Rev Girl

by Leigh Hutton

  The last few days before her departure had been super hectic packing, farewelling friends and family and last minute race preparations, including tyre changing practice and bike maintenance lessons with Ernie out in the garage. Keeping her mind off Dallas had been relatively easily.

  Now, however, as Clover eased back into her seat, loneliness and feelings that her life was no longer complete threatened to creep in and consume her. It didn’t help that she already missed her friends; she didn’t know how she was going to go three weeks without talking to Sydney or Sera.

  She hadn’t spoken to Dallas since their altercation on the first day of school, even though she hadn’t been able to stop herself from turning her phone back on just a few hours after she’d sent him the message. When she did, she found only a brief reply. One word: ‘ Fine.’ He hadn’t tried to call or see her since. Clover wasn’t sure which had hurt most, having to break up with him, or the fact that he hadn’t even tried to change her mind. All she hoped now, as the plane took her far away, was that it would be easier overseas, to forget.

  Beside her, Ernie had nodded off. His head was on her shoulder, mouth open, glasses lifted off his face. She giggled, before easing his head carefully back into his own seat. Leslie had volunteered to sit on the aisle. She’d been on her phone all the way to the airport, but at least she hadn’t backed out. Her nose was now stuck in the duty free catalogue but she was excited to be with them, Clover could tell, and not that she’d admit it to anyone Clover was thrilled to have both of her parents with her, too. Leslie had used up all of her holidays for the trip, and even flown her younger sister to stay with Jazz while they were away.

  Clover relaxed and tried to stretch her legs as far as they would go under the seat in front. The plane was mostly quiet, except for the constant rumbling of the engines, a few people chatting and the muted sound spilling from earphones plugged in to the in-flight entertainment system. Clover exhaled, fidgeting with the corners of the blanket she’d found under her seat, and then glanced at her watch. They’d only been in the air for two hours, only six and a half left, a short stop-over in Frankfurt, and then another hour to Prague. Prague, it sounded so exciting. And terrifying. It wouldn’t be long now until Clover would learn if leaving Dallas had been the right move. If flying all the way across the North Atlantic, to race through the mountains of the Czech Republic, had really been the right choice for her life.

  Clover was struck by the gothic beauty of the city of Prague. The black-stained stone buildings, turreted churches centuries older than any building she’d ever seen before. The city had such a romantic, fairy-tale feel, complete with cobblestone streets. Ernie was yelling at Leslie within minutes of picking up the rental car at the airport, as the map and her directions hardly matched up, and in what seemed like no time at all, they were lost in the shadows of the beautiful buildings.

  Clover snatched the map from her mother, tried to advise a few turns, but really had no idea where they were or where they needed to go. Ernie had to pull over, study the map, and navigate his own way out of the city.

  Soon they were on the highway to the northeast, towards Jablonec. Clover hoped her bearings would kick in soon not that it would matter much for the race. One thing she did know how to do was follow arrows along the racetrack. As long as the arrows here aren’t different from the ones back home?

  The road wound upwards from Jablonec, straight into the tree-covered mountains, with sharp inclines and hairpin corners. Quaint little towns, radiating old-world charm, nestled into the picturesque valleys and plateaus.

  ‘The map was right; this road is friggin’ windy,’ Clover said, tasting bile as their car careered around a sharp bend. Ernie only slowed when the bitumen highway narrowed between the box-like white houses of another small mountain village.

  ‘Not my fault your mother hired a rocket ship!’ Ernie shifted up a gear, then another, and shot out the other side of the ten-house town.

  Clover pressed the window button on the armrest of her door, but pulled frantically at the lever as freezing air whipped her face. ‘I thought you said it wasn’t gonna be cold here?’

  ‘Well.’ Leslie turned from the passenger seat. ‘According to the website, it’s fall here and it’s supposed to be rather nice. But the forecast was for unseasonably cold weather, and even though these mountains aren’t quite as high in altitude as the ones back home, we are still headed a long way above sea level.’

  ‘Right . ’ Clover rolled her eyes. ‘Thanks for the geography lesson.’

  ‘Clover!’ Ernie said sternly into the rear-view mirror. ‘Apologise to your mother.’

