Chapter 8

The day of the Tour de Victoria arrives. I have an agreement that the cheerleaders would attend wearing our jersey, but two or three girls are missing from every team. Carol is fully healed from her injuries, and I still have some bruised ribs but decide to do the 140k distance anyway. Sam and Grandpa rented trailers to bring all the bikes to the race. Almost every event has the maximum amount of athletes. Some cyclists are turned away.

I’m not surprised to say, it almost feels like a company picnic. Even my employees that aren’t racing have the day off, and everybody brings their families to cheer us on. I wish I could tell you more of what happens, but I am in the second longest race, and so we are the second heat to leave, and I miss most of the festivities. Alva is the only one from our team that goes before me. She has a smug smile on her face when her heat starts. With our bike, she knows she has won the race before it begins. Her goals are to set a track record and beat the fastest man. I don’t doubt that she will achieve both.

Before I leave, I wish each of our racers good luck, and then, spend a minute alone in one of our trailers. I always spend a minute alone before a competition to get my head straight and psych myself up.

I’m not expecting to win, but the lead pack is travelling at my usual pace, so I stick with them. I stay middle of the pack. I’m no leach, so I am not about to be the trailing rider that steels everybody’s energy. I’m also not dumb enough to be the lead bike, either. Unfortunately, I get trapped, surrounded by the other bikers. I’m not concerned. It is a long race, and I am not expecting to win. If there were more hills, I would expect to place, but it is a relatively flat track.

The problem is since I am surrounded, I can’t catch the handoff for my water bottles. I’m forced to minimize my drinking and hope I don’t cramp up.

Slowly, as the race goes on, more and more riders fall back from the pack. Halfway, two riders break off and speed ahead. 20 km later, we catch one of them, and he is too tired to stay with the pack. As we lose people, I slowly work my way to the outside of the pack. Many people try to keep up with the lead pack when they shouldn’t. They tire out and fall behind. After wasting their energy trying to keep pace, they don’t have enough left to get their best time.

I barely make it to the outside of the pack when one of the cheerleaders jumps out of the crowd of spectators and hands me a bottle. I don’t know how she knew, but she is a godsend.

Typically, during a race, the bike computer is removed to reduce the bike’s weight by a few grams. I’m a hillclimber. A few grams on a flat track doesn’t make a difference to me. We are at the 100 km mark, and I notice we are falling behind my usual time. I keep thinking they will pick the pace up, but they don’t.

At the 110km mark, I leave the pack. Passing them, I can see many of them are struggling. My breathing isn’t laboured at all. I have a nice rhythm going. The pack’s lead cyclist looks at me like I am crazy, but you can tell he envies my endurance and how I have a calm rhythmic beat to my breathing.

Since I have been travelling slightly below my usual pace, I have a lot more gas left than I typically do after this distance. I’m not sure how long I can keep it up, but I gamble. My cadence and speed are higher than I am used to. With 15 km left to go, I catch the leading bike, but I am more tired than expected.

I draft up close enough to talk with him and say, “Make you a deal. Every 2 km, we switch. I draft first, then you. The last km is every man for himself. I have a bike computer so I will read it off. Deal.”

“If you say, kid. Just know I’m in it to win.”

“I’ve already done better than I was hoping, but I will take that win from you if I can.”

I let him pull a little ahead so I can get a more efficient aerodynamic link. I don’t cheat him. As soon as the two km are up, I pull forward, and he comes in behind me. Two more km and I flag him forward. We continue like this for the rest of the race, but we are going slightly faster than I am used to, and I tire more than I want. When we hit the last km, I tell him then try to draft in behind him. He sees me struggle and smirks, pulling away. I give it everything I can, trying to keep the aerodynamic link between us. I feel the pull of his bike and don’t give up.

With only a few meters left, I make my move and try to pull around him, but I don’t have the gas left. When I try to pass him, I lose some of the aerodynamic link, and the draft is far less effective. He pulls away, and there is no way I can catch him.

As he crosses the finish line, his arms are in the air celebrating. After I cross the line, I catch him. Even with the big smile on his face, I can tell he is puzzled by my reaction. I’m disappointed that I mistimed things and didn’t win. He asks me, “How old are you?”

“15.”

“Why glum? You won your age class, likely set a track record and placed second overall.”

“There is a junior age class?”

“U-18”

“Really!!!”

“Ya, kid, you won.”

I throw my arms up and scream in celebration, and he laughs at me.

My celebration doesn’t last long. A group of cheerleaders are waiting to congratulate me when I pull off the road and start vomiting or at least dry heaving. I have nothing left in my stomach. It has been a while since breakfast, and any fluids I drank went straight to my sweat pores.

When the dry-heaving stops, I rinse my mouth out with a water bottle that somebody in the crowd passes me, then I run to my cheerleaders. They maul me with their hugs and kisses mixed with cheers of excitement. I hear one of the girls say, “Wow 2nd place and you’re only 15.”

I correct her, pretending I knew all along, “Second overall. There is no medal for that, but I won the under 18 age class.” This brings a whole new wave of cheering, hugs and kisses. The local news is filming the entire thing.

Thankfully, Grandpa had the presence of mind to move one of the trailers to the finish line. I quickly put my bike in it, and we head to the 100km finish line.

We get to the finish line in time, but at first, we can’t get a good vantage point. There are too many people here. When they see it is me trying to get a better look, people start giving me some room. I’m affiliated with most of the sponsors and a healthy portion of the riders, so people show me the respect of letting me see the finish line.

Word of my victory reached this crowd moments after I arrived, and everybody is congratulating me and patting me on the back.

