Motocross Madness

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “The trail does seem pretty rough,” Frank replied, “even for cross-country. It could be that most Enduros are like this, though. Jamal told us they were difficult.”

  “There’s tough, and then there’s deadly,” Joe said.

  “Well, let’s make sure that this ride falls into the first category, rather than the second.”

  Joe barely heard his brother’s reply. Something in the course seemed to be interfering with their radio transmissions.

  In the next few minutes, they passed a couple of bikes by the side of the road. One had blown a tire, and the other had a bent front fork. The riders seemed uninjured, and both of them were talking on cell phones to race officials.

  Frank and Joe glanced warily at each other; the course had claimed two more “victims.”

  The race leaders came into sight ahead of the brothers. Jamal and Elizabeth rode nearly side by side, dueling for third place. Hawk and Paco raced in front of them, still a good distance ahead. Marissa Hayday rode in fifth place, between the Hardys and the pack at the front.,

  “I don’t know whether to be happy that the trail is slowing the leaders down, or worried about what might be coming next,” Joe called to Frank.

  Frank didn’t hear him, though. He’d pulled ahead of his brother, temporarily out of radio range. Frank gunned his engine and headed for the leaders.

  Joe bore down and accelerated as fast as he dared over the bumpy, irregular trail.

  Soon the course widened out, and the trees fell away for a moment. Jamal took advantage of the change and accelerated past Elizabeth, taking a clear hold on third place.

  Marissa Hayday made a move too, closing in on Navarro’s shiny motorcycle. Hayday swung out, heading for a stretch of wide, leaf-covered clearing, trying to loop around Navarro and Jamal, who were both sticking to the rocky trail.

  Navarro braked when Hayday cut in front of her. But Hayday’s wheels skidded on a slippery pile of leaves at the trail’s edge. She fell, though not very hard. Elizabeth Navarro accelerated away from her. Frank and Joe zipped past Hayday as she picked herself and her bike out of the bracken.

  A bump in the road sent Jamal into the air. He fought hard and managed to control the motorcycle as it came down. Navarro scooted sideways, avoiding the rock that had nearly unseated Jamal. She closed in and passed him. The two raced nose to tail for a while.

  Following Elizabeth’s course, both Frank and Joe avoided the bump.

  The trail narrowed in again, forcing Jamal to abandon his attempt to pass Navarro as they went uphill. Ahead, Hawk and Paco dipped out of sight as they crested the rise.

  Elizabeth and Jamal struggled up the slope as the course suddenly became mired with sand and gravel.

  Frank saw his chance and took it. While Navarro and Jamal skidded on the loose earth, he cut to the right, up a rocky outcropping With a surge of speed, he passed both his friend and the rider in yellow and white.

  “Yeah! Go Frank!” Joe cried. Then his wheels caught on the same scree that had slowed the other two. He was too far behind to use the route that Frank had taken. He kept touching his feet down to steady himself.

  Elizabeth’s gleaming motorcycle climbed up on the rocks and surged forward once more. Jamal did the same, keeping close to Navarro’s back tire. Joe kept plodding forward, kicking up a cloud of dust as he went.

  Frank, Elizabeth, and Jamal disappeared over the top of the rise. Joe glanced back. No other racers were in sight; even Hayday had been lost from view. Joe knew that, if he was to have any chance, he couldn’t let the distance between himself and the leaders get any larger.

  He struggled up the hill until he could finally use the rocky path that Frank and the others had discovered. His bike’s tires found better traction, and he zoomed up the wooded hill. As he reached the top, he saw Frank leading the others at the bottom of the next valley.

  The woods opened out a little below. The trail widened only to narrow again as it headed toward the top of the next rise. Joe gunned his engine and shot downhill.

  At the bottom of the decline, Jamal and Elizabeth jockeyed for position. As they reached the short straightaway before the next rise, a battered blue-gray motorcycle surged out of the woods toward them. Two people in cycling leathers rode on the back of the bike.

  Jamal and Elizabeth didn’t see the intruders zooming toward them. The gloved hand of the intruder riding on the back of the bike held a long, stout stick.

