Olympic Dream Page 7

  “Where’d I leave my bike?”

  “Twelve miles and it’s mostly uphill!”

  The noise built steadily as the crowd grew and grew. Doug was bounced back and forth until he knew he had to get out of the way for a minute. He didn’t think he was nervous, but suddenly he couldn’t sit still

  He wandered into the club to fill his water bottle with fresh, cold water. Maybe that would cool him off a little. He just had to stay calm and focused. After all, it was just a simple twelve-mile ride. Piece of cake. Sure!

  He was screwing on the cap when a familiar form sporting number 636 appeared in front of him.

  “Hey, you’re early, too,” he said to Billy Torrant.

  “Yeah,” said Billy, walking by him.

  Doug was startled. That’s it? he thought. Nothing else to say, like “Good luck” or “May the best man win” or anything like that? Then he considered. Hey, maybe he’s just concentrating—and that’s exactly what I should do, too.

  He wandered outside, where he found himself a quiet, shady patch of grass under a tree. It was a great place to do his warm-up exercises. He hated them, but he knew how important they were.

  When the twelve-milers finally lined up for their start, there were a lot of unfamiliar faces. Some were kids his age. Some were a little bit older. And some were real veterans, with lots of gray hair showing from under their helmets. In fact, in all this crowd, Doug was hard pressed to pick out the handful from his training group who had actually shown up. Except for Billy, of course. Even if his number 636 wasn’t visible, his height always made him a standout.

  As he waited for the starting gun, Doug wiggled his fingers to loosen the tension. He could feel his pulse throbbing in his wrists and at the side of his forehead. It seemed to climb higher and higher as the wait stretched out. Deep breaths, he told himself. Long, deep breaths.

  A zillion thoughts came rushing into his head like a flood. Was he going to make a fool of himself? Did he look silly in his racing gear? Did it really matter whether he did well or not?

  Bang!

  The race was on. No more time for wasteful thoughts. Every effort had to be concentrated on his cycling. It was the one thing that had to be in the forefront of his mind at all times.

  He started out pedaling like a madman, possessed with one desire: to zoom straight out there. Even though Red had gone over strategy with him, he forgot everything about keeping up a steady pace.

  Then he saw her: Kate. She was waving at him. No, she was pushing her arms down and shouting something. Peace! No, pace, that was it. She was telling him to slow down and keep a steady pace.

  He got the message. He started pedaling a nice, smooth, regular stroke. He put the stress on the back as he rode through the upstroke, solid and regular. It put him smack in the center of the pack as they rode along a level stretch. For the first mile or so, there was some dropping back and pulling forward by the other cyclists. Without glancing to one side or another, he could see a couple of familiar riders dropping out of the main pack to the rear. Neither of them was wearing number 636. Billy was nowhere in sight at the moment.

  The course changed to a gradual uphill climb as it approached the first of two rest stops. Doug shifted gears to let the bike do some of the work. He was tempted to rise up from the saddle like he used to do on his old bike, but Red had taught him that you get more power by sliding back on the saddle. He also adjusted his pedaling speed to the new challenge.

  All of that training worked. The first four miles sped by cleanly. When he arrived at the rest stop, he felt a lot better than he ever thought he would. He called out his number to one of the timekeepers, who scribbled it down on his recording chart. A quick glance at the time clock told him that he was right on the target he’d set with Red. They’d based it on Doug’s experience, the average for similar races they’d looked up, and the goal they thought best for him. Since the winners would be determined by the best time, he had to pay attention to the clock.

  He also saw that Billy had pulled in only seconds after him. The two beginners were making a pretty good show of it so far. But Billy still didn’t seem to want to talk when Doug caught his eye.

  If that’s the way he wants to be, okay, thought Doug. But I hope it’s not because I’m a little bit ahead. I’m not really out to beat him.

  Or am I? How would I feel if he was ahead of me?

  Hmmm … I’m just glad he isn’t.

  Rested, Doug called out his number again and sped off as the timekeeper jotted it down.

  The next leg of the tour was a lot more challenging than the first part. The terrain had changed and there were a number of sharp turns to deal with. Doug knew that it was too early for him to make any kind of a break for the front of the pack, but he certainly didn’t want to drop behind, either. Instead, he practiced another tip that Red had passed on to the training group. To keep up his speed on a sharp turn, he pedaled harder and entered it faster. That way he didn’t have to pedal through the curve. The momentum took him through it.

  By the second rest stop, he figured that he was one of about six at the head of the pack as he listened to the times being announced by the checkers. He wasn’t sure of how it had happened, but he was very proud of himself. He only wished he could see Kate or Terry or his folks. He knew that Red was stuck down at the finish line as one of the official recorders. Those were the people he cared most about right now. So what if his new friend Billy had turned out to be not so friendly.

  In fact, for the moment, number 636 was nowhere in sight as the third and final stage began. There was so much talk at the pit stop, Doug knew that he was now pretty much neck and neck with just a few others—including Billy. Their times were that close. So it looked like it probably would be a real race down to the wire.

  Doug got ready for the long, final push. He wasn’t tired yet, but he could tell that his legs were tighter now than at the start. He jogged in place for a second to loosen them up before mounting his bike.

