Fuzz smiled, and Erik smiled back without having to fake it. Lily joining them was an unplanned bonus—this way, Fuzz really would have a buddy all the way down the hill. What did the Lore say, how life might seem dark but dawn always eventually arrived? It really looked like things were going to work out.
The rest of the Lake Park All-Stars gathered. The older riders clustered together, reviewing the map one last time. The younger girls giggled with Allyson and made up some cheer using the words bike and psych and spike. Dylan had finished his interview with the television crew and was carefully tucking his hair under his helmet and using a tiny mirror to check the effect.
Coach Gary fixed Fuzz’s fluttering race number and whistled to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, this is it, All-Stars! We’ve got Lily, Fuzz, and Erik in the first wave, you bunch are in the second and third waves, and Dylan’s in the final wave for the oldest riders. You’ll mount up, wait for the air horn to blast, and sail out into greatness. Huddle up.”
The team came together in a close circle. Fuzz put an arm around Erik’s shoulders and grinned at him. Coach Gary stretched out a hand, and each rider added his or her gloved hand atop the pile. Coach Gary chanted, “SLOW and STEADY wins the RACE . . .” pulsing the group of hands up and down along with his words.
The rest of the riders answered back in confident unison, “Let’s KEEP our TEETH in our FACE! GOOOOO, ALL-STARS!” and threw their hands up in the air, whooping in excitement. Except for Erik, who squeaked out a sound like “erp,” and Dylan, who chanted, “Go, Dylan, go, Dylan, GOOOOO, DYLAN!” Everyone ignored him.
Brunhilde appeared at Coach Gary’s side. She cleared her throat to get the cyclists’ attention. The team looked at her at little warily, wondering if she would shower them with new nuggets of incomprehensible wisdom. She did not disappoint them.
Brunhilde put one hand over her heart and proclaimed, “None of us live forever. None of us can guess our fates. We can only do our best.” She climbed up on a rock and grabbed Leo’s bike pump to hold above her head like a sword glinting in the morning sun. “Whatever happens, never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never. As long as there is breath in our bodies, we fight. We yell. We ride!” She brandished the bike pump, and her voice rang out across the crowd. “Now cry havoc! And let slip the bikes of war!”
The mountain bikers were again agape, except for Dylan, who applauded.
“Yeah! Lie in hammocks! And let’s grip the highest score!” he said.
Lily climbed up on the rock next to Brunhilde and addressed the team. “I think Brunhilde is saying let’s do this and be great!” she said.
Brunhilde lowered the bike pump and shrugged. “Close enough.” She climbed off the rock and helped Lily down. Everyone started getting their helmets, kneepads, and elbow pads on for the race.
Each team member’s family came over to give last-minute advice and encouragement. The Sheepflattener clan encircled Erik, ready to wish him well. It looked like they had even brought him some presents for the race. He hadn’t known this would happen. His neck got hot, but he kept his breathing slow. The time to lie on the ground like a slug and say NO like a Viking would come soon enough.
Allyson recited to him in her best singsong voice, “Ride fast, Erik! You’re gonna be epic!” She then squirted something in her hand and wiped it over Erik’s face. As he spluttered, she explained, “It’s a combination skin bronzer, sunblock, and bug spray? So you look good while you repel mosquitoes and UV rays.”
His mother rubbed off some of the excess skin bronzer and told him he looked just like his father before his first boar hunt. Then she showed him her wrist. “See what Allyson did for us!” A flattened sheep looked up at him. The rest of the family showed their wrists too. Allyson had used her colored markers to draw the Sheepflattener crest on everyone.
Allyson pulled out a baby wipe and rubbed Erik’s NO, NEVER, and NOT IN A MILLION YEARS runes off his forearm.
“Hey, Allyson, I needed those,” he protested.
“Nope, little bro. What you need today is SHEEPFLATTENER POWER!” She leaned down with a felt-tip pen and started drawing the crossed battle-axes above his wrist.
