Chapter 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 who wants 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 for him. 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.
Skylar died shortly after giving birth. Once she was cleared to climb, she and Damien were doing a free solo ascent near the resort.
It wasn’t a particularly dangerous route, well within her skill level, but her body wasn’t ready to climb so soon after pregnancy and birth.
Damien and I were insistent that she give it more time, but she was a force—once her mind was made up, no one could change it.
Damien climbed behind her so he’d be able to catch her, but it was no use. She fell and never got up again.
The grief threatens to choke me.
Even though she died climbing, I think of her every time I ride. Her death destroyed Damien. It destroyed all of us really. Every time I prepare to drop in, I think of her and the fact she’s no longer with us.
Mountains used to be my salvation. Now, I fear they’ll be my damnation.
Chloe rides up beside me and shakes me from my thoughts. We used to be so close. Desperately, I want to let her in again, but I can’t get myself to do it.
I don’t want her to see me like this. So I drop my helmet and my goggles down over my eyes, even though I certainly don’t need them just yet. It’s enough of a shield between us that I’m able to finally look at her.
She gets too close for comfort and I veer off to the right. “You ready?”
Chloe is decked out in a deep blue kit, flashy like her bike. It’s funny how bikes match their riders so well. It reminds me of her favorite barbie growing up—ratted blue hair with a matching shimmery mermaid tale. My smile is involuntary, and she sees it. “What are you smiling about?”
Her grin is effortless, as if she desperately wants to join me in this brief moment of joy. I let her for a second before my overthinking takes over. I put some space between us, and she does me the honor of looking away.
The brunette always favors style over speed or skill.
Hell, she favors it over safety too. Chloe has never been a very consistent rider.
You don’t know what you’ll get with her.
She’ll either place last or first and hardly ever anywhere in between.
She was a lot like that as a friend too, a little unsystematic, always keeping me on my toes. I miss it…miss her.
Biking hasn’t been as fun without her.
She takes my silence as an invitation to talk. “This is my first big ride since my injury.”
I try to remember what injury she’s talking about, but I can’t recall.
That’s pretty shitty of me, I know it is.
I’m sure she posted all about it on socials, and I should have reached out, sent flowers or something.
But I vehemently hate social media. Well, I like it just fine when I’m scrolling for fun, but as soon as it has anything to do with biking, I shut down.
Kudos to the girls that do it, but squeezing my tits together over my handlebars to get likes on a picture isn’t really for me. I also can’t bring myself to put on a full face of makeup to go ride around in the dirt, but that’s exactly what does well on social media.
Guys though, guys can simply throw up some GoPro footage of themselves actually riding and go viral. Reid only does the thirst trap thing because he likes all of the compliments.
Chloe is one of the girls that portrays the whole ‘sexy biker chick’ thing online.
She’s tasteful about it though. Even now, her long brown hair is carefully braided and shimmering in the sun.
Her lips are bright pink and she has blue eye shadow on to match her whole get up.
The eye shadow makes no sense to me—her eyes will be covered by googles.
I guess she wants to look good on the chance she makes it up onto the podium—and I get it, even if I don’t want to admit that.
We make small talk as we join the rest of the riders lined up at the gondola. It’s staggering how quickly someone can go from feeling like family to feeling like a stranger. This right here is exactly why I’ll never tell Reid how I truly feel. I can’t handle him ever becoming a stranger to me.
I’ll just keep settling for whatever scraps I can get.