by Julie Cannon
Chapter Six
“Ladies and gentlemen, next up, riding for Bellow is number twenty-five, Caroline Davis.”
The voice over the loudspeaker was practically drowned out by the cheers of the crowd around her. Caroline inched toward the starting line readying herself for the descent down one of Canada’s most majestic and dangerous mountains. She tugged at her helmet, adjusted her elbow pads, tightened the Velcro on her riding gloves, and took a deep breath.
Focus, said the voice in her head. You can do this. It’s a simple course you’ve been down half a dozen times already. You know where the turns are, the rocks, that one stump across the road about halfway down, the tight hairpin turn just before the long stretch to the finish line. It’s just another race, like all the other races before.
Caroline repeated the mantra while the announcer finished reciting her stats, wins, and hometown. The red light was steady as the timer next to it counted down. When it got to fifteen, she rolled within centimeters of the infrared start line. At ten, she clipped her left shoe into the pedal. At five, she flexed her fingers over the brakes. Three, two, one. She shot out.
The first twenty yards were smooth and she pedaled hard, picking up speed. The trail veered sharply to the left and she navigated the change smoothly, picking up more speed on the flat downhill surface before the next obstacle. She flew up and down hills, over sharp rocks and boulders big enough to be trouble but small enough to be in the middle of the trail.
With her shoes clipped to her pedals, she was able to use both the downward motion of her legs as well as the upward for speed, jumps, and to maintain control. The only danger was that if she fell, she needed to twist her foot just right to release it or suffer a severe injury.
No, not now. Please not now. The familiar tightening of her chest, shortness of breath, the overwhelming need to flee unexpectedly washed over Caroline. She had no clue it was coming until it was right on top of her and there was little she could do to stop it.
It was the last thing she needed right now. She hadn’t had a panic attack for months. They started the first time she was back on her bike after her devastating injury. At first, she didn’t know what was going on. All she knew was that it scared the hell out of her. She felt like she was having a heart attack. Her legs were weak, her breathing much faster than normal. Her heart was racing, her throat dry. She couldn’t get off her bike fast enough, and it was all she could do to get away.
She confided in her father what had happened and he accompanied Caroline to her doctor. After a battery of other tests, she was diagnosed with panic attacks and referred to a psychologist who was better equipped to help her deal with what was described as a form of posttraumatic stress syndrome. After a few sessions with Dr. Blackstone, Caroline had learned how to deal with the attacks through a series of calming techniques. She began them now.
Forcing herself to concentrate, she shifted her weight over her legs, jumping over a dip in the trail that would send a less experienced rider flying over the handlebars causing certain injury. The bike hit the ground, and between the shocks on the front and rear of her bike as well as the powerful muscles in her legs acting like springs, she hardly felt the return to earth.
She expertly conquered the twists and turns of the course gaining speed when she could, backing off when she had to. It seemed like only seconds before she saw the finish line to her left. The hairpin curve she was worried about was to her left. She braked going into the bend, her rear wheel skidding almost out from under her as she maneuvered through the tight turn. Cheers erupted when she emerged and she pedaled hard through the finish line.
Caroline skidded to a stop and looked over her shoulder at her time displayed on the Omega board. This was the first of the qualifying rounds. Each round consisted of two timed events, with the fastest racers moving on to the next round until only the final ten remained. The final round was three races, the combined time resulting in the winner of that leg of the championship. In addition to the blue jersey, the winner received fifteen points. Ten points went to the rider who finished second, five for third, and three for fourth. At the end of the race series, the rider with the highest number of points was declared the overall champion.
“Yes,” Caroline shouted as her time and bib number flashed to the top of the standings. At 5:39:42, she was three seconds ahead of the second place rider. Caroline had been on the circuit long enough to know the racers, their strengths and weaknesses, and the five riders behind her could not beat her time. Except for the one that was coming down the mountain now.
In what seemed like an instant, Shannon breezed across the finish line and Caroline thought she was barely breathing hard. Her time was four seconds ahead of Caroline’s and she and Shannon, along with eight others, moved on to the next round.
The remainder of the day continued in the same manner. By her last race, Caroline had ridden down the challenging hill seven times, each time faster than the last, her confidence gaining.
Her parents and Fran had arrived the night before and were cheering her on from the grandstand adjacent to the finish line. Steven and Robin Davis attended as many of her races as they could, but money was tight in the Davis household. But there was no way they’d miss this one. Fran’s parents were so rich she was able to go pretty much wherever she wanted. Most of the time she chose to be with Caroline. Surprisingly, she had gotten to be a pretty good bike mechanic and an excellent chief cook and bottle washer.
Freshly showered, Caroline walked down the stairs and saw her parents already sitting in the living room of the B&B. They were engaged in conversation with an elderly gentleman who was doing most of the talking with his hands. The fact that he was speaking French and her parents didn’t know a word didn’t seem to stop him from carrying on his side of the conversation.
“Caroline,” her mother said, obviously relieved at the interruption.
