Chapter 26 #2
Tate jumped off the start like his ass was on fire and leapt to the front.
It was a monumental holeshot and the first he'd ever taken in a 450 main event.
He scrubbed the first jump taking it low and hard.
The course was wet and rutted out all over the place, but Tate's concentration was dead on.
The bike moved with him like just another part of his body—and his body was fit.
He took a triple and spun through the first 90 degree turn.
He felt the track in his soul and knew this was his race to win.
Tate whipped his bike over the jumps, taking advantage of being out front and putting his bike exactly where he wanted it.
He could tell by sound and instinct that the other racers trailed behind him, but he kept the throttle pinned, determined to stay in front.
He rode the track like a dream, using all the techniques he knew and practiced to gain as much time as possible ahead of anyone else.
He didn't want anyone, especially Davey, catching up to him.
Andrew held up his white board as Tate passed him from the mechanic's area.
It said, Half Way! and had a face with crossed eyes on it.
Tate had no idea what that meant and he didn't care.
He had 10 laps left. He could do it. He could finally beat Davey and win a 450 race.
He stuffed down the excitement and scrubbed low over the next jump, forcing his mind to stay where it belonged, just like he shoved his bike around.
A few more laps, and Tate popped over the whoops and got up behind a lapper who roosted him good.
He pulled the tear away off and passed the guy, giving back what he got.
Mud flew everywhere, but at least there didn't seem to be a lot of rocks in it. It slowed him down a bit and he could sense another bike approaching, but he wouldn’t let that bother him.
Tate’s bike ate up the next few laps with ease.
When he passed the mechanics again, Andrew's pit board had his lap time and a two to go reminder, but also said, D's coming. That meant Davey.
Tate took a deep breath and concentrated on riding his own race.
He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
He had the advantage of being in the lead, and he knew Davey—knew how he rode.
He wouldn't be pulling a block pass on him like some others would.
Regal would knock him down in a heartbeat and so would Cole, but not Davey. At least not with Tate.
He could sense Davey's bike behind him, closing in.
Final lap.
Tate knew better than to try too hard at blocking Davey.
It would only slow them both down and maybe allow someone else to sneak in.
He wanted to have some kind of feel for where Davey was, but had to find his own course.
He knew the track now and knew when to pull inside, which ruts to follow and which to avoid, when to take a triple with plenty of air, and when to stay low.
He could see the finish line with the Giant Energy Drink sign looming over it.
Davey's front wheel rode near his back tire, just to the side.
Close. Tate kept the throttle pinned, going all out.
It was now or never. He purposefully swerved toward Davey when he knew he had a safe edge, throwing him off his path and slowing him a little, but the little nudge didn't slow Tate down a bit. It gave him the distance he needed.
He approached the last jump, racing forward.
He got a ton of air and flipped his bike horizontal as he sailed over the finish like those superheroes Davey always prattled on about.
Yeah! Super Tate! After he landed, he pumped his fist in the air.
Somewhere along the way his heart landed in his throat, making a tight fit.
His first thought was for Bryce who would have a DNF next to his name in the LCQ; did not finish in the last chance qualifier.
He would be upset about not making the main event, but maybe he would be happy that Tate won.
Andrew came up behind him, jumping with excitement.
He leapt forward and hugged Tate before slinging his leg over the back of the bike behind him.
Tate rode him double off the track. When they got to the press area, he let Andrew take the bike, seconds before a network news staff member popped a headset on him and shoved him up to the podium.
They asked about the race, the holeshot, how he'd kept Davey at bay, and then they asked something he hadn't expected. A woman with a ponytail hollered out, “Is Bryce Nickel your boyfriend?”
Tate chuckled. Easy question, but sometimes questions like that would haunt you. “No, he's a friend. And he was hurt on the track. I'm concerned about him.”
“So, who is your boyfriend?” This came from someone else, but Tate wasn't sure who, not that it mattered.
“My boyfriend is that two-wheeled 450 that I just rode hard to win. I named him Brad.”
That got a lot of laughs which was the reaction Tate was used to. The reporters kept firing questions at him, but his mind was now on Bryce and Pilot and he had to get the hell out of there.
“Excuse me folks, gotta go see about Brad!” He pulled the headset off and shoved it at the staff member who had put it on him and walked off the podium.
As he made his way toward his pit, he realized that he hadn't thanked his sponsors or anyone.
MSR management would probably be pissed, but fuck them anyway.
They didn't think he could win, didn't think he'd ever beat Davey.
Oz hadn't thought he'd pull it off either, but Joey knew.
Joey constantly pushed him for more. Well, what do you know?
Tate put another check mark in the friend's column.
He was starting to rack them up faster than trophies.