I’m pretty sure laying in the sun is Riley’s favorite hobby. It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that she doesn’t want to watch Reid’s qualifier. She hates mountain biking—says it’s a dumb and dangerous way to spend time in nature. But she tolerates it for me, and I love her for that.
Reid hops in the driver’s seat and shifts the mirrors to his liking. My head tilts to the side as I study him making himself comfortable. “I didn’t realize we were driving together.”
He looks almost hurt before he replies, “Do you not want to?”
“No, that’s fine.”
Reid settles himself in his seat and appraises my outfit before giving me a nod of approval. “You look like a shredder.”
“We’ll see.” I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear and gaze out the window.
This whole teamwork thing is going well so far. I didn’t have to do any bike maintenance, and he loaded everything up. Now I just have to hydrate, stretch, and try to do my best.
He starts to back out, and he rests his arm on the back of my seat as he cranes his neck to see if anyone is behind us. The warmth of his skin radiates off of him and onto the back of myneck. I’m struggling to find anything to focus my attention on. I find a piece of dust on my dash, and I pretend to be fixated on picking it off.
We meander our way out of the parking lot, dodging school buses and rafts as we go. Kai passes by the van and Reid rolls down the window. “Catch ya later.”
Kai covers his ears dramatically and waves to us both before saluting. So, theyweredrinking last night. I truly don’t know how Reid does this—he’s always pushing his body to the limits before, during, and after a ride.
13
It’s too early for the tourists, and the roads are empty. We drive the whole way in silence. The knots in my stomach are becoming more and more twisted as we inch towards the mountain.
Reid snags a parking spot under a giant tree. It’s shady and out of the way. I can hang out here and watch his qualifier online if I want to. That way no one will sense how much of a coward I really am.
He shifts Willa into park and digs through his pockets before handing me a mushed Clif bar and two beef sticks.
Concern is laced in his words. “Make sure you eat, okay?”
My head nods even though I know there’s no chance I’ll be eating anything until after the event. Every rider gets three qualifier runs. The first is simply a practice and we ride in groups, but the second two are streamed and judged. If you don’t score high enough, you don’t get a chance to ride the main event.
The qualifier runs are all about technical skill and basic speed, but the main event is all about big jumps and style points. The Teton Trail Blaze is a newer event, and like most big events,this is only the second year that women have been invited to compete.
Before last year, women rode downhill plenty. There are lots of women-only events, but they don’t pay and they’re almost never televised. Finally, women are being recognized for their skill and given an opportunity to show it off. If I think too hard about being one of the first females to ride downhill in a big way, I might drown under the pressure.
I don’t want a little girl to see me scared up there and convince herself it’s not worth trying. So badly, I want to be the example I wish that I had. I don’t trust myself to be up to the challenge.
My feet dangle from the back of the van as Reid double and triple laces his shoes. He tightens his helmet straps and looks at me expectantly. “How do I look?”
Resisting the urge to tell him what I think, I simply retort, “You look ready to ride a bike.”
A crowd of fellow riders rushes towards Reid and he meets them halfway, waving goodbye to me as he goes.
Time moves slowly. No runs have been aired yet. I tried to eat that Clif bar Reid gave me but it was warm in the worst way, so I spit it out immediately. Slowly, I make my way across the length of the van and then back again.
It’s not a very long van, so I have to turn every five steps or so, and it’s starting to make me dizzy. My body collapses on the bed, and I involuntarily smell Reid’s cologne hanging onto my duvet. It settles me instantly as the sound of the announcer starting the show booms out of my laptop speakers.
The women’s division has a slightly different trail, but I can still get some information about the dirt and what this riding will be like from watching the men, so I sit up straight and pull the screen onto my lap. Usually they ask for volunteers of whowants to go first, and I’m grateful Reid didn’t offer this time. My anxiety spikes when he’s the first to test a jump or cross a gap.
He never did tell me what position he had been assigned, so I stare at the screen with laser focus, unsure when he’ll finally show up. After three riders—who do fine but are a little slow—Reid comes up on screen, smiling and waving at the cameras like he was made for this.
Reid’s run is over and the crowd is booming. He has the best time by far. I let myself take in a full breath, and I realize I have been clamping the inside of my cheek down tight between my teeth. If riders are happy with their first run they can choose to skip the second, and Reid appears satisfied. He strips off his helmet and gloves while making eye contact with the camera.
The announcers chat back and forth about how Reid is sure to be invited to Red Bull again this year. It’s the same conversation that happens at every race, every competition. Reid is one of the top riders in all of downhill. No one is surprised when he places first in the qualifier’s…least of all me.
Riding is as easy as breathing forhim. For me, riding makes it hard to breathe. But it’s just as hard to breathe without it. That’s why I can’t stop. I keep fighting for that fleeting feeling of flying. It’s addictive and it could kill me like any other addiction if I let it. It happened to Skylar.
Her funeral flashes before my eyes as I get ready to ride over to the lift. She was Damien’s wife, Josie’s mom, although she never really got a chance to raise Josie.
