Ali's Rocky Ride

by Molly Hurford

  It’s written by an author whose name I don’t even try to pronounce—Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi—but of course, Lindsay can’t resist grabbing at any book in front of her, so we spend a few minutes listening to her and Phoebe debate the pronunciation, before I snatch it back from Lindsay and settle onto the couch to read it.

  Phoebe’s right. A lot of it is over my head, but I am getting bits and pieces, especially thinking about the idea of the flow state as how I felt on the trail today. The author says that fun activities aren’t easy. They require work and effort, and that’s what ends up making them fun in the end.

  Lindsay is still hovering around me, so I explain that passage to her, excited to show off my newfound knowledge. “Like, biking might not be really fun at first, when you’re nervous about it, because it is scary and it is hard and it does push you…but it eventually becomes fun when you do it more. That’s kind of cool—and definitely true!”

  “I totally get that,” she says excitedly. “That’s how I felt when Phoebe made me get on the bike and take that jump at Joyride for the first time. I hated the idea of getting on the bike, I was so anti-exercise….And look at us now,” she adds, gesturing to our outfits, which are matching sweatpants and Shred Girls sweatshirts that Phoebe had printed for us. We do kind of look like jocks. In a cool way, like a punk rock version of what the athlete types at my school wear. Phoebe’s taste is really rubbing off on us.

  “You’re reading Flow?” Steven asks as he walks up from the basement. “Great book. It’s not too over your head?”

  “Ali is a great reader,” Lindsay tells him matter-of-factly. This is probably the most insulting thing that Steven could have said to me, from Lindsay’s point of view, considering how she feels about reading. I’m glad she’s there to defend my honor. But I’m also not going to admit to him that it is kind of a hard book to read. I figure Lindsay will help me out when I get stuck.

  “Thanks,” I say to Lindsay, and then stick my tongue out at Steven.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I just had trouble with it when I was reading it last year!”

  There’s a chance we’re a little too quick to jump to the idea that my brothers don’t think I can handle much….But then again, history’s got my back, since normally they are making fun of me.

  “How was your ride today?” he asks both of us.

  “Pretty good,” Lindsay says. “Ali was smashing it on the Top of the World trail!”

  “I love that trail,” he replies. “Did you roll over that huge rock near the top?”

  “Yeah,” I say, a little proudly. (It’s a massive rock.) “Phoebe told us a while ago to remember that our tires and our bikes are made to go over stuff like that, and if you think about it as being dirt instead of a rock, it’s a lot easier mentally—and she was right. It felt exactly like a whoop on the pump track, and we rolled right over it like it was nothing!”

  “Exactly,” he says. “That’s awesome. I’m glad you’re figuring it out.”

  This might be the most pleasant conversation that he and I have had in years, and my suspicions are raised. “What do you want?” I say accusingly.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, sounding innocent but darting his eyes around the room slightly. Most people wouldn’t notice that, but normally he’s a very eye-contact-heavy guy, so for him to be avoiding my gaze is different.

  His phone buzzes, and he looks relieved. “I have to take this,” he says, almost sprinting out of the room.

  “That was weird,” Lindsay says when we hear the door slam.

  “Right?” I say. “He seemed way too nice.”

  “Well, I guess that, but also it seemed like he was kind of hiding something,” she says. “Did you see how he kept touching his phone, like he was wondering why it wasn’t ringing?”

  “Do you think he was waiting for a call or text again?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “I wonder what that’s about. Maybe he’s talking to a new team manager. I know he’s been thinking about changing who he rides for next season,” I say. “I can’t think of anything else that Steven would be hiding. He couldn’t keep a secret about a girl for this long, and there’s no reason he would.”

  I’m still thinking about it when we all sit down for dinner, but I’m not sure how to ask him what’s up, and other than hacking his computer (which I said no to), Lindsay is out of ideas too.

