Olympic Dream Page 9

  Red seemed to read his thoughts. “You know, I think Eric was more upset than I was that I had to give up racing after my accident. He said I was the best competition he’d ever had. He’s a good friend. I never would have met him if it hadn’t been for cycling. Kind of the way you two guys might not have met. Guess that’s why I won’t ever regret having taken up the sport, even though I lost out on my chance to go the distance.”

  Doug and Billy exchanged a glance. Doug could see that Billy hadn’t looked at it that way, either. He realized, too, that he couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without cycling. Even if he never reached beyond amateur races, like the Tour de Lake-ridge, he knew he would continue with his chosen sport.

  But he wasn’t about to stop trying to reach beyond. He turned his attention back to the action on the track. Yet even as he watched, cheered, and absorbed information about the various races, he felt sure that his destiny lay in a different arena—an outside arena composed of winding, tree-lined roads, not indoor oval tracks.

  12

  The next day, Billy couldn’t stop talking about the races they’d seen.

  “I think I’m a sprinter,” he said. “I love it when I can really put on the steam and zoom away. I like the idea of out-psyching my opponent on the track. These long runs are good training, but give me a burst of speed any day.”

  “Not me,” Doug said. “I like to work at keeping a steady pace, just building it up slowly, then really going for it at the end. I think I’m a distance guy.”

  Billy looked at him curiously. “You said that so seriously,” he remarked. “Like maybe it’s not just for fun anymore.”

  Doug shrugged. “You know, I don’t think it is. For me, anyway. And you, too, I think. I mean, where’s the rest of our beginner’s group? A bunch of quitters. They didn’t have what it takes. We do!”

  “All I know is I’d give anything to test out a real indoor racing bike like Eric Sanders had.”

  “Maybe you will someday. Listen, I say we make a pact—to stick together and help each other every step of the way. What do you say?”

  Billy had stuck out his hand for Doug to shake. “Boy, you sure get all fired up!”

  “I guess spending all that time with Red sank in. But hey, I’m still the fun-loving guy I always was!” He grabbed his water bottle, flicked it open, and squeezed it in Billy’s direction. In return, he got a cold spray of water from Billy’s bottle right in the face.

  A bottle of champagne was popped open right behind Doug. He could almost feel a fizzy spray on the back of his neck.

  As he moved away, a waiter with a tray of little sandwiches came up to him. He just shook his head. He’d stick to the raw veggies and fruit platter. He’d changed his biking gear for a tuxedo for the day and he was proud of the way he looked, all decked out in his fancy threads. If hanging on to that feeling meant passing on treats, well, he was ready to do just that.

  After all, it was a treat just being here. Kate’s wedding meant a day off from training. It was a good break, though, between the end of summer and the start of school. He’d begin on a whole new training schedule once classes started. Even though Billy would be going to a different school across town, they’d agreed to keep up their mutual effort.

  “Looking good there, pal,” said Red, munching on one of the little sandwiches.

  Doug hadn’t seen much of Red since the West-wood trip. Red was too busy getting ready for medical school.

  “Are you through packing?” Doug asked.

  “I still have a lot to do,” Red admitted. “Your-folks have been great, though. They said I could store any stuff in the carriage house I couldn’t take with me.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “It’s going to be hard parting with my bikes, but I can’t see having all three with me at school.”

  Doug’s ears pricked up at that. “You’re leaving your bikes behind?” he asked incredulously.

  “Not all of them, just the racing bike. I haven’t used it all summer, and I’m sure I won’t have time for it this year. Seems a shame for it to be sitting around collecting dust, though. Maybe I’ll try to sell it to someone who can use it.”

  “No!” Doug cried. Red looked at him with surprise. “I mean, not unless you really want to do that. You don’t, do you?”

  Red shook his head.

  “Would you consider lending it to someone to try out? Because I know a guy who would give his right arm for a chance to try your bike.”

  Red looked puzzled for a moment. Then his face cleared and he started to grin. “I thought I’d read you wrong for a minute. But you’re not talking about yourself, are you?”

  Doug shook his head.

  “Didn’t think so. I had you pegged for a distance rider right from the start.” He polished off the rest of his sandwich, then wiped his fingers on his napkin. “You tell Billy to stop by tomorrow. If the bike fits him, we’ll see if we can’t work something out.”

  Doug was about to cheer out loud when a tap on the arm stopped him.

  “You’re looking awfully happy. Want to dance?” Kate stood before him, looking like a princess but grinning wickedly.

  Doug was taken by surprise. “I… I’m not sure I remember how,” he answered lamely.

  Kate laughed, caught his hand, and dragged him to the dance floor.

  “Come on,” she said. “It’s just like riding a bicycle—it’ll come right back to you!”

  The grin on Red’s face told Doug that he was making a fool of himself. But he didn’t care. A tuxedo wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world to wear, but today he felt like a movie star in it.

  13

  Before Red left for medical school, he decided to let Billy work out with his racing bike. Jack Millman of the Lakeridge Cycling Club had taken an interest and agreed to oversee Billy’s indoor training. Billy was on top of the world.

