“I think what Brunhilde is saying is if we learn the course, we can rock the course,” said Gary as he swung a backpack over his shoulder.
“I think what Coach Gary is saying is we will throw rocks at you if you cannot learn this course,” said Brunhilde.
“Is that what you thought I was saying?” asked Gary.
“Is that not what you were saying?” asked Brunhilde.
They looked at each other. Coach Gary shook his head like he was waking up from a confusing dream. “Anyway, let’s go check out Bonebreaker Hill, gang!”
The team left their bikes stacked together against a tall fir tree. Coach Gary led the way into the shade. Allyson was with the group, carrying a sack lunch she had packed for Dylan. Although it was a sunny summer day, inside the old-growth forest it was ten degrees cooler and a little gloomy. A rabbit darted under a bush, fluffy white tail flashing, and two bored-looking crows watched them from a branch. Erik felt a small pang of anxiety, but walking surrounded by his teammates was honestly not that scary. He’d take hanging out here over riding a school bus any day of the week.
Coach Gary said, “Each group will take off at timed intervals by age here. We’ll start on this nice, wide fire road, but then you’ll soon see the racecourse heads out on some twisty singletrack.” He indicated a skinny trail further downhill. “So try to pick up some speed on the fire road when you can.”
Brunhilde sketched the first part of the map and said, “Speed is the essence of war.”
They continued on, feet sliding on the pine needles covering the slope.
“You’ll be fine on the roller-coaster-ish course section here. Gravity will do a lot of work for you. Watch out for these couple of rock-choked chutes.” Coach Gary showed them some areas with rocks the size of fists. “Coming up next, we have the deadfall. Every winter, trees get knocked down by giant snows, so this area always has logs and branches every which way. You can find the trail by following the red ribbons tied around posts over there,” Coach Gary pointed them out. “This is going to take some hopping and dropping, but remember if you feel like the hop is beyond you, dismount and walk it. Slow and steady wins the race, and . . . ?”
“Let’s keep our teeth in our face,” recited the team in unison, except for Dylan who said, “All that matters is first place.” Everyone else ignored him.
The group came to a sunny spot where there was a break in the trees. Enormous boulders sat like sentries. Cliffs with dark openings yawned down at them from overhead.
Coach Gary continued, “Watch here for any rocks looking to munch your tires. And up there are the bear caves,” he explained. “Just to be on the safe side, we’re equipping every rider with bear bells.” He took a set out of his backpack and jingled them. “Nothing good can happen when you startle a bear while on a bike, so we’ll make sure you broadcast your arrival with the bells and they’ll get out of your way before you ever get near them.”
Erik looked up at the caves and shivered. The bear bells didn’t sound anywhere near menacing enough to drive bears out of the cyclists’ way. In fact, they sounded kind of festive and inviting, like old-time dinner bells. Come and get it, hungry bears! Thanksgiving dinner has arrived early! He noticed some thick wads of sticks in the tallest tree branches and raised his hand. “What are those things up there?” he asked.
“Raptor nests. Goshawks and owls mostly, I understand. Do you notice there aren’t any chipmunks or squirrels hopping around here? The birds of prey have decimated their populations in this area,” Coach Gary said.
“Oh.” Erik cautiously thought he might be happy about that, although he wasn’t sure how he felt about birds of prey. He decided it was best not to think too hard about the whole situation.
“Now, Brunhilde, please make sure this is clear on the map.” Coach Gary walked over to a side path where someone had laid down a large fallen tree trunk and spray-painted a black X. Coach Gary took a yellow spool of caution tape out of his backpack and ran a loop of tape around the trunk. “I’m going to mark this again for good measure. This used to be the path that led riders over Deadman’s Cliff and into the swamp. We don’t use this route anymore, so whatever you do, DON’T take this side track. It’s crazy back there. Not even fit for adult master’s-level riders.”
Brunhilde carefully labeled this section of her map with a skull and crossbones. She said, “I believe Coach Gary is calling upon this bit of Sun Tzu’s wisdom: There are some roads not to follow; some troops not to strike; some cities not to assault; and some ground which should not be contested.”
