcases.

  Cowbells were synonymous with cyclocross racing for some reason. Fans rang them endlessly during events. I had always thought that like the sport itself, ringing cowbells was silly. Now that I heard one while I was racing, I found it music to my ears. I felt a burst of energy coming on, and I began to hammer.

  I managed to close much of the gap between me and Ryan, but he still reached the sand pit twenty feet ahead of me. I watched his wheels sink surprisingly deep as he trudged through the sand, and I started to worry. I’d ridden in sand before, but my wide mountain bike tires never sank as much as Ryan’s thinner cyclocross tires were doing. I switched to my rear wheel’s tiny “granny gear” and crossed my fingers.

  I plowed into the sand, and my feet went from 120 revolutions per minute to fewer than 60. I didn’t sink as far as Ryan, because I weighed much less, but I still struggled. I remembered reading that cyclocross races were often held at golf courses, where the route’s three different terrains consisted of grass, pavement, and multiple sand traps. I didn’t know how those participants did it. Riding in sand was the worst.

  Even so, by the time I made it out of the pit, I’d closed the gap with Ryan by another five feet. Next up was the mud bog.

  I recalled how Ryan caught me in the muck meadow back in Indiana, and I knew better than to take it slow and easy here. I continued to crank like a precision machine running on high-octane fuel as we neared the final terrain change.

  Ryan splashed into the bog first, and I saw him teeter atop his too-high seat. I was sure that he was going to go down, but he managed to rise up out of the saddle and regain his balance. I frowned.

  I hit the mud with all the grace of a pig wallowing in its sty. Sticky goop flew up from both tires, splattering me from head to toe. Without goggles, the mud plastered my face, going up my nose and collecting on my eyelashes. I struggled to keep my mouth closed while still trying to breathe. This was ridiculous. I worked my lungs and legs to death as I motored through the bog but found I hadn’t gained an inch on Ryan by the time I reached dry land again.

  I wiped a muddy arm across my muddy face and saw the three plank hurdles coming up next. I had a decision to make. While most riders got off their bikes to clear the hurdles, there was another way to go about it. I’d heard that some riders bunny-hopped over them. I was very good at bunny hopping with my mountain bike, but I rarely did it at high speed.

  Ryan was still riding out of his saddle, and I watched as he unclipped his right foot. He swung his leg behind his seat and over the rear tire to the opposite side of the bike; then he unclipped his left foot and hopped to the ground at a dead run. As he seamlessly shouldered his bike and jumped over the first hurdle, I made up my mind. There was no way I could do that with pedal cages.

  When my front tire was two feet away from the first hurdle, I yanked my handlebars up and back as though pulling a wheelie. To my surprise, my oversized front wheel cleared the hurdle. I positioned my feet parallel to the ground and sprang into the air, working my knees as if I were shooting a basketball. Then I lifted my caged feet high and leaned forward, and the bike hopped over the hurdle in a smooth arc like the cow jumping over the moon. I pulled up on the handlebars one last time as I landed, and both tires hit the ground simultaneously in a perfect ending to the bunny hop.

  I heard Hú Dié scream with delight, and Dr. V whooped his approval. I completed the task two more times, nearly crashing on my third attempt because my arms and shoulders were so fatigued. Cyclocross was hard work.

  I looked over to see Ryan clipping into his pedals after having cleared the last hurdle. He’d jumped back onto his bike without ever breaking stride. He was very good with transitions, but my bunny hopping was better. I was now less than three feet behind him.

  The gap between us remained the same until we reached the final obstacle—the Wooden Tightrope. Ryan breezed out of his pedals and hit the ground running again, while I had to fuss with my cages. Ryan hurried up the stairs two at a time with his bike over his shoulder, and he began to race across the elevated plank. By the time I got off my bike, shouldered my ride, and reached the top of the staircase, Ryan was already more than halfway across the plank’s thirty-foot length. I was going to lose. Even if Ryan and I were neck and neck running down the other staircase, Ryan would still win because of his superior ability to jump back onto his bike.

  I hate to lose.

  Fifteen feet in the air, I climbed back onto my bike.

  “Phoenix, no!” Hú Dié shouted.

  “Don’t do it, Phoenix!” Dr. V called out. “You’ve already impressed me!”

  I ignored them. This obstacle wasn’t meant to be ridden, but I didn’t care. I’d ridden across planks before on my mountain bike, as well as down countless stairs. However, my mountain bike had a shock-absorbing front fork, smaller wheels, and very different frame and handlebar geometries. I had no idea how this was going to go.

  As soon as Ryan reached the far staircase and began to run down it, I started pedaling. I reached the end of the platform and felt gravity suck my front wheel down the stairs. I rose out of my seat and sank behind it as if I were riding down a steep slope on a mountain bike. Below me, I saw Ryan leap off the final stair tread and hit the dirt running.

  An instant later, the ground came up to meet me. I pulled up hard on my front wheel so that both tires hit the ground simultaneously like the end of a bunny hop. The impact of the rigid bike on the compacted dirt jarred me as if I’d been dropped off a single-story building, but I held my line and the bike steered true, and I zipped past Ryan as he was jumping back onto his bike. He lunged toward me in an illegal last-ditch effort to grab my jersey, but I swerved out of the way.