  Doug was feeling the same way. Red, Kate, and Terry had all left for school the day before and he missed them all. But he found that the past summer had given him a confidence in himself he hadn’t had the year before. He walked into this first day of classes with new energy.

  Once his classmates got used to the “new” Doug Cannon, several of them seemed genuinely inter ested in biking. More than one expressed their disap pointment that the Rails to Trails project had been abandoned.

  Hearing them talk about it gave him an idea. He mentioned it to Billy during one of their daily rides.

  “Hey, Billy, did you know that the old railbed passes behind both our schools?”

  Billy shrugged. “So?”

  “So what would you think about asking our schools to sponsor a joint road race to raise money for the Rails to Trails project? I bet parents would like to know their kids can bike to school without being on the roads.”

  Billy agreed that it sounded like a good plan. The first person they talked to about it thought so, too.

  “We’ve been pretty disappointed that the project wasn’t completed this summer,” Jack Millman said. The boys had stopped by the clubhouse after their ride. “But we just couldn’t think of a way to get people outside the club interested in it. Your idea could be the ticket!”

  Jack said he would talk to Jimmy Bannister, the head of the project. If Jimmy was keen, then they would be in business. He promised to call them once he knew.

  Later that night, the Cannons’ phone rang. Doug jumped up to answer it.

  “Doug, Jimmy loves the idea!” Jack’s voice boomed. “He asked me to let you know that he’s going to write a letter to your principals and the school board, telling them that you boys have his support one hundred percent. I’m going to do the same. Hopefully, you’ll get the go-ahead soon. Then we can figure out how to organize this event. Can you and Billy stop by the clubhouse tomorrow to talk about it?”

  Doug said he could and hung up. His head was spinning. For a moment, he wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew.

  To his relief, his parents offered to help in anyw
ay they could. “I’ll bet my company would have some T-shirts made up for all participants,” his father said.

  “And I’m sure the PTA could get volunteers to help run it,” his mother added.

  Even Red Roberts called to encourage him. “I know you’ve got what it takes to make it happen,” he said. Doug glowed at the praise. He hoped Red was right.

  The next few weeks were filled with furious activity. Doug and Billy met with Jimmy and Jack, and they all agreed that the race would be open to students from the schools first, then to others in the community if there was room. The four of them created and distributed posters, flyers, and pledge sheets. They called all the remaining volunteers from the Rails project to get them involved. They mapped out a fifteen-mile route that ended with a short ride on the completed section of the path.

  ’The best way to convince people how important a bike path is is to let them compare a ride on one with a ride on a regular road! They’ll never want to go back to the road after they try it,” Jimmy said with a chuckle.

  Doug and Billy each made speeches to their student councils. They were met with great enthusiasm and promises to help on the day of the event. They set the race for Columbus Day.

  Two weeks before the event, Mr. Cannon came home with a surprise. He walked through the door carrying two big boxes.

  “Open ‘em!” he said to Doug.

  Doug pulled back the cardboard top and saw a huge stack of blue-and-white T-shirts, his school’s colors. The shirts in the other box were white-and- orange, the colors of Billy’s school. The names of the schools were printed on the back. A picture of a biker decorated the front, with the slogan “Get Rolling!” above it.

  Doug hugged his father hard. “These are great!” he cried. “Thanks, Dad.”

  His father beamed, then handed him a sheaf of papers. “Here are some more pledge sheets to add to your stack. They were sitting in the mailbox.”

  Doug’s eyes widened when he counted them. “Wow! This makes over a hundred students participating in all! Good thing we decided to have staggered starts. It’d be a mob scene otherwise!”

  “It’s a good thing you held off opening it to the general public, too. I know you’re both working toward a common goal, but I think the race itself will be more fun with just your rival schools competing against each other. And with these, you’ll be able to tell who’s riding for which school,” his mother said, holding up one of each T-shirt.

  14

  Before he knew it, Columbus Day Weekend arrived. Saturday and Sunday were busy with last-minute activity. But by late Sunday afternoon, everything was done.

  Jimmy Bannister had made sure the necessary roads were blocked off and the bike route clearly marked. Doug and Billy hadn’t helped lay out the course because that would have given them an unfair advantage over the other bikers. But they had helped him set up the check-in booths. Mrs. Cannon and members of the PTA were organizing an after-race picnic on the football field.

  Jack Millman had spent an hour with volunteers from the schools, teaching them how to mark down the cyclists’ times and where to go for help in case of an accident. He himself would be overseeing the start of the race.

  Both men took Doug and Billy aside at the end of the day on Sunday.

  “We want to thank you boys personally for getting this thing rolling,” Jimmy said. “And to know that if all the money pledged is collected, we’ll have more than enough to finish the job in time for a grand opening next Memorial Day.”

  “I’m sorry it couldn’t be sooner,” Doug said.

  “Hey, the fact that it’s going to happen at all makes me happy!” Jimmy replied. “Let’s just hope the good weather holds.”

  It did. Monday morning dawned bright and clear. There was a gentle breeze, but the sun made it warm enough to race in T-shirts.

  Doug woke up a bundle of nerves. Up until now, he had been the race’s organizer. Today, he was a competitor.