  Joe watched in horror as the helmeted rider raised the log like a baseball bat. The intruder took aim on the unsuspecting Jamal.

  “Jamal, look out!” Joe cried, knowing full well that his friend couldn’t possibly hear him.

  The intruder surged into Jamal and Elizabeth as they rode side by side across the narrow trail. Neither one of them saw their attacker coming.

  The enemy bike roared into them from the side, like a wolf pouncing on unsuspecting deer. The rider on the back of the bike swung the big stick toward Navarro’s midsection.

  At the last second Elizabeth noticed the tree limb and turned her bike slightly. But Jamal was in the way, and the two of them bumped hard. The stick missed both of them, but Jamal’s and Elizabeth’s machines got tangled. They careened off the course and into a nearby clearing. Their bikes twisted around as they went, as though caught in a frantic dance. Jamal and Elizabeth fought to maintain control, but both bikes went down.

  Jamal hit first, landing in a pile of leaves by the side of the clearing. His borrowed bike skidded to the ground beside him. Elizabeth sailed head over heels and landed hard at the base of a tree. Her shiny new bike kept going and smacked into a boulder protruding from the ground nearby.

  Jamal rolled over and tried to stand; Elizabeth lay flat on her back, totally still.

  13 Not Out of the Woods Yet

  * * *

  “You rats!” Joe cried as he raced downhill toward the scene of the ambush. “Frank! Frank, come back!”

  No reply came from Joe’s radio. His brother was too far up the next rise to hear him. Neither Frank nor the other leaders had noticed the attack in the valley below.

  The thieves stopped their bike amid the fallen riders. The helmeted intruder in back got off their motorcycle, went over to Jamal, and kicked him in the chest. Jamal went down.

  Joe charged down the slope and into the small clearing. The ambushers turned as they heard him coming, but they reacted too late. Joe stuck out his left arm, looking to clothesline the dismounted bandit.

  The thief ducked and tried to bring up his big stick. Joe grabbed the lumber and jerked it out of the bandits hand. The man lurched away as the younger Hardy swung the piece of wood at the ambusher’s helmeted head.

  The bandit who was still on the motorcycle surged forward. His front tire slammed into the side of Joe’s bike, barely missing the younger Hardy’s leg. Both intruders were about the same size as Joe; both wore identical black riding leathers and beat-up gray helmets.

  Joe’s bike skidded to a halt, and the impact jarred the piece of lumber from his hand. He kicked out at the intruder’s motorcycle and caught the bandit’s left thigh. The ambusher yelped and drove away from the younger Hardy.

  The second intruder grabbed Jamal’s motorcycle and started it up. As his partner circled around Joe, he grabbed the stick again and began to circle as well.

  Joe and his bike stood caught between the circling bikers. Jamal, stunned, lay nearby, and Elizabeth still wasn’t moving. With the bandits zooming around him, Joe had no good way to protect himself.

  The biker with the tree limb laughed. “Looks like we may have even more bikes to add to our collection!” he said. The other bandit laughed as well. The bright, high tones in the voice told Joe that a woman lurked under that battered helmet.

  “Just try it!” Joe cried. The man on Jamal’s borrowed cycle raised the stick and came in on the unarmed teen. Joe braced himself for the impact.

  “Joe, duck!” Frank’s cry crackled over Joe’s helmet radio.

  Jo
e ducked. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Frank’s motorcycle running up the back of a nearby boulder.

  Frank’s bike soared through the air, right at the log-wielding ambusher. The bandit turned, but not in time. Frank soared high over Joe’s bike. His back wheel clipped the bandit’s helmet on the way past.

  The ambusher with the tree limb toppled sideways, off Jamal’s borrowed bike. He hit the ground hard, and the bike crashed into a nearby tree.

  Joe gunned his throttle and surged toward the startled second intruder. His front wheel hit her machine just in front of the engine, barely missing the woman’s leg.

  The woman pitched sideways, and her bike landed on top of her, pinning her to a pile of leaves. Neither she nor the man with the stick got up.