While his sister sketched, Aunt Hilda and his mother gave him a roll-top pack of sardines and a block of dried turnip to tuck in one of his jersey’s three back pockets. Aunt Hilda advised, “Eat those to keep up your energy and don’t ‘bonk.’ I think that’s what the kids are calling it these days. We used to call it falling to the inner sabertooth.”
His father leaned over the back of his bike frame and secured a small Norwegian flag on a stick with zip ties so it would flutter out behind him as he rode.
Uncle Bjorn pulled a camera out and asked Erik to hold still for a photo “to remember what you once looked like.” He got a shot of Ragnar giving Erik a rib-cracking bear hug.
Hrolf sheepishly offered Erik an empty napkin. “I meant to give you the last of this morning’s bacon, but I ate it on the way here. The napkin still smells really good, though, if you want a whiff.” Erik politely declined.
Brunhilde handed Erik a piece of cloth about the size of a bandanna on which she had outlined a simple version of the Bonebreaker Hill map with a permanent marker. “This will help you stay on track and make sure you don’t miss any of your fears on the way down. You can also make a tourniquet out of it if you start to bleed profusely before anyone can get to you.” Erik took the cloth and noticed something small and hard tucked inside. He unwrapped the tiny wooden turtle. Brunhilde patted him on the shoulder. “You are ready, Erik Sheepflattener. Do your best. It will be good enough.”
His neck got even hotter. As Erik folded the turtle and map into his last empty pocket, Siegmund got his attention by waving his arms. When he was sure Erik was looking, he gave a double baby-thumbs-up. Sally then tugged on Erik’s shorts and began making an insistent “uh uh uh” sound. Erik bent down to the stroller to ask what she needed. She solemnly pulled his shirt down and gave him a wet, sticky kiss on his cheek. Erik looked over at Sven. “Do you have something you want to give me too?” he asked.
Sven grinned back, his gums gleaming in the morning sun. He lifted a crumpled brown paper bag out of his lap.
“RIDERS, TAKE YOUR MARKS,” the announcer called through his bullhorn.
Fuzz called out, “Erik, come on over, it’s time to go!”
“One second, my cousin’s got something for me,” Erik yelled back. He turned to Sven. “You wrapped it? By yourself?” It was probably a Fanny Fearless book. Erik reached for the bag before it registered in his mind that the bag was moving.
“GET SET.”
The top of the bag unfurled like a flower blooming. From the flower’s center peeked a familiar pair of glittering black eyes and a whiskery little nose.
Erik shrank away, but Sven wasn’t going to let his cousin head out on such an important day without the comfort of a nice soft squirrel ear. Erik might have acted weird the last time he’d been offered one, but he was bound to enjoy it this time. Sven tossed the bag at Erik. It fell with a light thump next to Erik’s sneakers.
Mr. Nubbins wriggled free of the brown paper and sat back on his haunches. He reached out his sharp little claws for Erik’s shoelace ends, chittering as if to say, Can I ride along with you? Maybe nibble your skin while you bike? And call the other squirrels over to join in the fun?
He no longer had it tattooed on his arm, but it was still his motto:
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” screamed Erik right as the air horn blasted to indicate the start of the race.
There was no time for thought, no time for plans, no time to remember how to breathe. Erik leapt onto his bike, stamped on his pedals, and took off from the starting line.
Sixteen
Mr. Nubbins vs. Deadman’s Cliff
There are some roads not to follow.
—Sun Tzu, The Art of War
“Hey, Erik, aren’t we going to ride together?” Fuzz exclaimed as Erik blazed by in a flying fury of pedaling legs.
Erik’s brain couldn’t come up with a sensible answer and instead shrieked, “Skin nibbler!” over his shoulder. He cranked his pedals like all the demons of Asgard were chasing him. He plowed over rocks and roots and bumps on the track that he normally would have steered away from. He wasn’t considering his path or consciously using any of the techniques he’d practiced with the team. Erik’s whole body agreed to work together with one purpose: GO. FAST.
So he went. Fast.
