Chapter 7

Still Claire’s turn:

“You have any ideas for what you want to do before school starts next Tuesday,” Charley asked me during dinner on the Thursday before Labor Day. “I know we’d both love to get out on the kayak, but Labor Day weekend can be pretty crazy out on the water.”

“I’ve been thinking about what I want to try, but I’m not sure I’m ready for it,” I said. “Do you remember the ride you did that first Friday? The one you used to burn off your frustrations? Do you think I’m up for your 100K?”

Charley thought for a moment before nodding. “As long as we don’t push too hard, I think you can do it. It’s hillier than anything we’ve done yet, but that just means we need to slow down.”

Grandma then spoke up, saying, “Weren’t you going to grill hot dogs for us at some point?”

Charley laughed and said, “You’re right, I was. How about a Labor Day cookout at my place? I can pick up some potato salad to go with the hot dogs and maybe pick some blackberries to go with ice cream.”

Grandma shook her head and gave a little exasperated sigh. “How about you do the hot dogs and dessert, we’ll bring potato salad and baked beans?”

Charley looked a little embarrassed, but nodded. Then, she perked up and said, “Would you be willing to teach me how you make your potato salad? In a couple of years, I’m going to be a married woman.” She reached out to take my hand then said, “I think it’s time I learned my way around the kitchen, at least a little. After all, I wouldn’t want to poison my sweetheart.”

We all laughed at that, but Grandma said she’d be happy to teach us both how to make potato salad and baked beans.

On Saturday, we started our ride by taking our favorite route out of town, using the trail to get past the worst of local surface streets, then cutting over to the roads before continuing south.

The part that I’d ridden before was fine, though a little busier than normal with holiday traffic. After we got to our normal turn around, though, we left my known territory. At that point, Charley pulled off the road and motioned me over.

“This next part is pretty much rolling hills, but there are a couple of places where it’s deceptively steep,” she said. “I’ll try to keep my pace down, but sometimes I just get rolling. Be sure to shout if you start to feel winded. Remember, this isn’t the hilly section.”

“If I’m winded, how am I going to shout loud enough for you to hear?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be better if I just go first?”

“I’d be happy to do that, except there’s one downhill where I’m afraid you’d get going too fast,” she said. “You can’t see the bottom of the hill until near the end, which is where it suddenly makes a sharp left turn. It’s easy to get into trouble there.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment then continued, “Tell you what, you lead, but before that section I’ll pass you and lead the rest of the way to the turn around. There are some pretty steep downhills coming up, and I want to keep our pace down on some of them. Once you’ve done the route a couple of times, we can let it go more on the downhills, but for now, it’s better to be cautious. Okay?”

I nodded, and we set off again. Her description of rolling hills was maybe a little generous — it seemed to me we were gaining net elevation. There were still enough downhills to be fun, but it didn’t seem like I was carrying as much momentum as I’d hoped into the following uphill sections.

Then we hit an uphill section that kept going. I was just wondering what sort of downhill it would lead to when Charley blew by me. It looked like it took her a moment to remember to keep the pace down for me, but I did my part by not even trying to follow her, and she dialed it back when she noticed me falling behind.

When we hit the downhill section, I was really glad she was leading! Even braking as hard as we did, the turn at the bottom of the hill was sharp enough to be a little too exciting.

She stopped at the next intersection and waved me over.

“Sorry about not slowing down on the hill, I just kind of got into the climb,” she said. “You did exactly the right thing not trying to follow me, though, and that reminded me to dial it back. There’s another uphill section coming up, then we’re going to be descending for a few miles. Be sure to pay attention to how fast I’m going. There are sections where we can cut loose, but there are a couple where I’ll slow it way down since there are some fairly sharp corners to deal with.”

“Got it,” I said. “Let’s take a quick break before we get started, okay?”

She nodded, so we had a little trail mix and drank our fill. She’d already told me we could refill our water bottles at the turn around point, so I wasn’t trying to conserve water. Once we were ready, she led off again.

As she’d said, there was another substantial uphill section, but when we started going down, we just kept going and going and going. I let her get a ways in front of me, so I could react when she started braking without having to be completely focused on her wheel every second of the time.

By the time we got to our turnaround point at the bottom of the hill, I was wondering if I was really ready for this. We’d driven this part of the route several times for hiking, but I must not have gotten a good feel of it in the car.

“I didn’t realize how much climbing we’d be doing,” I said while we took a break. “Do you think I maybe bit off more than I can chew?”

She shook her head and said, “I don’t think so. It’d be different if you were trying to attack the hills, but you’re about to find out what it’s like to do a long, steady climb within your comfort zone. I think you’ll be surprised.

“The key is to try to pace yourself so that you’re not working much harder than you would be on a flat section. You probably don’t want to look at your bike computer since you shouldn’t be worrying about how fast you’re going — you’ll go as fast as you’re comfortable going and no faster. I was a little worried before we started, but when you hauled me back on that climb earlier, I started to feel a lot better about it. I’m actually looking forward to this climb.”

“Why? I thought you wouldn’t have any problem going faster?”

“I wouldn’t, but this time I get to follow your sexy butt all the way up this hill.”

I laughed and gave her a hug, then we filled our water bottles and headed home.

We hadn’t gone very far uphill when Charley shouted at me to watch my effort. She was right, I was just starting to breathe heavily. I slowed it down again, then experimented until I found the zone that she’d mentioned. Just a steady effort, like I was riding on the flats, but slower.

I was so in the zone that I didn’t realize how far we’d come. All of a sudden, I was at the top, facing a downhill section. I pulled off the road, grinning like a fool.

“Good job, sweetheart!” Charley said when she came alongside me. “Once you ticked the pace back, you just seemed to glide up the hill. How’d it feel?”