Erik’s ears perked up. This was the first time he’d heard Brunhilde quote anything about not fighting. This sounded like advice about AVOIDING STUFF. He made a mental note, and wondered if Sun Tzu had any older sisters.
Coach Gary said, “I believe Brunhilde is saying that part of the hill is not any fun on two wheels.”
“And I believe I am saying you should annihilate the rest of the hill on two wheels. And pulverize any fears you find along the way. That will be fun,” Brunhilde added.
“I believe Brunhilde is saying . . .” Gary trailed off, then shook his head again like he was waking up from another dream. “Right! Okay, after the deadfall, there’s the wet section.” They were now slogging through some muddy areas where tiny streams crossed the course. “See how there are some plank bridges? It’ll be up to each of you to decide if you want to try the bridge or go straight through the water. It’s slippery either way, so again, you’ll need to focus. Further down we get to the Holey Meadow, where you need to keep your eyes out for the trail markers so you don’t end up lodging your wheel in a sinkhole or mole hole or fox hole. And from there we’re back to singletrack.”
Here they were walking on a trail etched on the hill in the shape of a zigzag with sharp turns to the left and right. “These are the switchbacks. Tricky, but at the end, our old friend gravity will be waiting to help you across the finish line. Did I mention before there will be cookies at the finish line? How could I forget to mention the cookies? Most important part. So, any questions?”
Lily raised her hand. “Can my mom and dad come watch the race?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, families are so welcome to come!” Coach Gary answered. “There’s plenty of room at the start and finish for crowds of fans, and they’ll have some vans shuttling people around from the top to the bottom so your family can cheer for you on both ends. They just don’t let spectators on the course itself. Not after the Unexpected Mosquito Swarm of ’08.”
Erik asked timidly, “Was that named after Bill Bonebreaker’s tiny, harmless kitten Mosquito?”
“Nope, it was named after a surprising swarm of mosquitoes nearly as big as your hand taking over the area. I hear it was like being chased by vampires. But I’m sure that won’t happen again,” Coach Gary reassured him.
Erik waited to see if Brunhilde had anything to add from Sun Tzu, but she seemed fine with the possibility of vampire mosquitoes. She continued sketching in her notebook during the whole walk back up the hill. When it was time to wrap things up for the day, she said, “On Sunday, I will bring copies of the map so you may study it yourselves at home. Preparation is key.”
Coach Gary began, “I believe Brunhilde is saying . . .”
Brunhilde looked at him impassively.
“That preparation is key,” Coach Gary finished. “So let’s line up by age, oldest first, and try out this first section together. Remember, power of positive visualization: if you think you can clear that rock, you can. Look ahead to what’s coming up. It’s not the destination, it’s the journey. Saddle up!”
The Lake Park All-Stars gamely took on the first part of the racecourse as a group, younger kids like Lily, Erik, and Fuzz behind the older riders, with Coach Gary bringing up the rear and shouting advice. The short practice session was more fun than the drills they’d been doing in the park. Everyone was focused on their own bikes, so Erik didn’t feel self-conscious about pitting himself against roots
and rocks. He forgot about the bear caves and raptor nests and mosquito swarms and lost himself in slow-motion balancing, bunny hops, and boulders.
* * *
Sunday, Brunhilde brought copies of her MOUNTAIN BIKERS VS. BONEBREAKER HILL map for everyone. Fuzz unrolled his copy and whistled. He said, “This looks like something out of The Hobbit.”
So it did. Erik had to admit the map was a thing of beauty. Brunhilde taken it upon herself to name the sections of the course and add inspirational quotes from Sun Tzu and Viking mythology. She had even sketched animals and trees in the margins, including a hungry-looking family of bears. In the off-limits portion that led to Deadman’s Cliff, she’d put a gaping mouth full of fangs and the legend Here There Be Dragons.