  It’s chili night, and there’s a huge pot of it on the table, plus my dad’s homemade corn bread. He can’t make much, but this is one of his specialties, so I snag the biggest piece I see.

  Before I can take a huge bite, though, Phoebe makes an announcement. “I officially signed you girls up for the women’s beginner downhill competition,” she says, turning her laptop to face us. We can see our names on a list, surrounded by other girls’ names.

  I pause, the bread halfway to my mouth. Lindsay’s spoon clatters into her bowl. Jen looks delighted, but a bit green.

  It’s both supercool and super scary. Of course we knew we were competing, but to actually have our names listed officially—and publicly!—is a little terrifying. And then there’s the other part of what Phoebe just said.

  Lindsay is the first to recover, and while I know she’s still nervous about competition, she doesn’t even mention that fact. She’s caught on to the more important piece of information.

  “The women have their own race?” she asks, smiling a little. “I thought we’d be in with the beginner guys.”

  “This race organizer takes women seriously and knows that you deserve your own category. And he was right. There are thirty girls and women registered—more racers than the beginner guys have!” Phoebe says, grinning broadly. We all start smiling then, remembering how angry Phoebe got at our last race when we were lumped in with the boys’ field.

  “This time, you have a bunch of awesome girls and women that you’ll be competing against. Isn’t that great?” she says.

  We look at each other. On one hand, I’m excited that there are more girls we’ll get to see riding. On the other hand…it’s definitely unnerving to think that we’ll be racing against other girls who’ve maybe had a lot more experience than we have.

  “We beat most of the boys, so this should be fun!” Jen says, breaking the silence. Her point is valid. We did great in a mixed competition, so why should this be any different? It feels different, though. When we raced in the open category with the boys at Joyride, I didn’t have much stress. There, no one was really expecting any of us to do much in the race—which, yes, was a little bit insulting (okay, a lot insulting), but it did take a bit of the pressure off.

  But when we know we’re only racing other women, suddenly, for me, the pressure to win this race feels like it’s weighing heavily on my shoulders. Especially since at Joyride I might have lost to a boy, but I was the first girl in the competition.

  “That’s really exciting,” my dad says, before looking at Steven and Leo. “Isn’t it, boys?” He glares hard enough to show that they should agree with him and not make any dumb comments about girls and bikes. You would think they’d be more mature than that, but sadly, they are my brothers and can be the worst. Sigh.

  “Yeah, I think that’s great,” Leo says, surprising me by how sincere he sounds. “Ali, I think you’ll have a real shot at winning.”

  I’m not sure what his angle is here, but I imagine he has some kind of snide commentary he’s waiting to drop.

  But it doesn’t come. Instead he and Phoebe tell us to get a good night’s sleep because we’re going to work hard tomorrow.

  Weird, but Leo saying that does make me feel kind of warm and happy. He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it. Leo’s not the kind of guy who tries to make people feel good; he just says what he’s thinking. So maybe he does believe in me. And i
f he believes in me, maybe I should too.

  TRAINING LOG

  TODAY’S WORKOUT: Today is all about race prep. We’re going down the runs that will be used in competition, so think of this as your chance to game-play the day. It sounds kind of silly, but try to get nervous about it like you will during the race itself. That way, you’ll know what it feels like to be at the top of the hill and feeling a little scared, and it’ll make it easier on race day to get in the zone and calm down. (Sounds weird, but I promise it’ll work!) XO, Phoebe

  YOUR NOTES: Pretend to be nervous? Oh, I’ve got this. I’m still buzzing from Leo saying he thinks I can win, and while I’m so happy he said it, I’ve been feeling like there’s suddenly this pressure on me that wasn’t there before. Knowing that someone else thinks I could actually win is scarier than letting myself secretly think that maybe, if everything went perfectly, I might be able to do okay. Now, suddenly, it’s like everyone expects me to be great, and I’m not sure I can deliver. So yes, today I can DEFINITELY pretend to be nervous.

