“I already knew that.”
“Look, I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she said, sounding sweet.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Bye.”
The girl must have still had some feelings for me if she didn’t want to see me get wasted. I didn’t know how I was going to get to the pit tomorrow with my parents hovering, but I had no choice.
Anton was going to eat dirt, not me.
chapter six
I may have been a no-show for the Sunday challenge, but my parents decided to visit friends who lived a two-hour drive away. They left after lunch. My father did not verbally remind me about the bike, but he held his index finger up to my face. I knew what he meant.
My Kawasaki started like a dream. “Thank you, Jonathan,” I said out loud. I would ask him to teach me about tuning a bike. How did a guy who had lived in the woods for forty years know about tuning a motorcycle engine?
I heard Anton’s bike and some other two-stroke motorbikes before I turned off the road to the gravel pit. The gate was open, and I drove down the rutted driveway and studied what lay before me. The pit was a massive scar on the land, for sure. Anton’s father had been hauling gravel, stones and dirt out of here for ten years or more. The place must have been twenty acres—a wasteland. In the middle were four giant mounds of loose stone, sand and gravel. The sides of the pit were over forty feet tall and were near vertical. I wondered how this was allowed. Can you just buy a chunk of land, cut down the trees and sell it until there was nothing left but bedrock? Was that legal? Obviously the answer to both questions was yes.
Two of Anton’s friends were here. I saw Billy’s jazzed-up Honda and Deano’s Suzuki, and Anton was on his Yamaha. Anton was working a controlled fishtailing run through an area that was all sand. Then he, followed by his friends, launched up one of the smaller mounds of gravel.
I’d been here on my bike before. I sneaked in a few evenings just before dark and tried my hand at this game. It was sure different than biking in the forest. It gave me a thrill, but it just wasn’t me. Riding a trail in the woods was all about the unexpected challenges and what I liked to call creative control.
This was raw, push-your-bike-to-the-limits power thrashing.
I waited for Anton to spot me. When he did, he and Billy and Deano all wrenched their accelerators with a twist of their wrists and sped toward me.
Billy and Deano just nodded. Anton flipped up his faceplate so I could see the evil grin on his ugly face. “Surprised you came,” he said.
“Nothing better to do,” I countered.
“When’s the last time you climbed?”
“It’s been a while,” I said.
“We’ll go easy on you,” he lied.
“What’s the deal?”
“You do whatever I do,” said Anton.
“And?”
“And nothing,” he said. “Just trying to prove a point.”
“And the point is?”
Anton laughed. This was all to make me look bad. Make me feel like a loser. It was that simple.
Anton didn’t answer. He flipped his faceplate down and headed for the first mound. I tightened my chin strap, revved the engine and raced after him. I gave it as much speed as I could across the floor of the pit, then downshifted as I climbed the first hill. I was unaccustomed to the loose sand and stone beneath me. I hunched forward, tight to my bike, trying to keep my back wheel from slipping too far sideways. The dust cloud from Anton’s bike was just ahead of me. I wasn’t exactly right behind him, but I was holding my own.
I didn’t realize I was near the top, but suddenly my front wheel was chewing air. I nearly lost it as I started to descend with my throttle open way too wide. My hands barely hanging on to the grips. I shifted my weight to the back of the bike and braked with too much pressure on the front brake. The rear of the bike lifted off the ground, and I was sure I was about to flip over the handlebars. I eased up on the front brake and slowed by downshifting all the way to first. I skidded sideways and I was down, my injured leg grinding against the loose stones.
But instinct kicked in. Or maybe my bike saved me. It righted itself, and I found myself carving back into a controlled descent. Not fast now. Just controlled.
When I got down onto the flat, Anton was waiting.
“You’re a little rough around the edges,” Anton said.
“Just getting warmed up,” I said.
“Ready?”
I nodded.