  At first, the final stage didn’t seem tough. But it quickly changed into a steep, roughly paved, downhill slope. Doug remembered from his test runs that this was where he had to keep his wits about him. To open up at breakneck speed to better his time was really tempting. But keeping control of his bike would be difficult under those circumstances. He had to find a happy medium.

  In practice, this wasn’t all that hard to do—with no one around. But now, he could almost feel the heavy breathing behind him.

  Some of the other riders obviously didn’t feel the same way. A few of them went sailing by him as he held to his own speed.

  “Caution!” Red’s word stuck out in his mind. Don’t give in to temptation. In the long run, a steady, controlled pace will pay off.

  No sooner had these words come into his mind, when Billy came from out of nowhere and passed him on a long, straight portion.

  Well, let him. I’ll stick to what I’ve learned, thought Doug as the straightaway turned into a curve to the left.

  Doug slowly applied his brakes to ease the pressure as he banked to make the curve. Two riders in front of him didn’t. They were going so fast, the sudden change got them and they went sailing off the road into an open field before losing balance and falling.

  Billy wasn’t one of them. He had managed to survive the wicked downhill turn in his own way.

  Now it was definitely time to put on all the pressure as they hit the last mile or so.

  Doug used every ounce of energy and brainpower to stay out in front with a few others. As far as he could tell, he was trailing only three other riders as they came closer and closer to the finish line. Number 636 was right in front of him.

  The kids in Doug’s group weren’t ready for tricky maneuvers yet, Red had said. At this stage in their cycling experience, they would be wiser to keep away from others and just ride their own race. So creeping up on Billy and crowding him out wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do—even though it sure looked possible. Instead, Doug gave
him a wide berth as he pumped his legs for all he was worth.

  He could feel his heart pounding. The sweat was pouring down his face and his shirt was sticking to his back. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever felt so hot and feverish—and wasn’t lying in a sickbed with something like the measles!

  But he also knew he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. He had to keep pressing. He needed to gain those few precious seconds that could make all the difference in the end.

  Inch by inch, then foot by foot, and then—whoosh—he passed Billy wide on his right side.

  Off in the distance, he could see the big sign with the word FINISH stretched across the road. There were only two riders in front of him.

  But Billy was only a few feet behind. Doug had to keep up the pace to come in in the top three—making him a real winner in everyone’s eyes. He just couldn’t let Billy beat him out altogether.

  There was a tremendous roar in his ears as the sound of the crowd thundered all about him. It surrounded him like a mysterious force that helped to push him forward.

  He could hear his own breath gasping in his ears. Still, he strained on to stay in front.

  Then, suddenly, something happened. The rider in front of him froze. His stroke became wobbly and he just managed to pull over to the side of the road. There was a look of agony as he clutched his calf and rolled on the ground.

  Muscle cramp! It had to be!

  The shock broke Doug’s stride. Concern for the rider who had gotten so close had taken his mind off his own ride for a split second.

  It was just enough to give Billy that edge he needed. Doug caught his eye as he came up abreast and inched slightly forward.

  The two riders passed the finish line neck and neck in what had to be a photo finish. Except that there was no official camera. The actual winner was determined by the timekeeper. The top three spots would be awarded strictly according to their records.

  No matter what, Doug figured he probably had achieved his goal of not making a complete fool of himself. And he knew he would have had a shot at a top spot even if nothing had happened to the rider in front of him. He hadn’t needed a stroke of luck to make it.

  He dismounted and began his cool-down exercises on the spot. All he wanted was to soak his entire body in an icy tub, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He gradually unwound the way he had learned was best.

  The next thing he knew, though, he was surrounded by Kate, Terry, his mom and dad—and Red. The latter had taken a break from his job as a record keeper.

  “Fantastic work!” said Red, beaming with pleasure.

  “I am so proud of you,” Kate said. “And I don’t care how sweaty you are, I have to give you this hug.” She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his.

  His dad and mom hugged him, too. Terry then said, “Yuck, how’s about this instead?” then offered him ten. Doug’s hands were still so wet, he practically slid off the slap and return.

  When he finally had his breath back, Doug had one question.

  “What were the final results?”

  Red delivered the answer.

  “The judges gave second place to Billy. You came in third by a fraction of a second.”

  For a moment, Doug’s heart sank a tiny bit. He finished behind Billy! Hey, wait a minute, that’s not what this was about! He bounced back the very next second when Red went on, “But as far as I’m concerned, you rode a great ride—and in my book, you’re number one.”

  And his ear-to-ear grin proved he meant every word.

  10

  A little while later, the Cannon family and friends had settled down around their red-checkered cloth to enjoy the post-tour celebration. Mrs. Cannon opened up her picnic cooler chest and took out a plate of deviled eggs.

  “Mom! You’re the greatest! I could eat the whole plate of’em!” said Doug. But at the very moment he was saying those words, he knew that he couldn’t. Before he had started cycling, it would have been a different story. Now he knew that his stomach had shrunk at least a little bit. There just didn’t seem to be the same room inside.

  “Thanks for the compliment, but I think we ought to pass them around,” said Mrs. Cannon.