  Joe and Frank got off their bikes.

  “Man, am I glad you showed up,” Joe said to his brother.

  “I just happened to look back at the top of the next ridge,” Frank said. “I spotted the trouble and turned back to help.”

  “We’re lucky you did, or all three of us would have been toast,” Joe said.

  The Hardys stripped off their belts and tied the ambushers’ hands with them. Then they went to see about their friends.

  “I’m okay,” Jamal said woozily. “Did you get the number of the train that hit me?”

  “We got their numbers, all right,” Joe said. “Whoever they are, they’ll have a lot of explaining to do down at the police station. How’s Elizabeth, Frank?”

  The elder Hardy shook his head. “She’s pretty badly hurt,” he said. “She’s babbling, not making much sense.”

  Joe and Jamal gathered around the injured teen. She looked up at them with her big blue eyes, but didn’t seem to see them. “Watch the mud on the upslopes,” she said. “They won’t be expecting that . . . make sure . . . whatever you do . . . make it past the bridge first . . . home free, then. All the way to the winners’ circle . . . make it past the bridge first. . . .”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Joe asked.

  “Let’s call for help,” Frank said. He pulled out his race-issued field phone and dialed the authorities. He relayed the information about Elizabeth’s injury and their location, then hung up. “That’s it,” he said. “There’s nothing more we can do but keep her comfortable and wait.”

  “Well, I want to see who these bandits are,” Joe said. “They’ve caused an awful lot of trouble during this race.”

  Jamal glared at them. “You can say that again. Look at the bike Mr. Howard loaned me! It’s a mess! There’s no way I can finish the race now, and it’s all because of these goons.”

  Frank and Joe knelt beside their unconscious prisoners and removed the bandits’ helmets.

  “Jules Kendallson and Sylvia Short,” Frank said, not sounding too surprised.

  “I thought they seemed a bit out of their league in this competition,” Joe said. “Now we know why.”

  “These guys only entered the race to steal?” Jamal asked.

  “That’s about the size of it,” Frank said. “It looks like they faked their injuries to get out of the final day of the competition. I thought Jules’s bloodstained bandage seemed a little . . . convenient. These two could definitely have been behind the robbery attempts at the raceway.”

  “Before you showed up, Frank, they said something about having even more bikes to add to their collection,” Joe said. “At the time, I thought it might have been Trent Howard under one of those helmets. But I guess these two were just planning to stealing motorcycles for profit.”

  “That makes sense,” Frank said. “Jamal’s bike was a collectible, and Elizabeth’s was practically new.”

  “The police will deal with these guys now,” Joe said. “After this stunt, they won’t be doing any more stealing for a long time.”

  “It looks like I won’t be stealing any wins, either,” Jamal said forlornly, “even if the cops find my original bike now. But that doesn’t mean you guys have to quit. Someone needs to stay with Elizabeth, and since my bike is messed up, it might as well be me.”

  As the friends talked, several racers had zoomed past the clearing on the nearby trail. Until that moment, neither Hardy had even considered getting back into the race. Frank and Joe looked at each other, torn between staying with their friend and finishing the Enduro.

  “Look,” Jamal said, “if none of us finishes, then it’s like these goons have achieved some kind of victory. Don’t give them that satisfaction. I’m sure the rescue copter is on the way. Get back into the race and try to win. Do it for me and for Elizabeth, and for all the others they messed with. Most of all, though, do it for Corri.”

  Joe and Frank slowly nodded. “Yeah, okay,” Joe said. “When you put it that way . . .”

  He and Frank got back on their bikes and started the engines. With one last glance at Jamal and Elizabeth, they headed back to the trail and rejoined the race.

  They’d lost a lot of time during the ambush. And as they raced through the woods, the idea of catching any of the leaders seemed pretty hopeless. Despite that, both brothers remained determined to finish the race.

  As they went, they passed two riders who had passed them during the ambush. Their bikes were mired in mud just above the bottom of steep hills.

  The Hardys went around them and kept pressing forward. Marissa Hayday waved to the brothers as they passed her—she’d fallen victim to a mud slick as well. As Frank and Joe reached the top of the next rise, they spotted the leaders once more.