  ‘Sorry, Mom,’ she said.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Leslie said. ‘We’re all a little cranky that many hours on an airplane will do that to a person.’

  Clover watched her mother clean her glasses with the front of her classy collared shirt, then pick up the mess of a map off the floor, and fold it into a more manageable size.

  ‘Just leave it, dear,’ Ernie said. ‘All you have to do is look at that thing and you get us lost. Really, how hard can it be to ’

  ‘Ernie.’ She held up a hand. ‘You get me flustered, yelling like you do, it really doesn’t help.’

  Clover groaned as the car accelerated sharply up a steep bit of road, the force sending her head hard against the back of her seat.

  ‘Ernie!’ Leslie screamed. The map crumpled against her face as she dramatically threw herself forward, clutching the dashboard. ‘Could you slow down a bit, please?’

  Ernie grinned, but dropped down a gear. The RPM fell as Ernie shifted back up and the road continued skywards. Clover rubbed her gritty eyes and watched as the forest cleared and gave way to views of a deep valley stretched out below them, highlighted by shards of light breaking through the cloud cover. ‘Looks like there should be some good riding ’round here,’ Ernie said.

  She looked up.

  Ernie’s grey eyes were fixed on her in the rear-view mirror, despite the sharp turn fast approaching.

  ‘Watch the road, for God’s sake!’ she said. ‘You’re gonna crash us.’

  Ernie chuckled, and turned his attention back to driving the car, just in time to whip around the bend.

  ‘You should really let me drive.’

  ‘I told you, Clover,’ Leslie said. ‘You have to be twenty-five to drive this rental car. We went over this, you wouldn’t be ’

  ‘I know, I know. Covered by insurance yes, Mom! I was just kidding. Geez.’

  Outside, the valley had been replaced by dark forest, a tangle of trunks and branches. Suddenly, the fear of having to navigate her bike through all those trees, up and over the mountain peaks, hit her. It wasn’t just beautiful anymore.

  The Kassedy family missed two turns trying to find the hotel, even though it was located, at the top of the ski resort town of Kerrachev, set in a bowl near the summit of the Giant Mountains.

  Clover stared at the white nametag pinned to the administration girl’s T-shirt, struggling to focus. She felt like she was still travelling at hundreds of kilometres an hour.

  The letters finally fell into line: Do-bro-mi-ra.

  The girl’s eyes flicked up from the old-fashioned computer screen and raised her eyebrows. ‘You here with the Canadians, yes?’

  Leslie leant across the counter. ‘Yes, that’s right. Our last name is Kassedy. We’re here with the Canadian team, but we live in Colorado.’

  The girl stared at her blankly.

  ‘Mom,’ Clover said under her breath.

  ‘What? Just being friendly.’ She smiled broadly at the receptionist.

  ‘Room four-one-five, at the top of those stairs, and down the hall. Lift broken. Just stairs.’ The girl jerked her arm to their left. ‘Internet there, tokens here.’ Clover looked over at the box-back computer, in the far corner of the room. Phew, she thought, I can keep in touch with Syd and Sera without having to borrow Mom’s phone!

  ‘Beer there,’ the girl said.

 
; A sign hung above a narrow walkway, halfway down the corridor, with the word ‘BEER’ carved and painted yellow.

  ‘Food, here.’ She gestured to the next doorway along, with a matching sign: ‘FOOD’.

  ‘Pool and spa, down there. Have nice stay.’ The girl offered her first and only smile as she thrust a large key into Leslie’s hand.

  ‘Bit different to the River Ranch, hey, Dad?’ Clover said quietly as they shuffled across the cold, stone floor. She insisted on wheeling her own gear bag. Ernie took the suitcases, none of which had wheels. ‘How are we going to get all this up all those stairs?’ Leslie asked. She paused, set the backpacks and camera cases down on the floor, and eyed the BEER sign longingly.

  ‘Multiple trips.’ Ernie nudged her gently with the front of one of the suitcases as he dragged it past. ‘Come on, girls. They aren’t going to carry themselves.’

  But before Clover and Leslie followed, a loud wail came from inside the bar, snaring their attention.