He pedaled and pedaled and pedaled some more. He panted the word no until he lost his voice and weak whining nuh sounds came out of his throat. No amount of distance seemed safe enough. Mr. Nubbins was so . . . so . . . squirrelly. What if he had somehow kept up by leaping behind him from tree to tree? Eventually, Erik got a stitch in his side so painful he had to give his body a break. He squeezed his brakes to a gradual stop. Breath hitching in his throat, he very slowly turned to look over his shoulder.
There was no sign of the Road of Fire portion of the course anymore. He’d already plowed through a big portion of the Rollercoaster Rock Chute and was deep in the forest. He could hear the sounds of other riders’ bear bells jingling in the distance, but didn’t see anyone—or anything—on the course behind him.
His breath continued hitching in this throat, and his face crumpled in on itself. He sniffed a big wet sniff. He knew he was about twelve seconds away from crying.
He took out his map-tourniquet to wipe his cheeks as a few tears started to mix with the rivulets of sweat. His fast-pumping heart intensified his feelings of the deep unfairness of life and pretty soon his eyes were producing more fluid than his sweat glands. He stood there, side aching, fists clenched around the tourniquet, letting it all drip out.
The bear bell jingle was getting closer. Erik looked back up the trail and saw Lily and Fuzz coming his way. He didn’t want them to see him like this, the freaking-out Erik instead of the capable, bike-handling Erik, so he rubbed his face fast with the tourniquet and gulped down some big breaths of air, expanding his belly as Brunhilde was always whapping him on the head to remind him to do. After about five big gulps, the stitch in his side began to fade. He took few slower swigs of air, squishing down his inner turmoil so it wouldn’t seem like anything other than normal mountain-biker sweating and flushing.
“Everything okay?” Lily hailed him as she pulled up.
“Dude, you almost cut MY hair, you went by me so fast!” said Fuzz, stopping next to Lily. “I didn’t know if we could catch up to you, but here we are. I’m doing super great. I’ve barely fallen off my bike at all. My mom’s never going to believe I found a sport I can actually compete in.” He grinned with pride and took a drink of water. “Were you waiting for us? Are you taking a breather before the Deadfall of Doom?”
Erik exhaled slowly. He was not going to retrace his path to the starting line, not with that fast-moving, nut-crunching, tail-twitching creature somewhere back there. He looked around doubtfully. If he faked his stomach upset and lay down now, he might be a sitting duck for Mr. Nubbins. Continuing on to the Deadfall seemed like the only option.
“Taking a breather, right,” he answered. “But I think I’m going to walk from here on out.” Coach Gary had said he and Fuzz could walk the whole course if things got hairy. Well, things had gotten furry.
“Oh. Okay,” Fuzz said. “Should Lily and I stick with you?” He started to dismount, and Erik had to catch Fuzz’s arm to steady him when his shoelace caught on his water bottle cage.
Before Erik could answer, Lily tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and said, “I don’t wanna walk, I wanna ride, Fuzz! C’mon! Bye, Erik! We’ll save some cookies for you!” She continued rolling down the hill.
“It’s fine, Fuzz, I mean, I’m fine,” Erik answered. “You go on with Lily. I guess I’m following Coach Gary’s rules, you know, slow and steady and keeping my teeth in my face?”
Fuzz said, “You’re sure? I don’t mind keeping you company.” He worked to untangle his shoelace with one hand, clearly struggling to suppress his eagerness to ride on.
“I’m sure. Really. Don’t lose our team’s head start,” Erik said.
“Okay,” Fuzz said, relief plain on his face. “See you at Cookies for the Praiseworthy! I’ll save you something yummy.” His shoelace finally free, he pedaled after Lily.
Erik pushed his Hair Shack Hero bike down the track behind Fuzz and muttered to himself, “Great job, Erik. Now you’re going to have to finish this stupid race. Brunhilde couldn’t have planned a better exposure therapy nightmare than all this if she’d tried.”
Wait a second, a little voice inside of him piped up. What if she DID plan it? What if she and Sven were working together to create a Squirrel-Infused Explosion of Exposure Therapy? And if she did . . . maybe I just made it through. Maybe I just survived exposure therapy.