“Hey, Mom, is Fran down yet?”
“Yes, she’s outside with one of the men working on the yard, or trimming the bushes or something.” Her mother waved her hand in the direction of the front of the house. “Why don’t we go find her?”
Caroline chuckled at how smoothly her mother made their escape from the man who had turned his attention and antics to the woman to his left. They stepped outside. The stickiness of the past few days had subsided leaving crisp, cool mountain air. The three of them walked around the building and Caroline saw Fran in a casual pose leaning against a fence gate. She was talking to a tall man with hair the color of coal and by the look on his face, she was working her magic.
“Speaking of romance,” her father said. Her parents had heard enough stories and been around Fran long enough to know what she was up to. “Are you seeing anyone?”
After the debacle in high school with Shannon, her parents finally came to grips with the fact that Caroline was not simply going through a phase brought on by attending an all-girls school. After four years at Columbia and three more getting her graduate degree, they were closer than most of her friends were with their parents.
“Not really.” Caroline couldn’t very well say that she had a torrid night with a near stranger a week ago. She could tell her parents anything, but she drew the line at her sex life.
“Not really or no?” her mother said. Caroline had four siblings, each married and some with children of their own, but her mother still worried about her. When she became a mother, Caroline supposed she would as well.
“Not really. Really,” she said to counter the look of skepticism on her mother’s face. “I’ve gone out a few times but nothing serious. I’ve been training, remember?” She nudged her mother affectionately.
“How could I forget? You don’t call and I can’t remember the last time you came home for a visit. Little Clarice is walking now and you’re going to miss it.”
At the name of her latest niece, Caroline smiled. “Mom, I doubt Clarice is going to stop walking anytime soon. It’s not a phase she’s going through. I’m
no child development expert, but I think she’ll be doing that for the rest of her life.” Caroline loved teasing her mother.
“You know what I mean, young lady. Don’t get cheeky with me. Your father and I aren’t getting any younger, you know.”
“Mom,” Caroline replied exasperated. “You’re both only fifty-two. That’s hardly pushing up daisy years.” She gave her mom a quick hug. “But I know what you mean. This is my last season, and once I get my Ph.D. and get settled I’ll be there so much you’ll think I moved back in. Now let’s rescue that man from Fran and get something to eat.”
*
The next morning Shannon’s alarm buzzed incessantly. She didn’t want to get up. She hadn’t gone out drinking or partying with or without a sexy Canadian. She just didn’t feel like getting out of bed, which was odd because today was the finals of this all-important first race and she was atop the leader board ahead of Caroline and a rookie from Spain.
It was seven thirty when she finally rolled out of bed. She hadn’t slept well. Images of Caroline floated in and out of her dreams. In one, she was laughing, in another angry, in a third, she was making love to her, and finally, she was crying. Shannon couldn’t quite figure out what was going on in each sequence, but she knew she was in all of them.
Dressed and washing down the remainder of her breakfast with an energy drink, Shannon closed and locked the door behind her. Her footsteps were silent on the plush carpet of the hall, the elevator barely making a sound as it opened its doors on her floor. The car was crowded and she recognized a few other riders as she stepped inside. A chorus of “good lucks” sent her on her way when they reached the hotel lobby.
It was a short ride to the race expo and riders’ area, but Shannon opted to walk. Her start time for the first heat of the finals was after lunch and she was too keyed up to sit idly in the backseat of a cab. Her gear was safely secured in her sponsor’s trailer so all she carried was her backpack.
She garnered more than a few passing looks as she walked down the street. At five foot six, she wasn’t much taller or shorter than the other riders, but her shock of blond, almost white hair drew some attention. Most of the men and a fair number of women checked her out from the bold letters across her chest to the fitted bike shorts covering her muscular thighs.
As she neared the race venue, dozens of people wished her luck. She wasn’t famous by any means, but she was well known on the circuit and by fans of the sport.
She entered the riders’ only area and quickly scanned the grounds for Caroline. She would already be here, Shannon knew, checking out her gear, her bike, and getting psyched for the finals. Shannon was leading Caroline by only four seconds, which on this course was like a split second. One misstep, loss of concentration, or missed execution in a tight turn and the race could be lost.
Shannon never understood riders who had to meditate or get psyched up for a race. She simply imagined the trail in her mind, rode the lift to the top, and waited for her turn to descend. She never took it too seriously, which made her relaxed and fluid on the course. Usually, she won or came in second. Rarely did she come in anything lower than fourth, and she had not taken a spill in over three years.
Frank Striker, the owner of TKS, was waiting inside the trailer when Shannon entered. “There’s my goldmine,” he said before she even had the door closed behind her.
Shannon hated the perpetual leer on his face, but he never said or did anything that would give her the right to slap it off. He was her major sponsor. She sold her image, name, and reputation to him in exchange for big bucks. She hated the business side of racing but knew it was part of the game she had to play. She had money of her own, but why spend it when she could spend someone else’s just as easily?
“Hey, Frank, how’s it going?” Shannon asked as her way of saying good morning.
