The bike trip to the Rails to Trails project wasn’t quite as bad as Doug had imagined it would be. Luckily, the last part was on a flat stretch of reclaimed railroad bed that provided for a nice, smooth ride.
When they got there, Red introduced Doug all around.
One woman, who said her name was Sally, handed him an orange T-shirt with RAILS TO TRAILS in big green letters on the front. A lot of the others were wearing them. Doug went to put his on, but it didn’t fit. He looked at the label. It said “Large,” but he knew it was too small for him. He hung it over his handlebars and put his own T-shirt back on.
Most of the workers were Red’s age or older. Doug thought he’d be the youngest person on the job. Then he spotted another kid who looked about his age leaning against one of the trucks. He was tall and skinny, with pale skin and jet-black hair that flopped over his forehead.
There was no time to find out who he was, though. People had started unloading equipment and it looked as though work would begin right away.
Doug was starting to feel a little weak in the knees about joining up with this group, when he noticed the open back of a station wagon to one side. In between the people who partially blocked his view, Doug could see a coffee urn and cartons of what had to be doughnuts.
“That’s for later, when we get hungry,” said Red, following his gaze. “Right now, there’s work to be done. How about giving me a hand carrying these tools?”
For the next hour, Doug stayed pretty close to Red. He handed him tools and fetched small pieces of equipment, and once he went over to the open sta tion wagon to bring him back a tall cup filled with plain old water. A whiff of doughnuts made his stomach rumble, but he tried to ignore it.
The tall, skinny kid was chugalugging a drink from a big thermal cup. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked over at Doug.
“Hi, I’m Billy Torrant,” he said.
“Doug Cannon.”
“Ya get real thirsty out here, huh?” said Billy.
“Yeah,” Doug answered. “You been on the job here long?”
“No, I only moved into town a little while ago. This is my first day,” said Billy.
“Me, too,” said Doug, brightening at the discovery he wasn’t the only newcomer.
“Yeah,” said Billy. “I’m here ‘cause my folks think I should toughen up. I eat okay, but I’m still kind of skinny. They’re worried that when I start school, the other kids will poke fun at me—like some of them did where we used to live. They wanted me to go to some fitness camp this summer, but I couldn’t because of the move. And then they saw one of those posters and thought I might get some exercise working on this project.”
“That could have been one of the posters I helped to put up,” said Doug.
“Hey, Doug, you got that drink? I’m parched!” came Red’s voice from down the track.
As the next hour passed, Doug got to know a few of the other men and women working on the project.
He found himself helping them as much as Red.
Suddenly, someone shouted, “Coffee time!” and work fizzled away as the midmorning break started.
Doug got himself a small container of milk and a jelly doughnut. He went over to where he and Red had parked their bikes in a shady spot and flopped down. Red was already there. He held a Thermos to his mouth and took a long, deep drink.
“Do you bring your own coffee?” Doug asked.
“No, it’s a kind of herbal tea I like,” said Red. “I’m not much into coffee and regular tea.” He crunched on a big red apple he’d produced from his knapsack.
Doug’s doughnut suddenly seemed soggy and unappetizing. After two mouthfuls, he put it aside. Without a word, Red fumbled into his knapsack, pulled out a second apple, and offered it to Doug. Doug hesitated, then accepted it.
There was so much about Red that Doug didn’t know. Every time he turned around, there seemed to be something new. But the one thing Doug was most curious about didn’t seem to be something Red liked to talk about: why he’d stopped racing.
There was a long silence between them.
“Okay, you want to know why I gave up cycling, right?” Red asked.
Was he a mind reader? Doug wondered.
“It’s not that big a deal,” Red went on. “But it was at the time. See, I had really fallen in love with it. There was nothing else in the world I wanted to do. So I decided I’d go the amateur route and then eventually turn pro.”
“Really?” asked Doug. “How far did you get?
“Pretty darn close,” said Red. “I’d won a lot of races as an amateur and even came close in a few international ones.” He took a final bite of apple and chewed.
