by Hodgson, Jim
He went over his handlebars and flipped in the air, expecting to hear twisting metal and broken bones. But he got lucky. He landed and rolled then slid across the roadway and ended up against a curb with one foot still clipped into his bike. He pulled it free and leaped up. His legs were working. He flexed his hands, moved his shoulders. All working. His kit was shredded, and he’d scraped his right leg, hip, and elbow. Blood already dotted his raw skin, but he paid it no mind. He’d flipped in the air, directly over a huge pileup. It would take a minute to detangle the bikes. If he was lucky—enormously, ridiculously, stupidly lucky—the pileup would delay Polini and the break. He picked up his bike and prepared to leap onto it, but the cushion part of the seat had broken off and his front wheel had been destroyed in the crash.
Buck looked around. The front part of someone’s bike was lying nearby, the carbon fiber torn completely in half. The rider stood in the roadway and checking himself for wounds. What was his name? One of the new guys. Dammit. It was . . .
“Vance! Give me your wheel!” Buck said to him, urgently.
“It’s Jens,” said the man, apparently called Jens.
“Sorry! Okay. Let me take your wheel, though!”
Jens understood. He nodded and reached down to his broken bike then unclipped the front wheel as Buck released his smashed one from his frame. Jens handed the good wheel to Buck, who slammed it into his frame and wrenched down on the quick release lever to secure it before leaping aboard his bike. “Thanks!” he yelled. He tried sitting on the seat, but it jabbed painfully into his leg. He’d forgotten about the cushion being ripped off. All that remained were the two metal rails where the cushion should be bolted. He’d have to stand up for the rest of the race. On his sore legs. Shit.
He pushed all questioning thoughts from his mind. Blood trickled down his raw elbow and oozed under his torn kit. He felt rage at the unfairness of it. Rage at his soreness. Rage that he’d crashed yet again when he had barely any chance of winning anyway. Rage that he could lose it all right here. He’d have plenty of time to heal from his road rash when he was shoveling manure at a cheese farm. Hell no.
Buck, his face in a grimace, accelerated away from the crash and headed up the front straight. He could just see Polini and the other riders rounding the first turn and heading down the hill into the sweeping turn. I’m coming for you, he thought.
Descending into the sweeping back side of the course, he flattened himself as much as he could without a seat, presenting as little resistance to the wind as possible. The crashed riders had dragged themselves out of the way for the most part. One of the riders with Polini had to bunny hop over a broken piece of handlebar, but they were only slightly impeded. Buck charged through the broken bikes just seconds behind Polini’s group and caught them on the front straight. The rest of the pack, the ones who could still ride, were getting back on their bikes and riding too, but they’d be one lap down from Polini, Buck, and the two other men.
The race was more than half over. Buck didn’t have a watch on, but he knew time was winding down. He was also vaguely aware of pain radiating like waves from his wounds, but he ignored it. He ignored his screaming sore leg muscles, too.
Another lap down, he and the sprinters flashed over the finish line and Buck looked toward LeMond to see if he was holding up the lap counter yet. He was. Twenty laps to go.
Next to LeMond—with the most gorgeous look of concern Buck had ever seen on a woman’s face—stood Faith. She was screaming something. Buck’s addled brain could only barely understand the words: Go Buck!
The words forced something powerful and terrifying to happen to his insides. Sound and pain and sweat all mixed and faded away, and he rose from his body to see himself tucked down onto his bike. He was battered. He was bloody and tired.
Buck looked deep within himself to find that extra kick of power. He reached for it, and it was there.
Polini and the other two riders never saw his attack coming. Buck coasted briefly for a second or two on the back section of the course, giving him some space to gain speed before sailing past so the other riders wouldn’t have time to get on his wheel. It worked. He pounded up the hill, rounded the corner at the swimming pool, and drilled each leg onto the pedals at a furious tempo. He was using the highest gear he had, never bothering to look back. He was at peak speed. If they caught him now, he was done for.
The laps ticked off. Fifteen to go. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. At ten, Buck risked a glance back to see how close Polini and the other riders were. He could see Polini shouting at the other two, goading them into working together to catch Buck, but they looked completely exhausted. He thought he even saw Polini reach out and whack one of the riders with a backhand to the arm.
At five laps to go, Polini was alone, chasing Buck up the front straight. Buck kept up his insane tempo. If Polini caught him and rode his slipstream to the finish, he could certainly outsprint Buck. Buck’s only choice was to keep the tempo so high that Polini couldn’t sprint for the finish. At two laps to go, Polini was twenty meters back. When Buck rounded the swimming pool turn on the next lap, Polini was just ten meters back.
LeMond was ringing the one-lap-to-go bell as though he were a lifelong hater of bells determined to make this one pay, and again Buck heard that voice that somehow terrified him and spurred him on: Go Buck!
He went, pedaling furiously. Polini was in his slipstream now on the descent, and they went into the final turns of the final lap together. Polini rammed his shoulder into Buck’s side, trying to break his rhythm, but only manage to unbalance himself in the process. The two men headed up the front straight wheel-to-wheel, wrenching on the handlebars and grimacing with the pain. At the line, they both pushed their bikes as far ahead of them as they could, but it was no contest. Buck was ahead by half a bike length. He could hear Polini’s cry of anguish as he crossed the line second. The effort of the chase had been too much for him.