“Makin’ money and makin’ more money.” Frank’s middle name was greedy.
Shannon didn’t reply but went straight to her bike. At times she felt more at home with her bike than she did with most people. The carbon, aluminum, rubber, and wire were an extension of her. A way to express herself, the excitement of life, her race toward the future. There had to be some Freudian hypothesis in it all, but she tried hard not to think that deep.
“You’re gonna take home the blue jersey today, Shan, I can feel it. Davis can’t catch you, and the rest of the field are all wannabes. I have money that you’ll take it all this year. You know you’re the favorite. Davis gets the sympathy vote ’cause of her broke leg, but she’s got nothing compared to you.”
There were many things that Shannon disliked about Frank Striker and he just about hit every one of them in his monologue. She hated being called Shan, his constant stroking of her ego was unnecessary and nauseating, and he never had a good thing to say about Caroline or any other rider.
She and Caroline were ranked number one and two in the world and she deserved, and had earned, the respect that went along with that. “Caroline is fully recovered. She has just as much chance to win this as I do. As anyone, for that matter.”
“But she isn’t going to get a million dollar bonus if she does, is she?”
Shannon bit her tongue on the first response that came to mind and chose the second instead. “Who knows? Maybe she will.” The rest of her statement was drowned out by Frank’s laugh.
“From Bellow? They’re so cheap they squeak when you say their name. She probably barely got enough money to pay for the trip.”
She wasn’t in the mood to spar with Frank today so she picked up her gear and headed out the door followed by Frank’s parting words. “Kick ass, girl!”
*
Caroline pulled on her knee pads and buckled her shoes. The butterflies in her stomach were better than a clock. They always arrived about an hour before her start time and when she heard the announcement for the third heat she knew she had about forty-five minutes until she needed to be at the top of the hill.
Commotion behind her drew Caroline’s attention and she turned just in time to see Shannon enter the staging area. She had a presence that made her seem much larger than her average size. She drew crowds wherever she went at races, and it was particularly evident today by the numbers of people the security guards made wait outside the gate.
Caroline knew every inch of Shannon’s body, her mannerisms, her body gave away her moods, but that was years ago. God knew she was not the same person she was in high school and she suspected Shannon had changed as much as well. But the sense of familiarity, even after all these years, was unmistakable. Shannon still had the same swagger, the same sense of purpose, the same determined look in her eye she had when they were together.
Shannon gazed around the area, nodding to a few riders, looking past others, and Caroline watched Shannon’s eyes settle on her. Her heartbeat double-timed once, then twice before settling into a faster than normal cadence. Shannon’s expression immediately went blank but not before Caroline saw the moment of recognition and remembrance fill her face.
Caroline nodded and motioned Shannon over. With each step Shannon took toward her, Caroline’s pulse raced a bit faster. Stay calm, she told herself. Don’t let her get to you, she repeated in her head until Shannon stopped in front of her.
“I just wanted to wish you luck,” Caroline managed to say more calmly than she felt.
Shannon hesitated as if she were deciding how to respond. Finally she said, “Thanks, you too. It’s going be a tough one. The bobby pin about three-quarters down has gotten loose.”
Caroline knew the spot Shannon was referring to. It was a tight turn where the hard-packed dirt had eroded away due to the dozens of tires skidding over its surface. Interesting that Shannon warned her about it.
“You’re riding a Shimano crankset. How’s that working for you?” Caroline asked wanting to keep the conversation going and Shannon close to her. This was the most they had spoken to each other since that awful day in her dorm room. Shannon looked surprised at the
question.
“Good. They’re pretty tight and smooth. I think it’s their best crank yet.”
The bike techno jargon was going on all around them and would the entire series. Each rider believed that what she was riding was the best and many an argument ensued when two vehemently disagreed.
“How is the Bellow working out for you?” Shannon asked referring to Caroline’s frame manufacturer.
“Great. It’s light but stronger than I’ve ever ridden. The control is everything it’s touted to be.” Caroline was surprised the conversation was going on as long as it had. For the past ten years, when she and Shannon were competing in the same race they kept their mutually agreed upon distance, rarely saying anything more than obligatory greetings to each other. It was an awkward yet comfortable arrangement at the same time.
“How are they to work with?”
The name of her major sponsor took the conversation to a slightly more personal level. “Great. Russ is an absolute professional and his team is constantly looking to improve the technology. They debrief me after every race, and when I just want to collapse in exhaustion they want to talk about pull, swag, and bend.” Caroline couldn’t help but smile at the image of the four tech geeks pumping her for information about how the bike handled.
Shannon looked like she wanted to say something else but instead wished her luck again and walked over to where her gear was stored. Caroline watched her back and noticed her shoulders were pulled back, her back straight, and the ass she had grabbed, squeezed, and devoured a lifetime ago was as delicious as ever.
*
Caroline buckled her helmet, swung her leg over the seat, and adjusted her gloves. She gripped the handlebars and nodded. In a heartbeat, she was through the gate.