  “They must have had some real trouble,” Joe called to Frank.

  “Look at the mud on their uniforms,” Frank replied. “I think Paco and Hawk got stuck too.”

  Mud covered both the leaders and their bikes.

  “Lucky for us that Hayday and the rest got stuck first, otherwise we might have hit that muck as well,” Joe said.

  “Luck or not, we have a chance to catch up,” Frank said. He twisted his throttle to full speed and rocketed downhill. Joe did the same.

  Below, the trail leveled out as it approached an old wooden bridge spanning a ravine. The gulch was only about forty feet deep, but there didn’t seem to be any other way across it besides the bridge. Parts of the railing had fallen off, but the bridge otherwise seemed in fairly good repair. Its stout, wooden legs reached down the side of the adjoining hills, into the stream bed at the bottom of the defile.

  The brothers reached the bridge just as Paco and Hawk raced off the other side.

  The span was fifty yards wide, and too narrow for more than one bike to cross at a time. Frank went first, with Joe following right on his fender. The slats of the old bridge creaked and clattered as the brothers zoomed over them. They reduced their speed a bit to make sure they didn’t fall off the sides.

  “It’s a long way down,” Joe said as they crossed, eyeing one of the spots where the bridge’s railing had rotted away.

  Just as he said it, the span suddenly lurched under them.

  “Look out!” Frank cried. “The bridge is collapsing!”

  14 A Long Way Down

  * * *

  “Keep going!” Joe called. “It’s our only chance!”

  He and Frank barreled ahead full throttle. The bridge’s timbers continued to groan. Suddenly, the span broke.

  Ancient boards toppled off the trestle near the far side of the gorge. Shards of wood tumbled down the slope and landed in the stream far below.

  “Jump for it!” Frank shouted.

  He and Joe both angled for a break in the rail.

  They soared through it, one after another, just as the bridge broke away beneath them. With a final snap, the aged structure twisted and toppled toward the stream below. The ground shook with a thundering crash as the entire span landed at the bottom of the ravine.

  Joe and Frank hit the far side of the gorge just below the top of the muddy slope. The incline ahead of them was steep, but no steeper than parts of the trail had been before.

  Their wheels spun and kic
ked dirt into the air. The brothers pushed with their feet, but it didn’t help much. The rim of the gorge, only a few yards above them, seemed miles away.

  “Don’t give up!” Frank cried.

  “Like I intended to fall down this hill?” Joe shot back.

  Twisting their throttles full open, they surged up the slope. They barely stayed upright, but they reached the top. Both brothers paused at the edge, caught their breath, and looked at the wreckage below.

  “That could have been us,” Joe said.

  Frank nodded. “It’s lucky no one else was on the bridge when it collapsed. Someone could have been killed here.”

  “There have been a lot of places like that on the course,” Joe said. “And much of the time, the folks who could have been killed were us.”

  “You’re not suggesting that the Fernandezes laid out the course to thin the competition?” Frank said.

  “I know, unlikely,” Joe replied. “But this definitely seems out-of-bounds, even for an Enduro race.” He twisted his throttle and shot down the trail once more. Frank followed behind.

  They went as fast as they could but only caught a glimpse of the leaders ahead of them. As they came out of the woods, back onto the dirt raceway at the Fernandez Cycle Track, they spotted Paco and Hawk streaking toward the finish line.

  The two battled head-to-head around the curves and over the whoopdedoos, then roared toward the final straightaway. At the last second, Paco surged forward, beating Amber Hawk by inches. The crowd in the grandstand went wild. Corrine Fernandez’s voice boomed over the PA system: “And it’s Fernandez by a nose! Paco wins! Paco wins!”

  Each of the brothers smiled beneath his helmet, but they still had most of a lap to complete. The Hardys dueled side by side, going as fast as they could. Their arduous trek had tired them both, but neither was willing to admit defeat.

  They glanced briefly at each other as they flashed over the finish line. Exhausted, both brothers skidded to a halt.