  CHAPTER 18

  Just remember what Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (yeah, I can’t even pronounce that in my head!) says about flow, I remind myself as I stare down from the top of the mountain. We’re looking at the course where the race will be held in just a couple of days, and even though it’s a run I’ve done a few times, somehow seeing it as a race course makes it much scarier.

  With downhill racing, you’re not judged. You’re only timed. There are types of downhill racing—free ride—where you are judged on tricks, but we’re starting with a race that’s entirely about getting to the bottom of the hill as quickly as we can. That doesn’t mean pedaling hard, though. More important than pedaling, Phoebe says, is actually what you’re not doing.

  “This run, we’re going to practice NOT doing things,” she tells us at the top of the mountain. “I want you girls to count how many times you pedal as you go down the hill, and whoever has the lowest number wins.”

  “But why?” Lindsay asks. Reasonable question.

  “Because if you can’t pedal, you’re going to brake less in the corners to keep your speed, so you’ll learn how to be faster in the corners,” Phoebe says.

  “Less braking means going faster,” Leo pipes up behind her. “Steven will stay behind Jen, and I’ll stay with Ali, while Phoebe goes behind Lindsay—and we’re keeping count of your pedal strokes,” he continues. “So no cheating.”

  I knew there was a reason why Steven got sucked into coming with us to the park today. I’m chosen to go first, which feels very unfair, but I pedal over to the start of the downhill run (that’s allowed), and when Leo says “Go!” I push off, put my left foot back onto the pedal, and aim down the hill.

  Even though I’ve ridden this first part without hitting the brakes, somehow it’s almost scarier knowing that I’m not supposed to hit the brakes, and every fiber of my being wants to give them a good squeeze. When the first corner comes up—a really gentle one—I almost tap them but hold myself back. I let my tires do the work, and instead of braking, I press my weight into the bike as much as I can in order to get that “Velcro effect” of the tires attaching themselves to the dirt. Even without braking, I’m a little slower by the time I come out of the corner, and there’s a mini pump track section coming up on the course.

  “Pump it!” Leo shouts behind me. Right. I can’t pedal, but I can use my arms and legs in another way, I realize. I think back to what Phoebe taught us at Joyride about letting our weight shift and about getting light on the way up a mound of dirt, and then pressing in and pushing down on the backside as I drop.

  When I hit the first whoop, I think Light, and when my wheels crest the top, I press down with my arms, to force the bike down. It works, and my speed picks back up. There are three bumps in a row, so by the time I’m out of them, I’m back to the speed I was at before I took that corner.

  That’s important, since there’s another, sharper corner coming up. And this one has a slight bank to it, so I know that part of the trick is to ride up the bank and then back down, creating an extra bit of downhill momentum to make up for the speed lost on the entrance to the corner.

  Behind me, I hear Lindsay shriek, and I grin. That just eggs me on to push my limits a little more. I head into the corner with as much speed as I can, pressing into the handlebars and focusing on hitting the highest point of the berm. But I have a little too much speed, and I bobble on the exit, almost tipping sideways. I grab the brakes—bad move while in a corner—and have to actually put my foot down to push off the ground and basically bounce myself and the bike back upright.

  Luckily, I don’t go down, or stop moving altogether, but I do need to pedal an angry five pedal strokes to get going again. “Calm down,” I order myself, knowing that Leo is right behind me and definitely saw me mess that up. But there’s nothing I can do about that now. I have to try to get back into my groove. “Find your flow,” I mutter.

  It’s not easy to recalibrate after that, but I take a deep breath and channel my inner flow state as the next corner comes up, and I go into it a little slower than last time, but I hit the top part of the berm smoothly and actually exit going faster than when I went in.

  “Nice!” Leo yells.

  I hit one last pump track section, feeling like I could take on the toughest downhill run in the place, pushing my arms hard, pressing down as I clear each mound of dirt. I whoosh through the spot where the finish line will be, and then slow to a stop.

