Chapter 6 August, Moto Club, North Carolina
Chapter six
August, Moto Club, North Carolina
“It’s really important for you to train on a different track, Bryce. This will give you some time with different dirt and different configurations.” Reuben waved his hands around. He always talked with his hands. Bryce was learning that the gestures sometimes meant as much as the words, though.
“Okay. So, what’s the plan?”
“Today, it’s just getting a feel for the track. Don’t push too hard. Take a few easy laps first.”
“I did that yesterday when I got here.”
“Do it again.” Reuben’s hand fisted on his hips. That meant he was serious.
Bryce gave him a nod and pulled his goggles over his helmet. “Anything else, boss?”
“Don’t be a smartass. Go.” He pointed to the track, so Bryce went.
He took two laps at a moderate pace before Reuben called him over. He glided over and hit the kill switch. “Can I go faster now?”
“Listen up, East Coast.”
Bryce practically groaned at the nickname his manager, George, had given him, but he didn’t want Reuben to think he didn’t want to listen, so he sucked it up. “Yes, coach?”
“Stepping up your game and taking your ride to the next level is about getting out of your comfort zone. It’s setting your goals and taking things one step at a time.”
“Okay?”
Reuben pointed at the track. “You’ve been around this thing a few times now. It’s comfortable. But, the next time you’re on this track, it might be different. You have to react quickly to the obstacles. Don’t think about the layout, just react and move in time with it.”
“Yes, coach.”
He pointed to the other side of the camp. “We’re going to go get on a different track now.”
“The 450 track?”
“It’s not about the size of the bike, Bryce. But, yeah. We’re going over there and you’re going to open it up on a different track. So, you can react to it. You’ve not been on that one yet, right?”
“No, sir. I haven’t.”
“Okay. Let’s go. I have it booked for about an hour, but then I want you to ride during open track time. This is about reacting. Got it?”
“Uh. I think.”
Bryce pushed his bike along beside Reuben, as they made their way to the other track.
Once they got there, Reuben grabbed the handle bars.
“Walk the track. Look for the ruts and soft spots.” He gestured with his hand in the air.
“Take your time, but not too much time. Again, I want to see your reactions.”
After a walk around the track noting the obstacles, Bryce slung his leg back over the bike and pulled his goggles on.
“Treat it like a race. Go.” Reuben flicked his fingers.
Bryce took off.
He opened it up for the first time, pushing on the throttle, but it didn’t take long before he found himself slowing down.
He had gotten comfortable with the first track.
This one had a different feel, a different set up.
He loped through the whoops section, trying to keep the bike as straight as possible, thinking more about form than speed.
He always had a difficult time getting through the whoops with the small mounds close together.
He leaned back and up shifted, and got through them, decent enough, but had no time to congratulate himself, because the track turned sharp ahead and the dirt had many deep ruts.
Bryce picked his way through the more difficult areas and opened up when he could, but still didn’t like his time through the first two laps.
The third time around, he stayed on the throttle, determined to pick up speed.
He pushed too hard and nearly wiped out around the turn with the deep ruts.
It didn’t surprise him to see Reuben waving him over.
“If there had been others on the track, that could have gotten you wrecked or hurt. Don’t worry about speed. Just react to the track.”
After a few more laps, other started joining him on the track, and the challenge increased. With others so close, some passing, some being passed, it mimicked a race and his reactions had to be spot on.
At some point, Bryce stopped thinking about the jumps and turns ahead of him and the other riders around him.
He simply felt the flow of the track and the speed of the bike.
He tuned in to the hum of the other machines around him and the vibration of his own ride.
He moved with a rhythm all his own, yet still in sync with the track, almost like hitting the off-beats in the Ska music he loved so much.
He fell so hard into the ride, that he almost missed Reuben flagging him down.
“That’s a lot better, Bryce.”
“Cool.”
“Go get cleaned up and get some lunch. The cafeteria has your diet plan. Then meet me in the gym in about two hours.”