Buck rode his bike around the back of the course. All he could do was breathe. He stopped his bike at the bottom of the hill on the back side, got off, and lay down in the grass, staring up through the trees at the blue sky and sucking air in great gulps.
I won, he thought. Somehow, I won. I hope you saw that, Pop. I won.
Chapter 7
Faith had been staring out the glass windows in the gym’s front door when her phone rang. It was LeMond, wondering if she’d like to see Buck’s bicycle race. She’d never seen a bike race before.
“I just thought you might like to check it out. A crit is really something to see,” he said.
Well, why not, she thought. It’s no CrossFit Games, but people do enjoy professional cycling. For some reason. She wouldn’t have any students until later in the afternoon, so it’d at least be an excuse to take a long lunch and head across town.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll head down there for a bit.”
She got directions from LeMond, parked her car a block away, and walked in. The gendarmes waved her through. One of them had one of those “I’m about to say something smarmy” smirks on his face, but all he said was “Bonjour.” He still managed to inject a certain amount of smarm into that one word, however, as he looked her up and down.
The race was already in progress when she arrived. She heard the pack of riders coming before she saw it, which sounded like a swarm of bees the size of ponies heading down the road. She’d seen packs of riders going down the street, but being this close to a crit course was another matter. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, wheel-to-wheel, going faster than she’d known it was possible to go on a bike. She had to admit, it was thrilling.
Once the pack disappeared around the corner, she found LeMond standing near the finish line.
“How’s it going?” she asked as she walked up.
LeMond flicked his eyes to a man in a blazer with a clipboard to indicate
that they shouldn’t speak freely. “It’s going well,” he said. “We have three riders in a breakaway, and I expect there might be a retaliation from the main pack soon. Wouldn’t you say, Bernard?”
Clipboard man looked up and smiled. He nodded and put his hand out to meet Faith.
“This is Faith Racing, a local CrossFit trainer friend of mine,” LeMond said.
“Ah, bon soir, Mademoiselle,” Bernard said.
“Bon soir,” she replied.
Three riders came pelting into view, and behind them was a tangle of riders in a massive crash. Bikes and helmets and bodies flew everywhere. LeMond and Bernard both made surprised, pained noises.
One rider flipped right over the melee and slid to a stop on his side into a curb. Unbelievably, he got up, looked around, and tried to get on his bike. But the front wheel was busted. He gestured at another nearby rider, also standing. He got a new wheel, put it on his bike, and then got on it and started to ride up the street like a man possessed, even though his riding costume was shredded. Its shreds flapped in the wind as he stood on the pedals and accelerated after the small group whizzing past her position now. He had to be in terrific pain, and yet he pushed onward. He must have really wanted to win this race. The trailing rider came past her position, and she could see now he was bleeding from a couple of scrapes and—
Oh my god, she thought. It’s Buck!
She was stunned as he went by, his face a mask of pain and muscles standing out from his body. He had ceased to have any appearance other than that of function, of speed. His bike was broken, too; the seat was busted somehow so he couldn’t even sit down to pedal. She gaped, wide-eyed at the spectacle. The pain must have been torture. He could have stopped at the crash, called it with mangled wheel and torn clothes. But he kept going, disappearing around the turn.
Faith turned to look wide-eyed at LeMond, who was smiling. “Cycling,” he said simply.
Bernard’s face wore a slight frown, but it was replaced with a wry smile when LeMond turned to him. “Oui, c’est ça,” he said. Yes, that’s it.
Faith wondered why that frown had been there a moment before.
Down the street, the crash appeared to be clearing. The riders were continuing up the street in a loose pack, seemingly all dazed by the crash. They parted, and through the pack came the four riders form before, except that now, impossibly, the beaten and battered Buck was catching them.
“Oh my god,” she said out loud. Something was happening inside her, some strange upwelling of a sea she hadn’t previously known she contained. She felt like she could rise into the air on its current if she just spread her arms. It electrified her, filled her, and she couldn’t hope to contain it. As the riders came past the line, she put her hands to her mouth like a megaphone and screamed for all she was worth. “Go Buck!”
What was happening to her—Go Buck? She barely knew this guy, and she didn’t care a thing about cycling. The implications swam deep in her subconscious, but they were nowhere near the surface. She didn’t care about anything but this race, this moment.
Behind the leaders, the riders who’d been caught by the crash were looking more organized, but nothing like the men on the front. They too disappeared around the corner.
Any second now the lead group would be visible again down by the swimming pool. She strained her eyes to see them, to make sure Buck was okay. Who knew what could happen to someone straining that hard: heart attack, maybe, or a stroke? She shuddered to think about it. There. Yes, there, she could make out the riders. Three of them. No, a fourth was riding away from them. He burst around the corner like he was shot out of a gun. It was Buck!