  Leo gets his helmet off first, and I know exactly what he’s going to say. “Five,” he tells me. Of course, the first thing out of his mouth is how many times I pedaled. Jen zooms past us and then squeals her brakes as she comes to a stop.

  When her helmet comes off, the first thing out of her mouth is a triumphant “Three!” and Steven nods.

  Lindsay zooms in last, and Phoebe grins when she says, “One!”

  And then, of course, they point out the tricky nature of this game.

  “Two-ten,” says Leo.

  “Two-twenty,” says Steven.

  “Two-twenty-five,” says Phoebe.

  We look at them, confused.

  “Your times getting down the hill,” Phoebe says. “Ali, you were the fastest, but with the most pedal strokes.”

  “Is that good?” I ask, careful not to make direct eye contact with Jen after (sort of) stealing her win.

  “Well, the point was to not pedal much and to use your body and the bike and let momentum do the work,” says Steven.

  “But you only really needed to pedal after that one disaster corner, so you did pretty good overall,” says Leo.

  “And on race day, they’re not looking at pedal strokes; they’re looking at time,” Phoebe adds. “But you all did great. Five pedal strokes is nothing, Ali. And, Lindsay, that speed control was awesome! You can all use more practice getting used to your limits, though, because you are all capable of being so much faster with very little physical effort. It just takes being more in the zone, finding your flow state.”

  Man, Phoebe really loves to hammer a point home, doesn’t she?

  We hit the same run a few more times, and by the end, we all have made at least one run with zero pedaling and a solid amount of speed. But we don’t stop practicing then. Phoebe makes us do another few runs with whatever pedaling we want to do. She says that’s because we’re not always going to be feeling fresh when we race, so she wants us to practice as we get tired—training our brains to handle it when we’re exhausted.

  Which we are by the time we’re loading the SUV back up with all the bikes. I make a mental note that getting my own downhill bike is number one on my Christmas list this year….My brothers’ personalized ones are way cooler than the generic rentals we have, that’s for sure.

  It’s been a long day, and I slump in the seat sandwiched between Jen and Lindsay, who are equally slouche
d and beat. Still, it’s been the nicest day I’ve spent with my brothers in…well, it feels like forever, honestly.

  Steven is still being quiet, like he’s in some kind of internal fight with himself, but I’m kind of enjoying this new silent version.

  Even Leo isn’t being as obnoxious as usual, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Phoebe had a chat with him about his attitude, because he and I still haven’t faced off. Maybe I’m impressing him, finally. Or maybe he’s just getting tired of having all of us in the house constantly talking about bikes. Whatever the reason for the change in him, I’m grateful.

  CHAPTER 19

  The practices seem to blur together as race day approaches. I understand what Lindsay meant when she said she wished her life was a training montage, but then realized actual practice sessions are fun, but not nearly as exciting as a catchy three-minute song illustrating our training. Getting better at riding is more of a slow grind…but it’s actually still pretty cool, and every day feels a little bit better than the last.

  We’ve only been working on our downhill riding for a week and a half, but it feels like we’ve been practicing the same routine forever.

  When we wake up in the morning, Phoebe is usually already in the kitchen. Does she ever sleep? Again, I see what Lindsay means about Phoebe’s potential for supervillain-dom. She’s inhuman when it comes to early mornings. Since practices are getting tougher, she’s always making huge breakfasts: scrambling dozens of eggs, toasting plenty of sourdough bread, and basically force-feeding us breakfast so we don’t get hungry halfway through the morning when we’re at the mountain. But it’s hard to complain when the bread is really tasty, and she uses some kind of kitchen wizardry to make the fluffiest eggs ever.

  After we eat, we drive to the mountain and start doing run after run. The lift operators know us pretty well now, and call us by name when they see us, which feels cool—like we’re pros! What’s even cooler is that all three of us smoothly get in line, rack our bikes, and swoosh up the mountain casually. I don’t even get butterflies in my stomach as the lift takes off anymore!