  He arrived at the race check-in point at eight o’clock. He was in the first group of bikers, scheduled to start at ten. The second group would start half an hour later and a third at eleven. He wove his way through the crowd, registered his name, and got his T-shirt. Then he looked around for Billy. When he caught sight of him, he started to wave.

  Then he stopped. He remembered how uptight Billy had been during the Tour de Lakeridge. Would he be that way again today? Doug just didn’t know. Sure, they had raced each other for fun throughout the summer, but this was different.

  Doug returned to his bike. He checked his water bottle and the air pressure in his tires. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Billy start toward him, then stop and look at the white-and-orange T-shirt in his hand. He flung the shirt across his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

  Billy senses it, too, Doug thought. We’re friends, but today we’re rivals. School rivals and individual rivals. Every man for himself.

  Doug did his warm-up stretches, slipped his school T-shirt over his head, and waited for his start time to be called. He chatted with different people as they stopped by, but mostly he thought about the race ahead.

  When the whistle blew and the announcement called for the ten o’clock starters to gather, he was ready.

  He couldn’t help noticing that Billy was in the ten o’clock start, too.

  All the contestants were in place. Doug recognized most of the cyclists wearing his school’s colors—including a familiar face he hadn’t expected to see: Pepper Meade. But there was no time to think about Pepper now. The huge time clock read 9:58.

  Doug took a deep breath, adjusted his bike helmet slightly, and slipped a foot into his toe clip. He felt like a tightly coiled spring, ready to shoot forward as soon as Jack dropped the starter flag.

  9:59.

  The excited voices dwindled to a murmur, then fell silent altogether.

  The clock blinked to 10:00. The flag in Jack’s hand was a blur of color as it fell.

  Doug took off, pedaling hard. Adrenaline pumped through his system, urging him to go faster and faster.

  No! his head screamed. Don’t overdo it too soon!

  He concentrated on keeping a steady pace. Hunched tightly over the handlebars, he kept one careful eye on the road, the other on the cyclists around him.

  That’s when he saw Pepper Meade shoot out in front of the pack. He was pumping hard. Doug knew Pepper was trying to stay in the lead. He also knew that Pepper didn’t realize how tiring that could be—or how a more knowledgeable biker could take advantage of him.

  With a slight grin, Doug moved in behind Pepper. While the boy in front labored along, Doug eased up and drafted on the slipstream Pepper created.

  As if sensing someone behind him, Pepper glanced over his shoulder. Doug saw a look of surprise register in his eyes before he turned back and redoubled his efforts.

  He thinks I’m going to overtake him! Doug thought. Bet he never imagined he’d have to worry about that!

  The idea gave him great satisfaction. He continued to ride right behind Pepper until the first checkpoint. Judging from the hangdog look on Pepper’s face, he knew he’d have to find a different lead person for the second leg. Pepper was pooped.

  The second leg of the route followed a series of hills and sharp curves. Doug decided he’d be better off setting his own pace than following close behind an inexperienced biker over such difficult terrain.

  At the first hill, he clicked through his gears without a thought. He passed three cyclists smoothly. A fourth was more difficult to maneuver around because he was weaving back and forth up the hill. Before he’d learned to use the gears effectively, Doug used to do the same thing. Now, looking at the fourth biker’s labored movements, he wondered why he had ever thought such a tactic was efficient.

  Doug crested the hill moments later.

  “Thank God!” he heard another biker cry out. Then “Yeee-haaa!” and the same biker shot past him, pedaling fast—and moving at a dangerous speed.

  Be careful! Doug
wanted to scream. But he knew the biker was going too fast to hear him. Or to see what was on the road in front of him. Doug watched with horror as a squirrel darted right into the cyclist’s path. He swerved to miss it but couldn’t straighten out fast enough. His momentum carried him off the path and his bike collapsed beneath him. The squirrel scampered unharmed to the other side of the road.

  Doug slowed.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” the biker said weakly. “Keep going, don’t stop!”

  Doug hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. One, two, three cyclists appeared at the top of the hill. Were they in any danger of hitting the fallen cyclist?

  He turned back in time to see the rider limping out of harm’s way, pulling his bike with him. Again, he yelled for Doug to continue. This time, Doug listened.

  “I’ll send a volunteer back for you!” Doug called as he took off. The biker waved.

  For the rest of the second leg, Doug concentrated on the road in front of him. He pedaled hard into the curves and allowed his forward motion to carry him through. Other bikers passed him and he drafted off them when he could. Billy was one of them, but Doug didn’t feel odd using him like this. He knew Billy would do the same in his place.

  When he pedaled into the checkpoint, the first thing he did was alert a volunteer to the accident. Then he glanced at the time clock. He was fifteen seconds behind where he thought he should be.

  While other bikers merely rolled into the checkpoint, called out their names, then hurried out again, Doug slipped his water bottle from its clasp and took a long drink. He knew how important it was not to get dehydrated; the body needed fluids to keep performing at top notch. Only after he had drunk his fill did he call out his name and set out to complete the third and final leg of the race.

  With fifteen seconds to make up, he pushed himself a little harder than he had before. The effort soon placed him in the lead.