“What I really wanted was to compete in the Olympics. Yeah, I dreamt of winning that gold medal all the time. My training was pretty well concentrated on just one event: the individual pursuit. But it didn’t work out. I wasn’t good enough the first time I tried to qualify.” Red had a distant look in his eyes. Doug held his breath, waiting for him to go on.
“Anyway, by the time the next Olympics rolled around four years later, I had gone pro. In fact, when your sister first met me, she recognized me from a newspaper picture. I was holding a cup I had won. Funny,” he added. “That was the last race I ever competed in.”
“Your last race! Hey, what made you stop racing?”
“I had an accident.”
“A bad one? During the race?”
“Yes, to both questions,” said Red. “I made a dumb mistake on a turn and took out several others. But I was the only one seriously hurt.”
“Did you finish the race?” Doug asked.
“I couldn’t,” said Red. “They took me off in an ambulance. I’d broken my leg in several places and was laid up for a long time.”
“But you ride fine now,” said Doug. “So you must have gotten completely better, right?”
“Not exactly,” said Red. “My body no longer has that real competitive edge. I can still ride in simple races, as long as I don’t push it too hard. In fact, I still belong to the Lakeridge Cycling Club.” He stood up, stretched, and looked down at Doug. “You know, I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I’d had my chance in the Olympics. Even when I was on the pro circuit, the dream of racing in them stayed with me. But any thoughts I ever had about the Olympics, well, since the accident I’ve had to put them out of my mind.”
Doug didn’t know what to say. He just sat there and stared at the ground. It had to have been terrible for Red to lose the one thing he wanted most: a shot at the Olympics.
“Hey, it’s not the end of the world,” said Red. “Cycling’s loss could just be medicine’s great gain. Maybe I’ll discover a cure for the common cold.”
“Maybe you’ll get up off your duff and help us haul this load over the track,” said Jimmy Bannister, a bearlike man who served as the work crew leader. Despite his gruff tone, he was good-natured and everyone liked him.
“Yes, sir, mister boss,” said Red, with a mocking tone to his voice. “Anything you say. Come on, Doug, and give us a hand.”
For the rest of the day, Doug pitched in wherever he could. He soon discovered that he wasn’t being asked to do much real work. It looked as though the regulars didn’t think he had the strength it took to do a lot of the jobs. He ended up clearing the small brush and helping drag it out of the way. But he never was asked to lend a hand on any of the big jobs.
Not so with Billy, he noticed. Once in a while they worked together on the small stuff. But Billy’s height made him a natural for getting at some tall chores without a ladder. A couple of times, just when the two of them started to talk, Billy got called away to do just that.
Work was still work, though, and Doug hadn’t done this much in a long, long time. Toward the end of the day, he had no energy left at all. He gradually drifted into the background until he found a cool spot where he could settle down out of sight. He leaned back against the trunk of a tree and within seconds was sou
nd asleep.
In his slumber, a picture began to form. At first, it was just a dim sound, like a buzz. Then it grew bigger and bigger until it was a roar. Bright lights broke through and brought into focus the figure of a boy on a bicycle. It was boy without a face, but he was about Doug’s age and height. He looked a lot thinner and tougher as he pedaled forward furiously, coming right into the center of Doug’s vision. The noise became the roar of a crowd. They were shouting “Cannon! Can-non!” Flowers were being thrown at the boy on the bicycle and eventually a gold crown settled on his head. Suddenly, the five colored rings of the Olympics rose up in front of him and a ribbon with a gold medal was tied around his neck by a pair of mysterious hands.
“You’ve earned this,” said a voice from the crowd.
Doug blinked his eyes open. The voice belonged to Red, who was standing next to him. He was holding out an ice cream on a stick.
“I must have dozed off,” said Doug, scrambling up awkwardly. He took the ice cream from Red and bit into it without hesitation.
“Just as well,” said Red. “You put in one heckuva day for your first one on the job.”
“I’ll do even better tomorrow,” said Doug around a mouthful.
