She had a nice tailpipe.
I took the corner hard, laying it all on the line. Suddenly, second place was in reach. Third-place just didn't seem good enough.
I got on the throttle again, the engine howling. I leaned into the next turn and came up on the inside of neon green. By the time I exited the corner, I had inched out ahead and was in second place.
The first-place rider was a good two seconds ahead of us.
I barreled down the straight with the neon green devil right at my side. I had half a bike-length advantage.
Then the unthinkable happened.
The first-place rider leaned into the turn, and the rear tire lost grip, sliding out from underneath him. He and the bike scraped into the gravel trap, kicking up a plume of dust.
Just like that, in an instant, his shot at glory was over.
This was for all the marbles.
I braked as late as possible, dove hard into the turn, hanging it all out on the chicken strips, rubber and asphalt fusing under the heat.
I made the turn, throttled up coming out, then banked hard left into the next turn, whipsawing from right to left.
The neon demon was right on my tail, catching a draft.
After a series of switchbacks, another small straight, then two more turns, I’d cross the finish line. Victory was mine. I could taste it. Visions of the checkered flag danced in my brain.
The smell of leather, exhaust, and oil filled my nostrils.
My skin dripped with sweat. My tight chest pounded.
The tiny sport camera on my bike caught every second of the heart-stopping action.
After the straight, I braked hard, then leaned into the penultimate corner. I don’t know how the tires held grip. I leaned so hard I was almost horizontal. The sticky rubber did its job.
This was it. One more corner.
That's when it happened.
2
The neon demon broke a little too late into the corner. She leaned a little too hard and low-sided the bike, losing grip. She slid right into me, taking the wheels out from under me.
In an instant, we were no longer going around the corner. Caught up with one another, we slid straight into the gravel trap, kicking up dust, crunching across the gravel.
Say goodbye to my right mirror.
My shiny new bike wasn't so shiny and new anymore. At the least, I’d need a new engine cowling on that side.
Crunch.
Scrape.
Snarl.
We finally ground to a halt, along with the bikes.
The fourth-place rider whizzed past us, followed by the pack of 12 other riders.
From first to last in the blink of an eye.