The second hill was higher. And more difficult. There were sections of pure sand. My bike didn’t really have the tires or the power for this, but I fishtailed my way upward. I didn’t like it. I felt like I was bullying my bike. Not a good thing. Then there was a section of scree that you had to jimmy across on an angle. There was no way to get traction going straight up on the loose stones. At the top I was ready for the front wheel to kiss air. I readjusted my balance and my speed without a touch on the front brake. I was over the top.
I was pleased with myself and ready to take on the third and highest of the mounds when Anton raced off in a another direction. He headed toward the south wall of the gravel pit and turned off his bike.
I caught up with him, turned off my bike and took my helmet off for a gulp of fresh air.
He nodded at the carved wall of the pit. It was the height of a four-story building and much steeper than the dirt mounds.
“Whaddaya think?” Anton asked.
Billy and Deano were here now. They reminded me of vultures. Billy pulled out his cell phone and took a picture of me. I guess I looked a little shaken. The name of the game, after all, was humiliation.
Something in me snapped. I decided to go first. I strapped my helmet into place, and lit up the bike, heading away from the wall of the pit. I figured they’d all think I chickened out. Billy was probably capturing a video clip of me on the run. If so, I hope he got the part where I powered into my one-eighty and raced back at them full throttle.
I should have known better. My bike didn’t have the power for such a steep climb. But Anton had gotten to me. I floored it straight toward Anton, who was still hovering over his Yamaha. I squeezed between him and Billy. And I do mean squeezed. You should have seen the look on their faces.
As I approached the steep edge of the pit wall, I noticed that there were no tire tracks on the face of it. No one had been practicing here. Maybe no one had ever tried such an impossible climb.
But it was too late to reconsider.
I hunched forward, geared down and climbed. The engine never faltered, even though I was pushing the bike too hard. Halfway up the climb, the sane part of my brain told me to bail.
I wasn’t looking up though, and I wasn’t looking down. I put my trust in the sound of the engine giving everything it had. I was certain this was way too steep. There was no way I was going to make it. I was about to flip backward and go ass over handlebars down the embankment. Just when I thought I had lost it for sure, I was over the top. I had made it.
As the front tire came down on horizontal ground, I wasn’t at all prepared. The rear wheel dug in, and I didn’t cut the throttle quick enough. I veered sharp to the left and came down on my uninjured leg. The bike was spinning around as if it wanted to pull me back down over the edge.
I killed the engine and assessed the damage.
I stood up. Nothing hurt. I picked up my bike. It looked okay.
Then I tried to remember how to breathe.
I popped off my helmet and smiled down at the three other bikers, shocked at how far down they were. They hadn’t started the climb yet.
I just stood there for a minute, letting my heart slow down. Billy and Deano looked like they were saying something to Anton. Why wasn’t he going for it?
Then it clicked. They had planned to lure me into doing the wall. They had tricked me into going first. And I fell for it. Anton had no intention of doing it himself.
Billy and Deano stayed put, but Anton put on his helmet and s
tarted to ride. I wanted to shout something, but I didn’t. I wondered what the story would be at school now. But I knew it would be lies.
Anton stopped. He fiddled with something on his bike, and then he turned and raced toward me. He had decided to go for it.
Because I was so high up, it all looked like slow motion. I heard Deano yell, “Don’t do it!” I watched Anton hit the steep climb and power higher and higher. At first it looked like he was going to make it. But I think all that extra power was working against him. He couldn’t control the bike on something this steep.
He lost it about three-quarters of the way up.
And I mean really lost it.
Just as the front wheel came free of the hill and the bike started to flip over backward, Anton let go and threw himself off to the side. He clawed at the stones and dirt as the bike tumbled downward. Anton kept grabbing at the dirt to slow his descent, but it wasn’t pretty.
His bike stalled and bounced off a couple of rocks on the way down, landing in a smashed-up pile at the bottom. Anton had good instinct. He kept clawing at the side of the hill as he slid until he made it to the bottom. After a few seconds, he stood up, and I could tell he wasn’t seriously injured.