  I sprinted across the start/finish line two bike lengths ahead of Ryan. Hú Dié howled like a banshee and ran over to me as I eased to a stop. She gave me a huge hug and rang her cowbell in my ear.

  Ryan breezed past, shaking his sweaty, helmeted head. Several beads of sweat flew off his face and landed on my cheek. I whisked them away, but felt the hairs stand on the back of my neck. It took a moment for me to figure out why.

  I smelled something familiar—dragon bone.

  Ryan raced off toward the hills, alone, and Dr. V came over to me and shook my hand. “That was the gutsiest series of moves I’ve ever seen! And the sprint you did at the beginning was spectacular! How long have you been riding cyclocross?”

  I was sucking more wind than a four-hundred-pound tuba player at the end of a ten-mile march, and I was furious about having smelled dragon bone in Ryan’s sweat, but I managed to keep my cool and say, “That was my first time on a ’cross bike.”

  Dr. V looked me in the eye. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Phoenix, my boy, you might just be the find of the century.”

  I shrugged and grabbed my water bottle. I wiped a clump of mud from the nozzle and drank half the contents in three swallows; then I took off my helmet and flung a pint of sweat from my brow. It was hot in Texas.

  “You look a little warm,” Dr. V said. “Let’s all go inside and cool off. I can give you the tour now; then you can take a shower. I could use one, too.”

  Dr. V headed for the workshop, and I rubbed my cheek hard with my hand.

  “What are you doing?” Hú Dié asked.

  “Ryan is taking dragon bone,” I whispered. “T
he stuff makes your sweat stink. Some of his sweat got on me. I can still smell it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Dr. V is definitely behind this. I can’t believe Ryan is taking the stuff. Keep an eye out during the tour. Maybe we’ll learn something. Go catch up with Dr. V before he gets suspicious about us whispering.”

  Hú Dié nodded and hurried toward Dr. V. He waited for her at the workshop’s inner door, and she followed him through it.

  I pushed my bike into the workshop and leaned it against one of the shelves. I saw Murphy sitting on top of the long workbench. He nodded and threw me a clean shop rag.

  I nodded back, and wiped the mud from my face, arms, and legs. “Nice job on the course,” I said. “I like it. A lot.”

  “Thank you kindly,” Murphy replied. “Don’t know much about bicycles, but what I saw you do out there was impressive. Hats off to you.” He lifted his straw cowboy hat a few inches off his head to salute me, and his T-shirt rode up on his hip. I saw a large revolver in a holster attached to his belt.

  My eyes widened.

  Murphy grinned. “Welcome to Texas, son.”

  I dropped the rag and got the heck out of there. Murphy was beginning to freak me out.

  I slipped off my muddy hiking boots and passed through the door that Hú Dié and Dr. V had just gone through. I found myself in a long, cool, brightly lit corridor. Dr. V and Hú Dié stood at the far end, looking up at one corner where the walls met the ceiling. I followed their gaze and saw a security camera with wires dangling from it.

  As I headed down the corridor, Dr. V said to me, “I was just telling your cousin that I take security very seriously. That roll-up bay door for the workshop is normally bolted closed with industrial-grade locks, and the regular doors are only accessible via electronic keycards. I have these security cameras positioned throughout the building. Everything is operational at this time except the cameras, but Murphy should have them hooked up before the team arrives.”

  I tried to ignore the sinking feeling forming in my gut. It was as if Dr. V knew we intended to snoop around or might try to make a run for it. “When do we get our keycards?” I asked.

  “In a few days. In the meantime, just come see me whenever you wish to leave the facility. If I’m not here, see Murphy. He’s usually inside working on one thing or another.”

  “So we’re locked in? That seems a little extreme. What if there is a fire?”

  “The doors can be opened from the inside without a card. That is a fire ordinance. However, a piercing alarm will sound and the fire department will be alerted. It is better if you simply find one of us if you wish to step outside.”

  “What if it’s the middle of the night?”

  “Why would you want to leave in the middle of the night?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t have a good answer.

  “What about me?” Hú Dié asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. V replied. “What about you? I can’t imagine that a young woman with your skills brought along all those tools for a vacation in Los Angeles.”

  Hú Dié stiffened. “No.”

  “You wanted to impress me so that I would hire you, didn’t you?”

  Hú Dié looked him square in the face. “Yes.”

  Dr. V smiled. “Well, you more than impressed me, and I appreciate a person with drive. I don’t know what I can offer you long-term, but short-term I would be grateful if you could stay here at the training facility until my mechanic arrives on Thursday. I’m scheduled to receive a shipment of bike frames this afternoon, and I had planned to spend several days assembling them myself before the team members arrive. However, I’m currently in the middle of another project and would rather not have to deal with the bikes. Perhaps you will assemble them.”

  “I’d love to!” Hú Dié said.