A few of the over 18 men are trickle past the finish line. I am anxious to see the first of the women.

When I see the leading pack come around the final bend, they are still too far away to see who it is, but all the jerseys I see belong to my team. About the time I can see their faces, I can see a red jersey trapped in the pack’s centre. My girls have surrounded the person and are not letting her out.

Elsa leads the group with Moira and Kim drafting behind her. The red shirt is trapped with her front wheel between Kim and Moira’s back wheels. She can’t back off and pull around because Dahlia and Carol have closed in behind her. My girls are working as a perfect team.

Initially, none of these girls were going to race the 100km. They are all competitive in everything they do. When one decided she was going to move up to the longer race, they all did.

When it comes to the final sprint, they execute it flawlessly. Dahlia and Carol slingshot past everybody, going wide. They are our strongest cyclists and deserve first and second place.

As soon as Dahlia and Carol start moving forward, Moira and Kim make their move. This slightly pulls Elsa back, but the red shirt is trapped behind my team’s wall. Her race is over.

Carol places first followed by Dahlia, Kim, Moira and then Elsa. Elsa is the weakest of the group and didn’t mind making the sacrifice. Crossing the finish line, the red shirt is nowhere near as exhausted as any of my girls. Had it not been for my girl’s teamwork, she should have won.

The girls are so busy congratulating each other; they almost have an accident. Carol and Kim barely get their hands back on their handlebars in time. When they hear me shouting, they all turn and are back in race mode, getting to me as fast as possible. Elsa is the first asking, “How did you do?”

Carol is next, saying, “How are you here. Did you not finish?”

“You should have seen it,” I reply. “I pulled away from the pack knowing there was only one guy ahead of me. I caught him with 15 km left. He is a good guy, and we traded off who was drafting behind who. The final stretch I was drafting and pulled out to slingshot. Everything was perfect. I had no gas left, so he pulled ahead and easily won. I was so disappointed. I would rather have struggled with the pack than to fail at my final attempt.”

The girls try to look sad for me but are too happy from their victory. They fail in their attempt. I continue, “That is when the other cyclist informed me that there is an under 18 category and I won. He thinks I set a track record ... Dahlia, I hope you filled out my registration properly, and it would have been nice to know there is a U-18 category.”

I get mauled again. Elsa is the only girl not to kiss me, and the kisses are all passionate. When they calm down, I say, “Get your bikes in the trailer. We need to hurry and get to the 60 km finish line to watch the rest of our crew come in. I kind of want to see what Zlata looks like sweaty and breathing hard without Sam on top of her.” The girls all laugh as Dahlia punches me in the shoulder.

We race off to the truck and trailer, where Gramps is waiting for us. There is only enough room in the cab for the girls, so I jump into the trailer, and Dahlia closes me in. Riding back here is illegal, but we don’t care.

At the 60k, we aren’t as successful. It is where most of the adults from our team compete, but they have only had a few months of training. In their age groups, most people have had years of experience.

Everybody does respectably well. All of our senior staff completes the race. An accident takes out one of our other employees, but he wasn’t a hopeful.

After the last of our senior staff crosses the finish line, we split up, and half our group goes to the 40km finish line. That way, we have senior staff in both locations where we have people finishing a race. I stay at the 60. By the time the last of our group crosses the line, I just want to pass out. My time was my personal best, even though I was well behind that most of the way through, and I’m injured. I worked hard for my victory, and all I want to do is pass out.

I find a piece of grass in the adjoining park and lay down. Before I fall asleep, Kim and Carol curl up on either side of me. I hear a couple cameras take pictures, but I don’t care. I need a nap. Dahlia and Moira don’t cuddle up with us because they are at the other finish line.

I feel fully refreshed, waking from Sam kicking my foot. He is holding Zlata in his arms and says, “You better get up. You are needed at the awards ceremony.

We get there in time for the announcements for the 60km. When it comes time to announce the U-18 girls 100km, we are excited to see the podium filled with our jersey and, more importantly, my girlfriends. As they come off the stage, I give each of them a passionate kiss, and many a camera catches it. We walk away from the stage in a kind of group hug, including Moira, my only girlfriend that didn’t podium.

When it is my turn, I climb the podium, and the 18-year-old kid in second place looks up at me and asks, “Who the hell are you. I saw you pull away from the pack, and I thought you were nuts. Minutes later, I lost the pack.”

“Most of it is the bike. If I had your bike, you would have won.

The guy in third asks, “Where did you get those bikes. I hit every race I could this season, and I have never seen anything like them.”

“I built them. That is part of the reason for the team and all the girls around here wearing our jersey. It is advertising for our new bike company.”

Second place asks, “Wait a minute. Are you telling me you aren’t even a cyclist? You’re only here for publicity.”

“I am a cyclist now, but ya, that pretty much covers it.”

They shake their heads at me, and the guy in 2nd place mumbles, “I can’t believe I got my ass handed to me by a kid that has never raced before.”

Most of the media follow me as I walked off the stage. It has been a while since I had a bunch of microphones shoved in my face. The first question I hear over the din of reporters is, “How do you feel?”

“Wow,” I exclaim. “How do I feel? Well, considering I didn’t own a road bike until a few months ago, I’m feeling pretty good about myself. I’m also feeling good about my team. What is far more impressive than my meagre victory is that my team placed first through fifth in the under 18 girls 100km. Not one of those girls has ever raced before. Did you see the perfect execution of a team finish? That girl would have won if our girls didn’t train so hard on team tactics. Instead, she came in 6th.”