The he threw his helmet on the ground. As Billy and Deano came to help him, he walked to his truly mangled bike and let out a loud curse. His words were like music to my ears. “My father’s gonna kill me.”
The forest looked peaceful and inviting. I saw a path that would lead to the logging road. I started up my bike, and it purred like a kitten. I gently eased onto the path and headed home.
chapter seven
My bike was back in the shed, and I was washed and presentable when my parents returned. They weren’t even suspicious. Once I realized I had gotten away with that, I vowed I’d leave the bike alone for the rest of the week.
I wondered if Deano or Billy would tell other kids what had happened at the pit. I had bragging rights, but I wasn’t going to use them. At school I kept expecting someone to at least ask me what happened, but no one did.
Despite her Saturday night phone call, Sonia had avoided me on Monday and Tuesday. I finally saw her Wednesday. “Thanks again for the heads-up,” I said quietly.
She looked straight ahead as we walked.
“What?” I asked.
“You didn’t have to go and do what you did,” she said angrily.
“What did I do?”
“Sabotaged Anton’s bike. Billy said you put something in the gas.”
I was stunned. “That’s a lie.”
She stopped. “Well, Anton’s bike is mangled. How do you explain that?”
“He challenged me. I beat him. He pushed his limits and got wasted. It wasn’t my idea, and I didn’t do anything to his bike.”
She didn’t believe me. “I feel like I betrayed him,” she said. And then she walked away.
I wanted to find Deano and Billy and kick them both in the head. I wanted to confront Anton. I was so mad.
But I didn’t. I knew that whatever I said or did, Anton would make me look bad. It wouldn’t be hard with Billy and Deano to back him up. So, instead, I went to class and fumed. I thought about Jonathan as I sat through history class. And I thought, yeah, maybe I’ll move out in the woods and become a hermit like him. Then I won’t have to deal with this crap.
I left school quickly to avoid Anton. I didn’t trust myself. I actually ran out the front door. If I couldn’t bike today, maybe running would help. I thought about going to see Jonathan. I felt like he was my only friend now. But it was too far, and I didn’t have enough daylight.
When I was three blocks from school, I phoned Kyle on my cell.
“Josh,” he said. “What do you have, like, an evil twin or something?”
“You heard the stor y that Anton’s spreading?”
“What was it? Sugar?”
“It was nothing. I did nothing. I beat the creep, fair and square.”
There was a pause. “I believe you,” he said. “I really do. But no one else does.”
“I don’t really care,” I said. “But Kyle, you said there were ATVers who are friends with the hermit. Who are they?”
“Um, Carl Wilson for one. And Gabe’s father, Dwight. Oh, and Dave Jenkins, who works at the hardware store.”
“Thanks, Kyle. Thanks a lot.” I hung up.
Dave Jenkins was standing behind a counter at the back of the store. He was a cheerful middle-aged man with a messy head of hair. I introduced myself and told him about my encounter with Jonathan. At first he seemed wary.
“You weren’t harassing him last month?”
“No, why? What happened?”
“Some teenage kids went back there on a Friday night on four-wheelers and tried to scare the poor guy. They had big lights and were shining them into his shack. Jonathan had heard them coming, of course. He was up in a tree. I guess he got fed up with them and jumped out of the tree and scared the crap out of them. Still, it shook him up. He doesn’t like anyone invading his privacy.”
“I can understand that.”
“You say he fixed your bike?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t believe it.”
“He must like you. He doesn’t trust many people.”
“Neither do I,” I said. “But is he…okay?”
“Depends on what you mean by okay. He still thinks that if he leaves the woods he’ll be arrested.”
“For deserting?”
“Yeah. But that’s not going to happen. Vietnam is long over. And he did what a man had to do. He walked away from a dirty war.”