“We’re done riding?”
Reuben laughed. “You have no idea how long you’ve been out there, do you?”
He shook his head, because he didn’t know. “Hour?”
“Try two. And that’s just since the others joined you out there.”
Bryce noticed many of the others heading back to the garage.
He really had been into the ride. He shrugged and headed off to the garage.
The mechanics there would clean up his bike for him, while he took a shower in the barracks.
Before he even got that far, his stomach started growling.
“Hope that diet has a lot of food on it.”
Reuben just snorted and walked away. It seemed strange to let someone else take care of his schedule and his diet, but that’s the way the team worked it.
They paid for the coach, the camp, the mechanics, and sometime in the next week, they would be sending him a new bike.
All of this because when Bryce got in the zone, he could really ride; he could win races.
He smiled to himself, knowing that his talent would only take him so far, but it had gotten him to this point.
Now, he had to show them he could commit.
He just hoped he’d have some free time to have fun, too.
Tate wasted no time once he finally arrived at camp.
He dropped his bags on his bed and dug out his riding gear.
The only thing that stopped him was getting a good look at the new KTM bike his team, Morely-Stapelton Racing or MSR, supplied him.
The thing practically sparkled. The mainly white body was fine, but it had black and bright neon yellow accents.
The rear fender practically glowed in the neon yellow, even with the sponsor logos stickered on it.
Tate sighed. He hoped like hell it rode a bit more bad ass than it looked.
He didn't have a choice about the colors and stickers.
That was up to MSR, but if it didn't perform, well that was another matter altogether.
The club mechanic waltzed over as Tate checked out the bike. “Hey, Jordan!” he called out and lifted a hand for a high five. Tate gave him one. Brett was one of his favorite mechanics at the club and had been around for as long as he'd been training there.
“You see this?” Tate asked, leaning the bike away from him with the handlebars.
“Sure. Got the beast all gassed up and primed. Ready to go for you. It came in yesterday.” Brett eyed the bike with appreciation, while wiping his greasy hands on a rag.
“Beast? Yeah. I hope it's a beast on the track. Sure is ugly.”
“I don't know. I kinda like it.” Brett's cocky grin told him that he didn't really mean it.
“Tease all you want, but these KTMs are killer on the track.”
Brett shrugged. “I don't think it matters what brand you're on Jordan.” He shook his head a little as he spoke. “As long as it's in good shape. I've seen you ride, dude.”
Tate let his mouth form a smirk. It felt good to get compliments, but it meant little if he didn't win races. “Thanks. Guess I'll find out in a minute.”
Tate pushed the new bike out to the 450 track. He had it reserved for a few hours of private riding. He knew he needed that just to unwind after the flight in from New York, and the break up with Donny. Fucking Donny!
Tate refused to give the bastard any more thought time.
After Oz and a hired moving crew went in and got the rest of his stuff and unloaded it at his storage bin, Tate put the relationship behind him.
The only thing left to bother him was the fact that he had no home.
Yet, Donny's place hadn't really been a home anyway.
It had felt like he was pretending and it probably ended way later than it should have.
With one last exhale, Tate pumped the kickstarter twice and brought the bike to life with a roar.
Instead of walking the track, like he should have done, Tate rode the bike around the loop slowly to get the lay of the land.
Not much had changed since the last time he had been there, but he needed to make sure he knew the track features and layout before opening the bike up.
That first round also allowed him to get a feel for the new bike.
The second lap was faster, but still not up to racing speed, but by the time he finished the circuit, he was ready to go all out.
He pulled on the clutch and shifted gears with his foot and let the bike fly as he throttled up.
The red-brown dirt flew behind him as he tore through the first straightway and he dug into the turn.
He took the table tops with an effort, pushing the bike into the jumps.
The machine buzzed in his ear as he dug into the ruts of other riders that had been there before him.
He liked the wider bars and higher seat on the bike; it felt like a better fit for his body type, and it also let him shove the bike around the track a little bit harder.