The whole idea made him pause. Brunhilde had said exposure therapy meant he’d be forced to confront his phobias until his body and mind got exhausted. Then he’d somehow be cured. He checked his body. It sure felt messed up and exhausted in a lot of ways. His legs were quivering, his throat and lungs still felt raspy.
Am I cured? he wondered. Fricka’s socks, did Brunhilde do it? How can I tell? He tried to look inside himself to see if his katagelophobia, atychiphobia, enissophobia, or sciurophobia were still in there, but he didn’t know if he was doing it right. It felt like he was trying to see the back of his head using two mirrors.
He decided there was no way to know for sure right now. He’d just have to keep walking and see what Brunhilde had to say about all this when he was done with the race.
Erik trudged on, pulling his bike to the side of the course whenever he heard bear bells behind him. Dozens of racers passed him. Each time a Lake Park All-Stars teammate saw him, they stopped to ask if he needed anything. He reassured them he was playing it safe. He passed an official at the bottom of the Rollercoaster Rock Chute and an EMT in the first part of the Deadfall of Doom.
“All’s well, my young friend?” the EMT asked.
“I’m fine, taking it easy,” Erik responded for the twentieth time, walking on. He no longer felt like he had to squish down any urge to cry. He also didn’t feel scared. Instead, he felt useless. He had practiced right here with his team a few days before. Coach Gary had pointed out how well Erik handled his bike when riding over some roots. Pedaling a bike down Bonebreaker Hill was exciting. Walking a bike down Bonebreaker Hill was not. He dragged his bike over a log, thinking how much easier it was to ride atop two wheels than to lug them along like deadweight.
Maybe I could ride a tiny little bit of the course, the voice in his head piped up again. To test to see if I cured my phobias with that Exposure Therapy Sprint of Terror?
That idea didn’t motivate him much.
Or mainly because it’s fun? He nodded to himself and climbed into the saddle again.
It was a great relief to roll instead of plod through the Deadfall of Doom. Erik completed two bunny hops in a row without a pause for the first time and was pretty pleased with himself as he entered the section Brunhilde had labeled Bears Take the Hindmost. Here, he caught up with several riders who had paused to take a drink of water.
“Howzit?” asked one boy from a group with flower-covered jerseys that said ALOHA. “You from that team that got a chance to practice here? Any advice on getting through this area?”
Erik pulled out his damp map-tourniquet and explained how every rider needed to take it slow with the boulders, keeping their wrists loose. He also pointed out a few narrow pathways to navigate between some large rocks. And he told them how no one should follow the dangerous old trail to Deadman’s Cliff and to stay away from the big yellow X of caution tape.
Erik agreed and folded up the map, tucking it back in his pocket. The ALOHA riders headed down the slope and he trailed more slowly behind, following his own advice as vigilantly as possible. He glanced up at the bear caves a couple of times, hoping against hope not to see a brown furry lump making its way down the cliff side. So far, no lumps.
Erik approached one of the trickiest points, where a channel scarcely big enough for a bike to pass through wound between two boulders as tall as his shoulders. He focused intensely on keeping his front wheel straight, looking a scant couple of feet down the trail to scan for obstacles. Once he was almost through, he lifted his eyes to check what the next section of trail had in store.
A gray furry shape poked out from behind a rock.
Erik stopped dead and stopped breathing.
At first, his bear-primed mind yelled, It’s a sniffing bear snout! Bears take the hindmost! That’s YOU! But then the animal hopped into the path, and Erik realized he’d mistaken a little head with black eyes for a snout. He saw its ratty tail. Its missing ear.
Him? How? His lungs deflated, as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. How on earth could Mr. Nubbins be HERE? It can’t be him. He’s far behind. Lots of squirrels must have missing ears, right? He stared at the squirrel’s one good ear and thought he could still see Sven’s saliva drying on it. His heart skipped a beat, then made up for it by pounding twice as fast.
A new thought rose up. Does it actually MATTER whether I’m facing Mr. Nubbins or some other rodent? That animal right there is undoubtedly, completely, tail-twitchingly, one hundred percent SQUIRREL.
Erik vs. Everything Page 13