There was nothing to say—I’m fucked. We both know it.
This weekend was our last event in Colorado. The rest of the freeride season will take place on trails all across the U.S. and Canada. Reid and I will be trapped on the road together soon, even if I desperately need more space from him.
At least we’ll have separate vans.
My race was done by eleven, so we all went back to the resort for a late lunch. Soon we’ll be off.
Just the two of us. For several months.
Our next stop is Jackson, Wyoming, and I honestly can’t wait to be back in the Tetons. Those mountains always make me feel more adventurous—I could use some more of that energy right now. They’re similar to the Colorado Rockies, but less restrained.
While Damien finishes inspecting the van, I take one last steaming bath filled with all of the oils and salts I could want. He’s insistent that he checks every little thing before we leave. He keeps saying, “and you’re sure that all the wiring is right?”
Each time, my reply is the same. “Yes. I’m sure.”
I can’t complain though, I’ll take any delay right now.
I’m pacing around my bedroom, considering every belonging I’ll miss when I’m gone. Nothing will make you realize how attached you are to material objects quite like having to live in a vehicle. My fingers run along the surface of my wooden desk haphazardly. I’m not looking for anything in particular, but I find a picture.
I wish I didn’t. It’s blurry. We’re smiling.
It makes my heart throb against my chest.
Staring at this moment of Chloe and I laughing together reminds me how much I miss her. We used to be best friends. She lives a few towns over, so we grew up riding and hiking together every weekend. Now, I’m not sure if I can even call her my friend at all. I sure haven’t been acting like one.
We’re standing on the edge of a creek bed, our favorite ropeswing hanging in the background. It looks like we don’t have a care in the world—we probably didn’t. I need a plan to restore our friendship this season. Two years is too long to go without her. She understands me in a way that none of my other friends do—even Riley, even Reid.
I pushed her away when I wasn’t thinking clearly, too clouded in grief to see that she was trying to help. I’ve failed every single time I’ve attempted to type out an apology to her. Once more, I attempt it, but it’s futile. My thumb refuses to migrate to the send button. I know she’d forgive me right away, she probably already has. That makes it harder somehow.
Slamming my phone face down on the desk, I force my legs to take me towards the bathtub. These are my last few moments of peace—I need to soak them in. I’ll have to figure out what to do about Chloe once we get closer to Jackson. She’ll be there, I’ll have to finally say something.
The steam licks up around my chest and lulls my heart back to a semi-steady rhythm. It doesn’t last long. My screwed up brain is latching onto the next worry. The image of Damien scrutinizing Willa’s every screw has me doubting if she is truly ready for the road.
I’m pretty damn sure everything is up to par—at least it should be. I hired the best mechanics and wood workers, sparing no expense. My favorite part, aside from the shower, is the maintenance station for our bikes. The shower head can be detached, so we’ll be able to fully wash our bikes off when the back doors are open. We’ll store them upright in there while we drive.
Running through my mental checklist, I assure myself everything is fine and I haven’t forgotten anything. I’m already climbing out of the tub—it didn’t last nearly long enough. As I wrap myself up in my robe for the final time, I try to convince myself that there’s room to bring it along. There’s not.
The artificial comfort works though. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
I glance out my window, the big one that overlooks the circular driveway at the base of the main house. Damien’s playing with the air compressor. He would say that he’s ‘checking’ it, but he’s playing with it. I can’t blame him, it is pretty fun to play with.
Reid has a paint brush in his hand—he must have finished touching up the paint on the side. Last week, right after I agreed to travel with him, he insisted we paint ‘Willa the Wagon’ on the side in bright orange letters. I’m still not sure that I should be painting the side of my van. I’m worried it’ll make me a target for cops—and potential creepers too. Reid assures me that I’m a strict rule follower so I’ll be fine with the cops, and that he’ll be right there with me to ward off any creepers.
That makes me feel more at ease than I would like to admit. Reid’s like a giant teddy bear…with massive biceps and hard abs. I’ve never quite been able to shake my all-consuming crush on him.
He’s always there, and I never want him to leave—except, I need him to. Otherwise, I’m doomed to be single and pathetic forever. My obsession didn’t start with any one thing. It was a slow, curling sensation. Before I knew it, I was wrapped up in him with no hope of escape.
Every time I try to date, I come home and see his fucking goofy grin and towering frame. Every time it makes me forget all about my date.
No man will ever live up to the fantasy that is Reid Hastings.
It’s been like this since we were tweens. Everything was innocent at first—he was the only one of the boys to slow down for me on the slopes. The only one to make sure that I got the last pastry and didn’t feel guilty about it. But one day, my brain re-categorized him, and I haven’t been able to get things back in order since.
When Reid came to me with his ‘teammate’ plan, I said yes before I even considered how awkward it would be. I offered to store his bike so he wouldn’t have to rest his head on the back tire like he did last season. Now, we’re locked in. Six months, four thousand miles and six events. We’ll be stuck together.
This is my first real year on the downhill circuit. Women have finally started getting attention. It’s now or never. I can’t keep half-assing this thing. I’m giving women’s downhill a bad rep at this point. All because of my inability to suck it the fuck up and ride. Last year was the first time women were ever allowed to compete in Red Bull Rampage. It’s the biggest freeride competition ever, and it’s essentially the super bowl of mountain biking. We finally have a place here.
I’m a disgrace to the Fairfax name merely for my desire to be outside. They would much rather I sit in a stuffy office all day and inject my face with silicon. I prefer my silicon on my handlebars.