“But not before he killed a hundred men.”
“I don’t know if anyone kept count. He was a soldier though. It was his job.”
“You’ve known him for a long time, right?” I asked.
“Yep. Me and Dwight and Carl. We take supplies out to him sometimes. Flour, rice. Basic stuff.”
“What could I do to help him?”
“He doesn’t like people fussing over him. But if he’s already let you in his shack, he must think you’re okay. But Josh, I gotta warn you. He’s unpredictable—scared silly of anyone in a uniform. And helicopters. He goes nuts if he even hears a helicopter. Something to do with the war, I guess.”
“Thanks for the information.”
“Get to know him. But don’t talk about him to other kids. He’s been out in those woods for forty years. People, if they think about him at all, think he’s a freak. But they leave him alone. That’s what he needs.” Dave paused. “But he could use a friend. And maybe you’re it. But you gotta be a friend on his terms.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
Dave smiled and looked at me. “Did he offer you any eel?”
“Yep.”
He smiled wider. “Did you eat it?”
“Tried.”
“You’ll get used to it,” he said.
chapter eight
I didn’t ride my bike for the rest of the week. My parents were happy. The rumor about me pouring sugar in Anton’s gas tank found its way to my mom.
“You wouldn’t do a thing like that, would you?” she asked.
“Of course not,” I told her. But I could tell by her frown that she wasn’t convinced. And that really ticked me off. I couldn’t believe that my own mother would think I’d do such a thing.
While I washed the dishes Thursday evening, I asked my father, “Is it Sunday or Saturday that I’m allowed back on my bike?”
“Well, technically Sunday, but I guess you can have it for the weekend.”
Friday I went to the store and bought five pounds of brown rice, a bag of potatoes, cooking oil and flour. Basics. Just what a hermit might need. I also fixed up my bike—cleaned the dust out of the air filter, washed the bike and even touched up some of the scratches.
First thing Saturday morning, I left a note for my sleeping parents, got on the bike with the supplies strapped behind me and headed into the woods. It felt so good to be back on my bike. Every inch of
me felt alive.
I passed a couple of men in camouflage jackets on ATVs with racks holding rifles. Hunting season had started. This was not good news for someone who likes to hang out in the woods. And there was one other kid on a two-stroke Suzuki that was spewing smoke. I let them pass me so that no one was around when I pulled off-trail toward Jonathan’s shack. I even stopped and went back to cover up my tracks. I didn’t think Jonathan would appreciate other visitors.
I pulled up to the cabin and turned off my bike. At first it seemed like nobody was around. I knocked on the door. Nothing.
I sat down on a strange-looking chair made from alder branches woven together and lashed with strips of bark. It was obvious the hermit had built it.
About an hour passed and then I heard something move behind me. I turned around and there he was. He had a handful of some kind of roots. He stared at me like he didn’t know who I was.
“Hi, Jonathan,” I said.
He squinted, and I realized that there must be something wrong with his eyesight.
“Joshua,” he finally said. “I was beginning to think I had made you up. I imagine things sometimes.”
“No, I’m real.”
“Did you see any hunters?” he asked warily.
“Yeah. Two guys on a four-wheeler. Back on the trail.”
“I don’t like hunters. The guns, you know. And they kill things they don’t eat.”
“How come they are allowed to hunt here?” I asked. “I thought it was some kind of wildlife preserve.”
“That’s the government for ya. They preserve the wild living things for the hunters to kill. Those are the kind of rules governments come up with.” He squinted again.
“You okay?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Can’t see as good as I used to. Getting old, I guess.”
I grabbed the pack off my bike and handed it to him. “Supplies,” I said. He didn’t open the pack right away. He looked stunned. “Check it out. I hope it’s stuff you can use.”
He slowly undid the straps and looked in. Then he set the pack on the ground and took out the five pounds of rice. A monster grin crept over his face. “How’d you know it was my birthday?”
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