Brunhilde had labeled the eight portions of the course thus:
THE ROAD OF FIRE
ROLLERCOASTER ROCK CHUTE
DEADFALL OF DOOM
BEARS TAKE THE HINDMOST
SLIPPERY SLASH
HOLEY MEADOW
SLICE AND DICE
THE FINISH (WITH COOKIES FOR THE PRAISEWORTHY)
She had also made a special copy for Erik on which she had overlaid his phobias in red pencil, showing EMBARRASSMENT and CRITICISM at the start and finish lines with very realistic representations of Mrs. Loathcraft and his fourth-grade teacher, Mr. Sullivan, holding both battle-axes and telephones, PAIN and BLOOD in the Deadfall of Doom section, FAILURE represented by flat bike tires through pretty much every section of the course, and SQUIRRELS in the thickly forested areas, represented by an eerily cute, smiling creature that was somehow much scarier than the bears or dragons.
Erik pinched his copy of the map between his fingertips and didn’t bother to study it. He’d come up with an alternate strategy for race day after pondering Brunhilde’s Art of War advice: Know the enemy and know yourself; in a hundred battles you will never be in peril. He knew Brunhilde well enough to know arguing with her was pointless. He knew himself well enough to know that he was really good at hiding under stuff. So he’d determined that his best bet would be to locate a foolproof hiding spot inside Uncle Bjorn and Aunt Hilda’s house, pack up some jerky and water the night before the race, and then hide until it was time to go back to Connecticut. It wasn’t the most exciting plan, but it played to his strengths.
“Lake Park All-Stars, lend me your ears.” Brunhilde’s voice rang out and echoed through the entire park. The riders gazed at her. She held the map over her head. “We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in the forest, we shall fight in the mud and on the boulders, we shall fight on the singletrack, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the rock chutes, we shall fight on the meadows, we shall fight in the hills and through the tricky bits with the fallen branches. We shall NEVER SURRENDER!”
Surrender . . . surrender . . . surrender continued echoing for a half minute after she was done.
All the mountain bikers stared at her, mouths agape (except Dylan, who was cleaning his fingernails with a tire lever and appeared to have missed the whole speech).
“Right,” Brunhilde continued, “everyone look at the start of your maps, beginning with the Road of Fire.” She began describing the course to them in terms of battle tactics. The riders closed their gaping mouths and got down to work, asking questions to clarify what she meant by “attack from above” and “never relinquish the high ground.”
Coach Gary came closer to Erik and looked over his shoulder at the personalized phobia map. Coach Gary traced the picture Brunhilde had drawn of Mrs. Loathcraft with a pickaxe at the finish line. “Brunhilde sure has some imagination!”
“You have no idea,” Erik said.
“So, do I understand right that you are pretty scared about race day?” Coach Gary asked.
Erik nodded.
“The first time most people try anything, it can feel pretty scary. But I’m hoping you can overcome your nerves for your pal Fuzz. I was talking to Fuzz’s mom, and she’s pretty worried about him riding the course without a friend to keep an eye on him every inch of the way. I told her we had another cautious, stable rider we could count on to be Fuzz’s race day buddy—you. You really seem to have a handle on the safety techniques I’ve been teaching.”
Erik squirmed uncomfortably under Coach Gary’s friendly gaze. He snuck a glance at his map and saw the knowing smirk of the red-pencil squirrel.
“I don’t know, Coach Gary . . .” he started.
“Hear me out. Once you and Fuzz cross the start line, if things feel too hairy, you can both walk your bikes along the entire course. One of you may even end up being the lanterne rouge. That’s the ‘red lantern’ in French. It’s what they call the last guy to cross the Tour de France finish line each day, the guy who hung on and didn’t give up or get disqualified. Can you at least try to do that for me? For Fuzz?” He smiled hopefully. “Our Hair Shack Hero? Remember, you get a free trim after race day. And there will be cookies.”
Erik looked at his teammates listening to Brunhilde explain the finer points of waging war. Fuzz was bouncing up and down and saying, “I think I get it, I think I get it! It’s like when Coach Gary says you have to ride your bike instead of letting it ride you!” Brunhilde shook her head patiently and started again from the top.
