Several riders behind Isaac slowed their pace, widening the gap between the front three and everyone else. Sections of the track darkened as the rain intensified. White and red flags waved on the course, which Marcus Birch, the British commentator whose feed matched the screen, declared rain flags. But the riders continued.
“What does this mean?” She turned to the surrounding team, hoping someone would explain. Before they got a chance, a KTM rider mid-pack suddenly swerved on the wet track, bouncing out of his seat as his bike skidded sideways and then cartwheeled across the ground, spraying chunks of metal and plastic left and right. The luckless rider flew through the air, landing hard on his shoulder, but somehow missed being hit by his careening bike. She gasped involuntarily as the rider lay crumpled on the ground for several seconds. Two additional bikes detoured off the track to avoid the accident.
“It’s a flag-to-flag,” said Miguel, answering her question, his attention still on the fallen rider who pushed himself to his feet as race marshals in their bright orange vests sped toward him.
Miguel’s explanation didn’t help. She still had a lot to learn about racing.
The image on the screen flashed back to Vince at the front, his head tucked in, still lapping faster than everyone else, throwing his bike through the corners with abandon. A man possessed to finish before the rain descended in earnest. The camera panned back to the group of riders jostling for fourth through eighth. Where was Isaac? Her chest tightened, though it still listed his name in third at the side of the screen while the fallen riders’ names slid down the order, disappearing off the bottom of the list. He must be safe.
“I don’t know what flag-to-flag means,” Anna said, still not taking her eyes from the screen, her shoulders tight. Why hadn’t they shown Isaac, so she’d know that he was safe?
“The riders can come in and swap bikes. This close to the end of the race, some will gamble on staying out on track unless the rain becomes harder. Others will risk making up time on wet tires by changing. It’s about track position and the weather. Everyone will judge it differently.” She hadn’t seen Angel approach, and he patted her on the shoulder.
A Ducati in fourth lost traction with his rear wheel as he rode off-line. He skidded across the track as his bike slipped, sliding into the gravel, spraying it everywhere.
Two laps remained.
The three front-runners, including Isaac, all stayed out on track in the rain. She breathed a sigh of relief when they showed him—still upright and on track. The lap times had slowed, but they were still out there. Just after they passed the entrance to pit lane, the rain picked up, and the wind blew in gusts. Several other riders came into the pit from mid-pack. The final group and stragglers came in, too. The riders hopped off one bike, jumped onto their waiting, second bikes, and they putted back toward the track in a slow-moving group, being careful not to exceed pit lane speed limits.
Vince, Spencer, and Isaac were more than halfway around their penultimate lap when the heavens opened. Cascades of white water streamed down in sheets, water pooled on the track, and the soggy riders slowed to a crawl. It was a miracle anyone could ride in these conditions.
All riders had changed bikes, except the three leaders.
“I can’t believe those three are still on slicks,” said Angel in Spanish.
“Slicks?” Anna felt tears gathering. Everyone in the room radiated stress that she couldn’t ignore as it seeped into her already tense muscles.
“Slick tires. Smooth,” said Angel. “Rain tires are bumpy, grooved. Look how much faster those riders can go.” His calm tone kept her tears from falling as she watched the screen. The riders on rain tires rode much faster than the leaders on their slicks, water spraying up from their tires.
They watched as Vince, Spencer, and Isaac slowed still more, maneuvering their bikes gingerly through corners as the rain bounced upward off the track, pelting the riders from above and below. They no longer appeared concerned with taking the best line. It was just about staying vertical. Water sprayed around them, ruining their visibility for the cameras and for themselves.
Behind them, and closing, came the rest of the spread-out field—riding three times as fast as the leaders, with Xavi in front of the chasing pack. Even on rain tires, Luka Catala slid out of contention in turn two when he misjudged a corner. Then another rider went down. Conditions were nightmarish.
Anna wiped her hands on her skirt as the three at the front inched their way around the track on their final lap. Would they finish top three or be caught and swallowed up by those charging on rain tires?
The racers turned onto the home stretch—Vince, Austin Spencer, and then Isaac. Behind them, the others gained with every passing second.
Spencer hydroplaned through a large puddle of standing water, losing ground, and Isaac passed him in a spray of water. Vince crossed the line first. Isaac, second. Then the first pack of riders on rain tires sped past, leaving Spencer limping across in ninth. He’d rolled the dice on slicks and lost. Xavi finished third for the final podium position.
Anna let out a huge breath as everyone on the team jumped up and down in excitement.
“Take his hat and go meet him,” said Angel, a wide smile on his creased face. He nudged her toward the exit.
Anna met a race official beside parc ferme and collected the bright yellow finishers hat, with “second” embroidered on the side. She brought it to Isaac, who was taking off his helmet. He grinned as he took it. The rain continued with a whooshing sound where it poured off the overhang, but parc ferme was covered. She took the helmet and set it down beside the bike and the marker with the big number two. Second position was a fabulous result, tying his best finishes ever. He must be proud.
Isaac launched himself at his brother, and they shared an enthusiastic hug, slapping each other’s backs as they jumped up and down, celebrating their hard-won finish. The rain stopped as quickly as it had started, leaving the ground steaming and wet. Anna couldn’t hear Vince when the brothers stood face to face, but whatever he said made Isaac grin. He stepped back, tugged on his hat, and then threw himselfat the waiting team over the thin divider separating parc ferme from pit lane.
Anna stood back and let him celebrate with the pit crew. The fanfare in parc ferme was boisterous, and she had difficulty making out individual words and phrases—it was just noise. She drifted to the side as the finishers celebrated. Xavi was crying, tears running down his already wet cheeks. The emotional rider seldom finished on the podium. It was some time before he settled enough for his post-race interview. He must be excited about finishing third.
Her job finished, she turned to leave when Isaac came to her. He lifted an eyebrow, perhaps questioning if she was okay. She nodded, and he picked her up and swung her in a circle. She gasped in surprise that he still had so much energy after thegrueling race. Setting her down, he kissed her hungrily. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said at last.
“Congratulations.” To her left, she caught a flash of Vince’s frown and she blanched at the anger on his face. Was that directed at her?
Isaac kissed her again. “How do I look?”
“Fabulous.” She handed him his cap, which had fallen off in his team celebration. He always looked great to her.
Xavi finished his interview with the British Racing Network, which meant Isaac would be next. He smiled and adjusted the hat in preparation.