He came up the hill, a thoroughbred, an animal, a freight train, and she couldn’t contain herself. This time she didn’t even have the power to form words. She just screamed and jumped up and down like a crazy person. LeMond was yelling too, though Faith didn’t have the power of word recognition anymore. If he was forming words, they were lost on her. He was holding up a numbered sign for the riders to see.
Only Bernard was quiet, just looking determined and checking his clipboard occasionally.
Lap after lap the riders continued to punish themselves. Men faded away from Buck, unable to match his otherworldly tempo. But there was one rider, a larger man than Buck, threatening to catch him. Each time they came around he seemed a bit closer. Faith wished the race would just end so they could quit turning themselves inside out like this.
LeMond said, “If Polini gets any closer, he’s got a shot.” Faith guessed the chasing rider must be Polini. He edged up to Buck with each lap, but in the end, he didn’t have the gas. A bell rung to let the riders know there was one lap to go, and Buck managed to hang onto his furious pace by just enough of a margin. The other man grunted a cry of anguish as Buck crossed in first place and disappeared around the turn again.
Faith leaped up and down with joy, one arm around LeMond, who was beaming like he’d just won the lottery. When Buck didn’t appear around the turn again, though, she got concerned. What if he’d really had a heart attack? Riders were crossing the finish line, stopping their bikes, unclipping their feet. She waded into the street and looked at each of their faces, some frowning, some smiling, but none of them were Buck. None of them had those eyes.
She ran through the park, figuring Buck must have stopped on the back side somewhere. Had he wrecked again? Oh no. The course couldn’t be too big; they came around every few seconds during the race, it seemed. She ran past brick buildings that looked like bathrooms and took a left when she encountered the fence surrounding a softball field. Around that, she spotted the road again. That had to be the other side of the course. She scanned it for Buck. Right, then left. There! She spotted a bike lying against a curb with the form of a rider lying in the grass nearby.
Oh god, no. He crashed again.
“Buck!” she shouted, running across the road, careful not to get hit by riders still circling the race course. He was gasping, so he couldn’t be dead. He was nearly covered on one side by scrapes, and his clothes were shredded.
He gave a little wave and sat up on the elbow that wasn’t scraped, though he had to be ginger with that one too as it was connected to his collarbone. He gave up on the elbow idea and just sat up. He was smiling. She smiled back.
Then she noticed that his ripped cycling shorts were probably a bit more ripped than he realized they were. He was sitting with his legs splayed, smiling at her with those eyes of his that should probably stop being so green, and she looked down and, oh. She pointed. He saw her pointing and gave her a quizzical look.
“Huh?” he said.
“Your, um . . .” she said, pointing again.
Faith had had boyfriends before. She was a grown woman, after all. She was familiar with how a man’s parts looked. Namely, they usually looked kind of weird and fragile. Like an alien’s eggs protected by a goofy serpent. But Buck’s looked groomed, masculine. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be looking, and she never thought she’d look at that particular body part and think, “Wow,” but, damn. Wow.
He looked down, saw that his genitals were in view, and tugged at his shredded cycling kit to cover them. “Yikes,” he said. “I ah . . .”
“It’s okay,” Faith said. Actually, it’s more than okay. I never saw better. Wait. Had she thought that? Well, at least she hadn’t said it out loud.
Buck was getting to his feet now. She reached to help, and LeMond was walking down the hill. He’d come through the park too and wore a gigantic smile on his face, apparently not worried about Buck’s condition. He’d seen what had just happened and stopped, looked Faith and Buck over, then said “Well, mister New Lyon Cycling Champion, if you’re done showing the lady your balls, maybe you’d like to have a little celebration. Dinner’s on me. Both of you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Faith said, but
her voice had an odd timbre. Buck had said it at exactly the same time as she had. Exact same words, exact same timing. They shared a look and laughed, though Buck’s face showed the pain of his injuries.
LeMond just raised his eyebrows as if to say “See what I mean?”
“No, I really can’t,” Faith said, starting again, and then looked down at her watch. “Oh shit, I’m late! I have to go. Congrats Buck!”
“Thanks,” he said with a half-smile.
And those eyes.
She liked saying his name. Buck. No. No, she didn’t like saying his name. It was just a name, not a magic word. She said her goodbyes to LeMond and hurried back through the park to where she’d left her car. The gendarmes had opened the street again now that the race was over, so she had to wait for traffic to clear at a crosswalk. She was so late for her class back at the CrossFit gym. Jason wouldn’t be at the gym for a while yet, so she had to hurry back.
This was bad. Should she come up with a story of some kind? She had a car wreck. Flat tire. No. Better to tell the truth. Always worse to be caught in a lie.
She arrived at her gym to find Barker standing outside. Oh no. This was bad. He looked furious. Faith leapt out of her car, smiling and apologizing. It would be okay. He had some kind of weird crush on her, so he wouldn’t be too mad.
She opened the door to the gym. He stepped inside without saying a word. Faith was already dressed to lead a workout—all she had to do was take off her beret and coat, which she did. She turned to find Barker standing just inside the door. He hadn’t taken his coat off. She was about to ask him if he was ready for his workout, when he spoke. His voice was reedy and tremulous with barely-contained rage.