“I’ll try,” Erik answered, looking at his shoes. He didn’t mean it. He wanted Coach Gary to stop talking to him in such a nice and reasonable way.
Coach Gary beamed as if Erik had agreed wholeheartedly instead of feebly withdrawing from their conversation. “I’ll take it,” Coach Gary said. “I know you won’t let us down.” He went over to lead the group down to Rollercoaster Rock Chute and start the day’s practice drills.
How could you possibly know that? Erik thought. His stomach swayed. Now how was he going to keep himself safe from the race, safe from Brunhilde, and safe from failing Fuzz and his coach? There wasn’t a bed big enough in all of Minnesota to hide him from this. He needed advice on how to create an antibattle battle plan of his own, and he simply wasn’t good enough at inventing Erik-style Lore yet. His eye fell on the slim red cover of The Art of War in Brunhilde’s hand. There had to be more useful stuff in there. He decided he’d try reading it right away see if Sun Tzu had any more to say about how some roads were not to be followed—maybe there were ancient tactics for detouring around battles entirely.
Fuzz called his name, waving him over to join the group. “Thanks for saying you’d ride with me during the race!” Fuzz said, beaming. Even his hair looked happy, boinging out of the vents in his helmet.
“About that—” Erik started to say, but Fuzz kept talking.
“My mom wasn’t going to let me try, but knowing I’ll have a riding buddy made her agree I could give it a shot. C’mon, let’s catch up with everyone.”
Erik pedaled after him. There was nothing to he could do for now but roll down a rock-riddled trail.
Fourteen
The Art of War
As long as there is breath in your body, plus half a minute more, fight on, fight on, fight on.
—The Lore
Erik went looking through Brunhilde’s stuff at home, but couldn’t find where she’d put The Art of War book. He went looking again the next morning after Dragon Breathing, but still had no luck.
Hrolf found him wiggling back out from checking under Brunhilde’s bed. He informed Erik that the triplets had had an especially sticky and smelly breakfast, so the two boys had been given the duty of airing them out before naptime. They pushed the stroller into town.
“Let’s stop in the library. I think we need more naptime stories for Sven,” Hrolf suggested. Sven did love listening to Fanny Fearless stories before naps, even more than the epic Sheepflattener war poems. They made their way to the children’s department, and Erik helped Hrolf sift through the new board books, looking for Fanny’s trademark orange cover.
“Look!” Hrolf held up a book with a sleeping walrus on the front. “The Art of Snore! That’s like
Brunhilde’s war book, isn’t it?” He opened the first page and read aloud to Sven. “We have had our time to roar / We have had our time to soar / So we lie upon the floor / And practice now the Art of Snore. What do you think?”
Sven made a yucky face.
“Yeah, that’s nowhere near as good as Fanny Fearless Frees a Finch.” Hrolf tossed it in the reject pile.
Erik checked out the snore book’s back cover. It said THE NEWEST CLASSIC FROM THE BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF THE TODDLER ART OF WAR!
There’s a toddler version of The Art of War? Erik looked in the board book cubby labeled with the letter T and pulled out a book entitled The Toddler Art of War. It was about the same size as Brunhilde’s copy of The Art of War with a picture on the cover of two toddlers facing off in a preschool classroom. Each held one leg of a stuffed elephant, and neither looked ready to let go. There was a quote on the front from some businessman saying, “In our competitive world, your children need every advantage. If you expect your preschoolers to be winners, you must read them The Toddler Art of War.”
Erik flipped through it. Written next to drawings of animals and alphabet blocks were all the sayings from the original Art of War. The board book author didn’t appear to have done anything to simplify them for toddlers. Erik recognized the quote Brunhilde had recited at Deadman’s Cliff: There are some roads not to follow, some troops not to strike; some cities not to assault; and some ground which should not be contested. This was accompanied by a drawing of a fence with a mean-looking dog chained up behind it. This was a bestseller? It sure was hard to understand sometimes what books grownups bought for their kids.
“Found one!” Hrolf proudly waved Fanny Fearless Faces a Flood.
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