  A gangly guy with bright orange hair had another fellow in a headlock over the pool table. A row of stools around it were full of fit, tanned guys, all in green and gold track suits, laughing at the fighters. The bar was full, with more attractive guys in shiny tracksuits. Clover saw one girl with tight golden curls who was perched on the lap of one of the hottest guys. He had a tanned face with eyes so blue she could see them from where she was standing. He looked like he had fun. A lot of it. Like a sexy surfer.

  ‘Are you two planning on spending the night down here?’ Ernie yelled at them from the stairs. ‘Might be a touch cold … ’

  Clover tore her eyes from the guys, and looked at Leslie, who was smiling.

  ‘Well,’ Leslie said, as she gathered up her bags. ‘It seems we’ll be sharing the hotel with the Australians.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  Australia’s flag was the first Clover saw when they turned in the front gate of Parc Ferme the next morning. Canada’s flag was next in the row. Its prominent, red maple leaf flapped lightly in the breeze.

  She grabbed her new, REV GIRL backpack and hopped out of the car. Beyond the car park lay Parc Ferme, a colourful patchwork quilt of everything motorcycle hundreds of quick shades, race vans and semi-trailers, all displaying flags and logos of every leading brand of racing products. The first flag in the row was white, red and blue: the Czech flag.

  ‘And there’s Poland,’ Ernie said, pointing to the next one along. ‘Then Slovakia, Spain, Italy, France, Great Britain, Sweden, Finland … ’ The Australian, Canadian and American flags were at the far end, nearest the road. In total, Clover counted about forty-five flags all the countries that had sent individual riders and senior and junior trophy teams to compete in the ‘Olympics of Motorcycling’.

  A shiver of nerves ran down Clover’s spine, as the reality of where she was really struck her. She was about to enter the epicentre of Enduro, about to try her hand at the toughest bike race in the world, against the fastest competition on the planet.

  She took a deep breath, doing her best to ignore her stomach raw and uneasy with nerves swung her backpack over one shoulder and slid her sunglasses from the top of her hair down over her eyes. There was no sun to be protected from, but the dark lenses would hopefully mask her anxiety as she made her way into the unknown realm of world Enduro.

  Clover followed her parents through the front gate, past the long admin building, merchandise stands and food stalls where she was struck by the smell of sizzling meat and coffee, too much for Leslie to resist. She stopped to buy three cappuccinos for the family. Clover loved her Canadian team jacket, white, with Canada flags on the front and back. But she made a mental note to wear a hoodie underneath when she ventured out to start pre-walking the special tests in the lead-up to the race.

  The Parc Ferme was already a hive of activity, featuring an orchestra of sounds. Bikes revved, voices boomed, and a distant stereo pumped techno music. The smells of exhaust and race fuel drowned out those of the food stands at the entry. Groups of men, and the odd woman, buzzed about, unpacking dirt bikes, boxes and gear bags from vehicles and shipping containers, chatting away in languages Clover had never heard. The race wouldn’t start for about a week, but riders wasted no time getting their motorcycles unpacked, jetted for the altitude and ready to go. Many bikes, including Clover’s, had been crated up and sent in the shipping containers on boats many months before.

  Clover still hadn’t spotted any signs of the Canadian camp, or the American one, which Kerry had informed her during one of their Facebook chats that summer would be located directly opposite.

  The Italian pit area was approaching on their right the most elaborate yet, with a huge marquee out the front, big ‘Italia’ banners and nation flags draped from its roof. Countless quick shades jutted out from either side of the main tent, with at least two semi trucks parked in behind. A few dark, fit guys in slim fitting light blue and white tracksuits milled about, looking suave and devastatingly handsome. Clover’s eyes dropped to the pavement, and she shrunk behind her big sunglasses, as she heard someone yell, ‘Canadian, Bella!’

  ‘Hey ciao Bella!’

  From the corner of her eye, Clover saw one of the guys in the Italian team uniform as he shouted again and let out a wolf whistle, bringing the rest of Team Italia to see what the fuss was about.

  Clover shoved her hands further into her pockets. She didn’t know if she should look if she did, wouldn’t she seem conceited, or something? She gave them a quick glance, inciting a riot of yelling and ‘ciaos’ and invitations to ‘ah, c’om here’. She looked at the guys, smiled tightly, and then jumped to the safety of Ernie’s opposite side and hurried around the end of the row of pit set ups, and out of view.

