Koby digs in his laptop bag and throws me a key on aGhostly Fluxkey ring.
“You’re the best, Kobs!” I yell out, running out the back of the pit to the trailers parked behind the boxes.
The roller door clanks as I heave it upwards. This area is secure, so no need to lock it up.
And there it sits. My bike from two seasons ago. My winning season. A season so far from my memory from what has happened between these two points in time.
Grateful this trailer stores my surplus gear, a few leathers are draped over bike part boxes. My helmets are securely transported in boxes, along with boots and gloves. Gearing up, I cast my leg over a familiar leather seat and walk the old Aprilia out of the trailer.
Sliding the key into the bike’s ignition, it takes a few sputters until it fully roars to life. The rumbling engine rattling up my spine, already feeling a small ounce of contentment seep into my chest.
Slowly, I manoeuvre the bike towards the track’s entry at the end of the pit boxes. The track is within reach, just to my right. I’m parallel to it, but need to maintain slow speeds and it’s itching me. Few more metres and I cross the pit exit line, floating into the sweeping right corner. My speed is controlled as I cruise the next right, then I gas it down the long straight. The thrill pulses through my body in an instant as the wind blasts around me before I lean into the next corner. And the next. Utilising parts of the track that are normally untouched, flicking thebike around underneath me. In control of something familiar, something that makes sense. Something simple that I haven’t fucked up. Pushing a change in my mindset to be fluid with the bike. I needed this outlet. This reset.
I ride around the track until the fuel gauge hits the empty line, and pull it back into the trailer. Replacing my racing gear back on the boxes, my phone lights up with a message.
A message from Javi that he and Sophia have gone for an early dinner and will be back to get me, if I wanted company.
I don’t reply to his message. Maybe I need more time. A track run? Who am I? A run to clear my thoughts? I’ve never wanted to do that. Heading towards the pits to hand Koby the bike key before heading on track again, my mind wanders. It is clearer, but not clear on what to do. No brain to lay everything out for me. I’ll have to work for it.
Koby has moved to removing one of the bike’s fairings and is hooking up more cables.
“Still going at it?” I ask.
He raises his head with a smile. “Gotta be thorough.”
“Why are you working on the bike and not Mitch?” I ask once I realise the Team Owner is doing mechanical work.
“Mitch had to take off for a few days, but asked me to do it for him so the team had something to work on before next weekend’s race.”
“You’re a good boss.”
“Mate, I try to be.” He returns with a kind smile. “You going alright? You definitely took some angst out on that throttle.”
“Yeah, just trying to shake off the odd weekend and had an intense therapy session this morning. Needed to get my head back on straight.”
“Last weekend was an odd one, but these occurrences happen. You shake these things off.”
I’m silent, mulling things over.
“Need to talk it out?” he asks, moving away from the bike and focusing his attention on me.
“Just a bit happening and I spiralled before my therapy session. Cam was great, but it left me a little…unravelled.”
“That’s unlike you.”
“Right?” I chuckle at his light-hearted jab. “I’ll be fine after a few days. Today helped. Maybe some food will help, too.” I point outside.
“Here if you need me, okay? Everyone is,” Koby offers with an outstretched hand.
Taking it, he pulls me in for a half hug and pats my back. Reassurance floods me with the gesture.
“Thanks, man,” I reply with a slap on the back in return before we part. He really is a good dude, and always there for me and anyone in the paddock.“Rest up and see you here in a few days.”
“Will do.” I wave off as I leave the pit. Calling a cab as I head to the front gate, I only have to wait ten minutes for it to pull up. The sun is nearing the horizon with a spill of vibrant orange, sparing no one the blinding blare of its light. Forceful and encompassing.
Directing the cab to the pizza joint near the hotel, I stop in for a quick feed.
I’m nearing the hotel, no closer to working out what I am going to say to Mabel. Perhaps I am in my head too much? Maybe this needs to be a more open conversation with her?