“Nope, tomorrow your Mom told me she has work planned for you at home,” said Red. “Besides, we don’t want to wear you out all at once. And, hey, I’ve got a surprise for you. Jimmy’s going right by your house, so he’ll drop you and your bike off. You can throw it in the back of his pickup. Sally suggested it. She thought you looked wiped out.”
Suddenly the ice cream lost its flavor. Sally thinks I’m a wuss! Doug thought, his face turning a dull red. I suppose Red and Billy and everyone else does, too. Can’t finish the job. Can’t even ride my bike back home. Well, I’ll show them.
“Tell Jimmy I don’t need him,” said Doug angrily. He stomped over to his bike, slapped on his helmet, and climbed into the seat. “Just because I’m fat doesn’t mean I’m weak!”
“Doug, nobody thinks that!” said Red. “Jimmy only offered —”
“I’m fine,” shouted Doug over his shoulder. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
His chubby legs pumped as he headed down the track. In a few seconds he was beyond the sound of Red’s voice.
4
Beads of sweat rolled down from Doug’s forehead as he pedaled furiously along the restored track. His muscles ached and his body hurt in other ways, too. The back of his neck flamed where he’d gotten sunburned. His arms stung from where he’d scratched at a zillon insect bites, and his right thumb had a sliver in it he couldn’t pick out.
But despite these pains, he’d been enjoying himself. He’d felt appreciated. That was before the dream and Red’s waking him up to say Jimmy would drive him home. Now he just felt humiliated. Well, he’d show them.
The track was longer than he thought, and he was already breathing hard before he’d gone halfway. Just keep pedaling, he told himself. All you have to do is get home and you’ll be okay.
But what about Red? And Sally? Were they back there talking about him? Were they laughing at him because he couldn’t do the tough jobs?
The more he thought about it, the sorrier he felt for himself, and the harder he pumped. And the more the sweat poured down across his face. It oozed into the corners of his eyes and mixed with the tears that he couldn’t keep from coming.
He could barely see when he came to the end of the track. Instead of slowing down for the turn, he went zooming ahead into the brush. The front wheel of his bike sank into the soft ground and skewed to one side, dragging the handlebars with it. Doug held on for a moment, then lost his balance and tumbled down into the scratchy undergrowth.
He sat still, afraid to move for a moment. His legs were tangled up in the frame and twisted front wheel. If he could wiggle them free, he’d be all right. He was reaching over to straighten out the handlebars when he felt a sharp pain in his arm. He’d been so worried about breaking a leg, he hadn’t even noticed the blood pouring out of a cut just below his elbow. When he did, his vision swam.
Okay, I know what to do, he said to himself. First of all, stay cool. Then, I just squeeze my arm a little bit above where it’s cut. Now I add some more pressure, raise my arm above my heart, and it should slow the bleeding.
He was so busy applying first aid to his cut arm, he didn’t hear the sound of other riders approaching. But before he knew it, there was Red with Andy Potts and Tommy Lopardo, two other members of the work crew, coming toward him.
“What happened?” Red asked, kneeling down next to Doug.
“Must have been something on the track and I skidded,” said Doug.
He hardly noticed Red glancing over his shoulder to look for skid marks that weren’t there.
“Let’s take a look at that arm,” Red said. “Tommy, grab the first aid kit out of my backpack.” He asked Doug a lot of questions about whether or not he felt pain anywhere else. When Doug assured him he didn’t, Red called out, “Hey guys, want to give me a hand getting him out of here?”
Slowly and carefully, they untangled Doug’s legs from the wreckage of his bike. The pain in his arm had turned into a dull throb, and he was able to assist them in getting him to his feet. But when he was standing, he felt a little woozy.
“Here, you just sit down under this tree,” said Red. “I’m not trying to play doctor, Doug, but I don’t think you did too much damage. Guys, his house is just a few minutes away. I’m going to ride over and see if someone can pick him up in a car. I’ll be right back.”
“What about my bike?” Doug called as Red pedaled away.