“Amazing!” I said. “I watched the scenery, such as it was, and didn’t even notice the miles going by. If it hadn’t been for the cars, it would’ve almost been meditative.”

She nodded and said, “That’s the way it should feel if you’re just out for a ride instead of trying to go hard. Hills are even better than flat sections that way since you can enjoy the scenery for longer. Do you want to lead on the way back? We’ll take a different route for part of it that isn’t nearly as tough as the rollers we did on the way out.”

I grinned and shook my head. “Nope. Now I get to watch your sexy butt for a while!”

“The first step to making potato salad is to figure out what type of potato salad you want,” Grandma told Charley and me Monday morning in her kitchen. “I tend to break them into two categories. First, you have your German-style, which tends to be tangy and made with a lot of bacon. It’s best served warm, though, so it’s not great for cookouts or picnics. The other type, and what we’re making today, is creamy. It usually uses mayonnaise as the binder, though yogurt can work well, too. It’s nice for days like today since you can make it up ahead of time and just put it in the refrigerator until you’re ready to serve.”

Then she pointed to three potatoes on the counter. “Next we enter a war zone — which type of potato do you use? Some people are incredibly passionate about the choice, but it really depends on what’s important to you in the end result. Waxy potatoes,” here she picked up the red skinned one, “hold their shape well and have a firmer texture when you’re done. Starchy potatoes,” she picked up the baking potato from the lineup, “get softer and tend to fall apart, particularly if they’re overcooked. On the plus side, they absorb more flavor from the dressing and give a softer bite in the end. Yukon Golds,” the middle potato, “have less starch than Russets but more than the waxy potatoes. They coarsen some by the time they’re done cooking, but they hold their shape better than Russets. They’re a good compromise, but for today’s version I’m going with Russets.”

Then she took us through how important it is to cut the potatoes into even sizes and to cook them starting in cold water. While the potatoes were cooking, she started boiling some eggs. While the eggs and potatoes were cooking, she cut the veggies that would go in the salad and made the dressing.

Once the potatoes were drained she said, “This is a critical step. We want to dress the potatoes while they’re still warm, but they’re also more fragile now. We need to be very gentle when we fold in the dressing, or they’ll end up falling apart.” She took a big spatula and showed us how to gently start at the edge of the bowl, then lift it through the center of the potatoes to distribute the dressing.

“Now we wait for a little bit before adding the other things,” she said. “That gives the potatoes time enough to firm up some. We’ll still need to be gentle, though.”

After she was done, Charley said, “I loved how efficient you made it, taking advantage of the time it took to cook the potatoes and the eggs. I probably would’ve done them one at a time and taken a lot longer to finish.”

Grandma nodded and said, “Depending on the order you did the steps in, the end result wouldn’t be as good, either. It’s important to have the dressing ready when the potatoes are done, since dressing them warm allows the potatoes to absorb part of the flavor from the dressing.”

Dinner was great! I had minced onions and relish on my hot dogs, along with a little mustard. The potato salad was as good as I’d come to expect from Grandma, as were the baked beans. Charley and I had picked blackberries the day before, and we used them to top a very nice vanilla ice cream from the local ice cream shop.

In Tacoma, I’d been going to school with many of the same kids for years. I’d also been very withdrawn — ‘Oh, my mother is a stripper and a hooker’ wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with anyone. As a result, even though I was 5’11” and had pink hair, I was pretty much invisible. The other kids looked right past me.

Here, I was the new girl in a much smaller high school. I’d seen fewer tall girls around over the summer, so I expected my height to stand out even more. On the flip side, pink hair seemed to be a bit more common. I was also happy, instead of shutting myself off. If that wasn’t enough, there was still my ring. There was no way I wasn’t going to attract at least some attention.

I managed to scoot through the time before classes started on my first day, by keeping moving; but in homeroom, I was a sitting duck, so to speak. I was one of the first people there and picked a seat near the front like I normally did. I’d barely gotten seated when others started filing in. The first seat to my left was quickly filled by a perky blond.

“Hi, I’m Trish,” she said.

“Hi, Trish. I’m Claire.”

“I love your hair, girl,” she said. Then she cocked her head and said, “You must be new in town. I’m pretty sure I’d have noticed someone your height before.”

“Yeah, I, uh, moved here to live with my grandparents this summer,” I said.

She looked at me for a second, then nodded her head. “Got it, I won’t ask.”

“Thanks, this is just the happy outcome of a bad story.”

Just then, the teacher, Mrs. Ridgeway, showed up and the final bell rang. She asked us to raise our hands when our name was called for roll rather than calling out, which was a pleasantly peaceful change.

“Claire Lewis?”

I wasn’t paying enough attention, so I made a simple mistake. I raised my left hand — the hand with my engagement ring on it. In front of the entire class. I didn’t realize what I’d done until a couple of girls around me gasped, then I dropped my hand and started blushing. I wasn’t ashamed to be engaged, but I was nervous about how I’d be treated. It was going to get out eventually, but I’d kind of hoped to ease into it.

Mrs. Ridgeway was neither stupid, nor oblivious. After roll call, she said, “Miss Lewis? Would you like to get it out of the way all at once? It’s up to you, but Miss Green has spoken to the faculty, so we have an idea of what’s going on. The students don’t. Getting the truth out there may nip some rumors in the bud.”

After taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I nodded and stood up. “I’m Claire Lewis,” I said. “I’m new in town this summer, living with my grandparents for reasons I won’t go into. I just turned fifteen, I’m a senior and,” I lifted my left hand, “I’m engaged to be married.”

I had to admire Mrs. Ridgeway’s method. After my announcement, she shouted the class back to order, so she could read off the official announcements, finishing just before the bell.

Before anyone else tried to corner me, Trish said, “Cool! Fifteen and a senior? What do you have next?”