  Clover was hoping to pass the Australian camp before finding the Canadian one, as, much to her disappointment, she hadn’t caught a glimpse of any of the alluring Aussies in the hotel that morning. They passed Germany a clean, tidy pit area with order Clover could sense, even from the outside then Japan; a humble set up, but with several families, mothers, fathers and grandparents, everyone pitching in and all cheerful smiles for the passers-by.

  Before Clover saw any green and gold or kangaroos, she spotted the Canadian flag out the front of a small pit area right across the walkway from the Americans, who were rambunctious already. All stars and stripes.

  The Canadian pit consisted of two shipping containers, a couple of quick shades and one support van. The team manager, Clover recognised from pictures online, and his equally excited wife, whizzed about, clipboards in hand, as a few young guys in the team jackets unloaded gear from a container. It’d been organised into categories and set in piles on the concrete. There were fuel cans, tool boxes, spare tyres, water containers, food baskets, eskies (although ice wouldn’t be necessary in these temperatures) more quick shades, boxes of instant noodles and crates of sports drinks, all the necessary items to get the twenty Canadian riders and their bikes through the exhausting six-day race.

  Everyone was busy, and Ernie and Leslie had disappeared to find out what they could do to help, so Clover peered over at the American pit. She spotted Kerry, sitting off to the side of the chaos, and rushed towards her, ready to pull her friend into a hug, when a huge blonde man stepped into her path.

  She was sure her eyes were playing tricks as the Viking-like face of her Canadian idol, Nick Mann, smiled down at her.

  ‘Hey, Clover.’ His voice was as gritty as the dirt he was so good at roosting through. ‘Was hoping to see you today.’

  Clover took a step back, glancing from side to side, just to confirm that she was the person being addressed. When she was sure she wasn’t hallucinating, she tried to think of the coolest thing to say, but her heart sank when, ‘Um, hi,’ was all that came out.

  The ten-time Canadian champion smiled. ‘I just wanted to wish you luck. It’s great to have a girl on the team, for a change.’

  ‘Ah … thanks, Nick.’

  He nodded his head, and extended a massive paw
of a hand, which swallowed hers.

  Clover was astonished at how gentle his handshake was.

  ‘Watch out for the bog holes,’ Nick said. ‘And make sure to accept help, if you’re lucky enough to have the offer.’ He smiled and nodded, before leaving Clover to watch his back as he bounded towards a container and disappeared into it.

  Kerry was grinning at her. ‘Hey, Clover Canada!’ She stepped up to give her a hug. ‘Some words of encouragement from Nick the Great, huh?’

  ‘I think so.’ Clover glowed with pride, and hugged Kerry tightly. Her encounter with Nick seemed like one of her dreams, but the feelings he’d stirred were certainly real. He believed in her. Someone who was respected to such a high degree, actually got who she was.

  Clover wanted to jump right on her bike, head for the start line and hit up those Czech Mountains. She knew she could win. With the Canadian Champion’s blessing, Clover could beat any girl in the world.

  That night, however, Clover was disappointed to again find no Australians in the hotel restaurant. There was one more of her idols was dying to spot.

  As the family found a table off to the side of the mostly empty restaurant, Leslie must have seen the disappointment on her face. She placed a hand on Clover’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We must be eating at funny times. Once the race starts, you’re bound to run into some of them.’

  Clover shied away, embarrassed.

  After that evening, Ernie insisted on taking the girls out to restaurants in the town, to ‘experience the local culture’. Kerry and her parents often joined them.

  Although Clover glimpsed several famous riders, including ‘dirt bike Ken’ and a few other fast Americans, an encounter with an Australian seemed horribly elusive.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The main sports stadium was lit up like a disco for the opening ceremony, two nights before the start of the race. All the preparations for the kick off were complete, with the bikes through safety inspection, and locked in a gated complex off to the side of Parc Ferme, awaiting their riders the morning of Day 1. Clover’s WR250F looked puny in comparison to the KTM 450 four-strokes it was sandwiched between bikes that would be ridden by the women riders from Germany.