Tommy shook his head. “The frame is bent real bad. Looks like you may have totaled it.”
When Mrs. Cannon arrived, she insisted that a doctor look at Doug’s injuries. So over his protests, she drove him to the clinic, which was open late that day. The doctor confirmed that the cut wasn’t serious.
“But there’s always a chance of infection,” he said. “I’d better give you a shot and some follow-up medication. Then I’ll put on a clean, new bandage.”
When they got back, Red was up at the house sitting on the front steps with Kate and Terry.
“We heard about the crash,” said Kate. “Too bad about your bike. How’s the arm?”
“Doc says I may never play the violin again,” Doug said sadly.
“Wait a minute,” Terry piped up. “You can’t play the violin now!”
Mrs. Cannon shook her head at their nonsense. “He’ll be fine in a few days. The cut didn’t go all that deep.”
“Look at that,” said Kate. “One day on the job and already my brother’s on sick leave. Who said this kid isn’t sharp as a tack?”
Their good-natured banter made Doug feel a whole lot better. In fact, for a few moments he forgot all about the accident — and what caused it.
The next evening, long after dinner was finished and Doug was sitting out on the porch swing looking at a catalog of video games, Mr. Cannon came over and sat down next to him.
“I had a talk with Red a little while ago,” he said. “He told me he was quite impressed with your first day on the job yesterday. Everyone was.”
Doug was silent.
His father continued, “In fact, he told me that he was sure they would appreciate your coming back as soon as possible.”
Doug shrugged his shoulders. He waited for the “working in the outdoors is good for your health” lecture to start. To his surprise, it didn’t.
“But your bike is beyond repair. I had the fellows over at the garage take a look at it. So if you’re going to continue with the project, you’ll need a new way of getting back and forth to the site.”
“I guess I’ll have to wait until someone drives me,” said Doug, staring at the porch floor.
“Well, there might be another way,” said Mr. Cannon.
“Oh, yeah? What?” asked Doug suspiciously.
“You could pedal your way back and forth if you had a new bike,” sai
d his father. Doug looked up quickly. Mr. Cannon grinned. “As a matter of fact, I just got one for you.”
“You did!”
“Uh-huh, a new twelve-speed racing bike. Red helped me pick it out for you,” said Mr. Cannon. “It’s tagged with your name on it at the bike store in the mall. If you like it, it’s yours.”
Doug was stunned. “But, wait a minute, it’s not my birthday for a long time. And Christmas is way off. How come?’’
“Well, I’ve been doing some thinking. You know all that exercise equipment I bought when I got home from the hospital?”
“You mean that junk sitting down in the basement? The stuff Mom wants you to use or get rid of? ”
“Yes, well, I finally did,” said Mr. Cannon. “I sold it—and put the money toward your bike.”
“But you said you might use it again someday,” said Doug.
“There’s a reason that stuff’s been collecting dust downstairs. It just didn’t work for me. My morning jog and a set of dumbbells are all I need. Although Red tells me a muzzle might be a good addition, too.” Mr. Cannon laughed at Doug’s confused expression. “It seems I’ve become something of a monster, preaching about good health and the wonders of exercise to anyone within earshot. Especially to you. Red politely told me that, in his experience, the decision to lead a healthy life can’t be made for you. You have to decide to do it for yourself.”
He laid a hand on Doug’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “So that was my last lecture. From now on, no more. If you want the bike, then it’s yours. Let’s call it a member of the wedding party present. You could be pressed into wedding messenger and errand service, you know. But however you use it, I trust you’ll do it safely and wisely.”
“But a twelve-speed,” said Doug. “That’s stupendous. And a racing bike. Wow! It’s a lot more than I need for errands.”
“Well, let’s say Red had something to do with it, too. He convinced me that it could be a good investment,” said Mr. Cannon.
Doug jumped up and threw his arms around his father, wincing slightly when his left one made contact. “Thanks, Dad, you’re the greatest. Hey, Mom,” he called into the house. “Can we go to the mall first thing tomorrow morning?”
Olympic Dream Page 3