  Doug smiled and took one egg off the plate. He let it sit on the small dish in front of him instead of wolfing it down in one gulp, the way he used to.

  “I hope we have these at the wedding,” Terry said. “I love ‘em, too.”

  That started a round of wedding talk. When would the bridesmaids’ dresses be delivered? Had Kate and Terry picked out their rings yet? How many tiers should the wedding cake be? And, then, the questions that sent shivers up Doug’s spine: What about the ushers? When will they be fitted for their tuxedos?

  “I think I’ll go change out of these riding clothes,” said Doug. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He started to get up, when a voice coming through a megaphone stopped him.

  “Your attention, please! It is now time to award the prizes to today’s winners. If our top three riders in each distance would please join me up on the stage,” Jack Millman announced.

  With an embarrassed but happy grin, Doug headed toward the stage. His family followed at his heels. A moment later, he was standing next to Billy and the first-place winner of the twelve-mile race. When his name was called, he stepped forward and accepted his commemorative water bottle amid the cheers of the crowd.

  Jack Millman had one final thing to say. “We’ve raised a good amount of money toward cancer research. But the person who raised the single greatest amount of pledges deserves a round of applause.” Jack checked his sheet, frowned, then quickly smiled. “Well, it seems someone is about to get a nice surprise. Kate Cannon, will you please join us up here?”

  Doug couldn’t stop smiling as his startled sister climbed the steps to the stage. Jack motioned to him.

  “A big round of applause for the fellow who collected the most pledges, Doug Cannon! And,” he added before the clapping began, “another round for the person in whose name he collected that money, his sister, Kate!”

  The crowd roared its approval. Kate blushed, then grabbed Doug in a big hug.

  “I wanted to give you something special for your wedding present,” Doug whispered in her ear. “Hope you like it!”

  The tears he saw in her eyes were the only answer he needed.

  Before he went to bed that night, Doug soaked his body in a hot bath. Red had told him that he wouldn’t have too many aches and pains after the race because he’d trained so hard. Doug wasn’t so sure. The hot bath definitely felt good. And when he collapsed into bed, he fell asleep in an instant.

  It had been decided beforehand that he wouldn’t work on the Rails to Trails project on the Monday after the bike race. Instead, he slept late and wandered down to the kitchen long after everyone else had finished breakfast. He had something on his mind and he decided today was the day to confront it.

  Mrs. Cannon came in off the porch when she heard him.

  “Today is your day of rest, Douglas,” she said. “I’ll fix you a nice breakfast. How about pancakes?”

  “Um, I’ll just have my usual,” he replied.

  “Just orange juice and cold cereal? Doesn’t sound too exciting,” she said. “Are you sure?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “Maybe I’ll have some strawberries on top of the cereal.”

  “Might as well,” said Mrs. Cannon. “You skipped the strawberry shortcake yesterday.”

  “I’m just not all that hungry these days,” said Doug.

  “Well, maybe now that your favorite haunt is back in business that’ll change,” said Mrs. Cannon. “You always came back from the video arcade with a big appetite.” She added some sliced strawberries to Doug’s bowl of cereal. “Or is something else on your mind?”

  “No, it’s nothing… I mean… well, it isn’t that big a deal, but… I don’t know,” he stammered.

  “All right, Douglas, what have you done? Have you broken something
?”

  “No! It’s nothing like that!” Doug said. “It’s … it’s about the wedding.”

  “What about the wedding?” asked Mrs. Cannon.

  “It’s about being an usher and having to wear one of those stupid-looking penguin suits!” he almost shouted.

  “Calm down,” said Mrs. Cannon. “Your reaction is perfectly normal. I’ve never heard of any man or boy who didn’t hate the idea of a tuxedo the first time he had to wear one. Once you have it on and see how nice you look, you’ll get over it.”

  “I’ll look like a dumb overstuffed—”

  “Douglas! I won’t have you saying that about yourself,” said Mrs. Cannon. “You look wonderful. I haven’t mentioned it, but you’ve really changed a lot this summer. That trail job has been so good for you. And cycling on top of it, well, it’s like you’re a new person. Not that the old one wasn’t just fine. And, haven’t you been complaining that your jeans have gotten too big—even for that ugly baggy look you love so much?”

  He had to laugh. Mrs. Cannon thought that just about everything cool he wore was ugly. But she suffered silently. He could tell from the way her eyebrows shot up whenever he appeared in one of his new sloppy getups. Parents just didn’t understand.

  And no one would understand why he just didn’t want to squeeze into any dumb tuxedo.

  “Okay, okay,” he said and started to wolf down his cereal.

  Later that morning, Doug hopped on his bike and rode down to the newly opened video arcade. He had just finished checking out the layout when he heard a familiar voice.

  “Yo, Doug, how’s it going?”

  It was Pepper Meade.

  “Hey, you guys are back from hockey camp, huh?” Doug asked. “How was it?”

  “Pretty good,” said Pepper. “Saw you in the race the other day.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Pepper continued to stare at him, but he didn’t say anything more.

  Doug found himself starting to redden.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been working out and … and stuff, you know,” he stammered.