  “Very glad to hear it,” Dr. V said. “We will think up some sort of compensation, as I don’t recall you having a work visa, only a ninety-day travel visa.” He turned to me. “I’m assuming you have no problem with this, as you had to know what she was up to?”

  “Actually,” I lied, “I didn’t know what she was up to, although I suspected something when I saw the extra fees charged for her luggage.”

  “No worries,” Dr. V said. “She appears to be worth it.” He smiled at Hú Dié. “I will have the travel agent cancel your stays in L.A. and Austin.”

  “Um,” Hú Dié said, “I was kind of looking forward to going to Austin, if only for half a day.”

  “Might there be a certain famous bike shop that you wish to visit?”

  Hú Dié nodded.

  “Not a problem. If you’re not too tired, how would you like to head over there an hour from now? Murphy needs to run into the city to get a few things. I could have him drop you off, then pick you up a couple hours later. I’m sure they’re open late tonight, as it’s Saturday. You can start on the bikes tomorrow.”

  Hú Dié squealed. “Thank you! I have plenty of energy. I napped on the plane rides. I’ll start on the bikes as soon as I get back this evening. I’m anxious to see those, too.”

  Dr. V nodded. “Sounds good to me. Let’s continue the tour.”

  Dr. V used a doorstop to prop open a door at the end of the corridor, and Hú Dié and I followed him into a large training space with multiple windows and a door leading outside. Several stationary “trainers” were positioned in a semicircle, facing a large projection screen. The trainers were devices a little larger than milk crates and made from metal tubing. A team member could lock his bike’s rear tire into one of these, and the bike instantly became a stationary trainer. Resistance against the tire could be adjusted to simulate different riding conditions, and the rider could even adjust his gears while using the contraption. Best of all, it was the same bike the guy would race on, so he had more practice time with it, even in bad weather.

  As for the screen, Dr. V explained that it was part of a high-end training system that connected each of the stationary trainers to a computer that controlled a video projector. Actual race footage from famous courses was projected onto the screen, and the people in the training room could ride along virtually while the computer automatically adjusted the resistance against their rear tires to match the hills and descents in the video.

  “I’ve only seen these in magazines,” Hú Dié said. “Can I try it sometime?”

  “Of course,” Dr. V replied. “Hooking it up is number two on Murphy’s to-do list, right after hooking up the security cameras. Come, let me show you the dining area and kitchen.”

  We walked through a set of swinging double doors into a moderately sized space that contained several sets of tables and chairs. Along one wall were several refrigerators, and along another was a pair of stoves with a long counter next to them. Several microwaves sat on the counter, along with a row of blenders, and there was a huge double sink. A series of shelves hung over the counter, and the shelves were stocked with protein powders, vitamins, electrolytes, energy bars, meal replacement bars, energy gels … an endless selection of nutritional supplements. While I ate an energy bar every once in a while, I didn’t use the other stuff. Grandfather would have had a fit. He believed I got all the nutrients I needed from a balanced diet and the occasional dose of Chinese herbs. However, I imagined elite athletes might benefit from some of those items.

  “Better performance through better chemistry,” Dr. V said.

  I couldn’t help muttering, “Yeah, I’ve seen Ryan’s transformation since last year.”

  “What are you implying?” Dr. V asked.

  I bit my tongue. “Nothing.”

  “Ryan underwent a growth spurt,” Dr. V said. “Pure and simple. Sure, he takes a mountain of vitamins, but that is his choice. He also spent far too much time in my weight room back in Belgium. I keep telling him that he is too big to ride competitively, but he won’t listen to me. Just like his seat height. I wish he had fallen flat on his oversized butt back in that mud bog.”

  Hú Dié gigg
led.

  Dr. V continued. “Since we’re discussing supplements, I made a difficult decision yesterday that you two should know about. Remember I told you about Lin Tan, Phoenix?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Like everyone who races for Team Vanderhausen, Lin Tan signed an agreement that he wouldn’t put anything illegal into his body. He broke that agreement. I had planned to cut him some slack and keep him close to the team throughout his recent suspension, but I changed my mind. I decided that I needed to set an example. I kicked him off the team permanently.”

  Hú Dié took a deep breath.

  Dr. V looked at her. “Do you know Lin Tan?”

  “I know of him,” she replied, “but I’ve never met him. I was excited to hear that he was racing for you. Many people in China were. There aren’t too many professional Chinese cyclists. Your news makes me sad.”

  “It saddens me, too,” Dr. V said, “but people need to honor their agreements. I will ask you to sign the same document, Phoenix.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” Dr. V said. “As for a way out—” He pointed to a door that was equipped with a push bar like the kind you would find on a fire exit. A keycard reader was mounted on the wall next to the door. “This is the door on the front of the building. Again, I should have a keycard for you in a few days. In the meantime, if there is ever a fire or other need to evacuate, head this way, if you can. You can also exit in the training area. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Hú Dié and I replied in unison.

  Dr. V nodded and waved his arm. “Come on, one more area to show you.”

  We walked through a second set of swinging double doors and entered a long corridor with multiple doors along either wall and a single door at the very end.

  “The living quarters,” Dr. V said.