TWICE VICTORIOUS

by Judith B. Glad

  There was no Jacuzzi at the hotel in Stanley. She dosed herself with ibuprofen and did as little walking as possible. The next morning, there was no time to ride before they traveled back to the start line, for which she gave thanks. Right now all she could think of was conserving her strength and pampering her hip.

  "How are you doing?" she asked Becky, after the warmup. They were lined up to sign in for Stage 2, and she noticed that her teammate was limping.

  "Sore," Becky admitted. "My knee stiffened up last night, even though I put ice on it. But I'll be fine, as soon as we get started."

  Since Stell knew that no racer ever admitted she was hurting before a race, she nodded. If her knee had been ready to fall off, Becky would have claimed to be fine. So would Stell. Her hip hadn't given a twinge this morning, but even if it had, she would have raced. She felt alert and filled with energy. I am going to win.

  Today's stage started out uphill and stayed that way for almost thirty-five miles. Stell started off conservatively, knowing that on long climbs she was probably the equal of anyone in the race. Portland might be low elevation, but there weren't many cities in the U.S. with more opportunities to ride steep hills. She had spent hours every day in the West Hills since February, pushing herself to climb, climb climb.

  She got through the first sprint in good time, although she refused to worry about where she placed in it. She was staying with the peloton, and that was all that mattered. Truda was beside her when they passed the pylon marking the mountain sprint. Stell shut out everything else and concentrated on going as fast as she could. At the end of the sprint, she and Truda were side by side and well ahead of the rest of the pack. They exchanged a grin, then returned to competition.

  From there on the route went downhill. Stell and Truda were joined by half a dozen other riders, including Kat Thompson. The pace picked up, until the rest were left far behind. When they approached the finish line, Stell, Truda, and Kat were side by side.

  With all her energy, all her determination, Stell pushed, until she pulled ahead of Truda a wheel's length, then a bike-length. The finish line was a hundred yards ahead, then fifty. Kat was behind her now, and the way was clear. The crowd was screaming her name.

  She lifted her arms, coasted across the finish line nearly two meters ahead of Kat. I won!

  Unbelieving, she slowed and circled around to return to the finish line. The peloton was crossing it now, strung out over nearly a half mile. She stayed on her bike until the crowd started streaming into the road, then dismounted. Immediately she was surrounded. She smiled and said, over and over, "Yes, thank you. It was a good race. Thank you. Thank you."

  She doubted if anyone heard her.

  The support crew set the platforms up. The tenth through the fourth place finishers were announced, each name greeted by cheers.

  "Third place, Kat Thompson."

  Kat stepped onto the platform and lowered her head so the race official could place the bronze medal ribbon around her next. Her cheeks were shiny, as if with tears. Then Truda stepped onto the opposite platform as her name was called. She grinned widely when she was awarded the silver, waved her hands above her head. The crowd went wild. Truda was a universal favorite, a thoroughly nice person.

  Stell heard her name called. For a moment, her legs refused to move. Helping hands assisted her to step onto the higher platform in the center. The race official lifted the bright ribbon and she bent her head. As he placed it around her neck, the crowd cheered again, louder than before. Accepting the bouquet, she tried to voice her thanks, but found that her throat was tight, her voice gone. She smiled, and felt her lower lip quiver.

  Before she could pull herself together, the official stepped back and Kat grabbed her in a tight hug. Truda's arms went around her too and the three of them clung together, laughing, crying, grinning hysterically.

  Reluctantly she released the others, who stepped aside. The three of them lined up for photos, then for the TV cameraman. Stell wanted to wipe the tear tracks from her cheeks, but her hands were full of flowers. Maybe they won't show. But she knew they would, shiny paths down both cheeks. Oh, well.

  * * * *

  Adam wasn't able to get a room in Stanley. Everything was occupied by members of the race teams, media people, or those who'd reserved their spaces a year in advance. So he went to Sun Valley, where a merely shocking bribe got him a room in an out-of-the-way motel. Tomorrow they would be coming over Galena Summit, a sixty-three mile ride, with a thirteen hundred foot climb--not as much as today, but steeper, topping out at close to nine thousand feet. The fellow in the motel office had said that some years the racers ran into snow, but this year the day was expected to be clear and dry. But cold.

  He hoped the team jerseys KIWANDA had provided would be warm enough.

  As soon as he was settled in his room, he plugged in his laptop and went online. The daily real-time reports kept him up-to-date, but were less than satisfactory. They ran about seven minutes behind the action, and were, to say the least, terse.

  10:45 A.M. The peloton is approaching the summit. A breakaway group leads by five seconds.

  If he had the programming of these reports, they'd be a lot more informative. How was she doing?

  10:46 A.M. Erika Conrad, of Sweden, holds the stage record, at 2:27:03.

  "My God!" he whispered. "That's an average speed of twenty-four miles an hour!" He'd driven over Galena Summit a few years ago. No matter which way you climbed to the top, it was steep and winding. Considering how slow they'd be going on the climb, their downhill speed would probably approach fifty or sixty miles an hour.

  What if she falls?

  He moved the mouse, intending to disconnect, then realized he couldn't. He had to know, no matter what happened.

  10:52 A.M. Truda Niebauer pulled ahead during the sprint. Becky Armstrong is close behind, with the rest of the breakaway group about ten seconds back.

  "So tell us who's in it, damn you!"

  The mouse jumped when his fist hit the table.

  * * * *

  The team lodging in Ketchum included access to a swimming pool, hot tub, sauna and exercise room. There was even a masseuse, but she was booked up by the time Stell thought about making an appointment. She alternated stints in the pool with rests in the sauna until her hip stopped aching, then went to her room to nap until dinner.

  After dinner Milt had arranged a promo op for the team. She smiled and answered questions and did her best to be charming. It was good business. Although Stell didn't plan to race past the age of thirty-five, many bicycle racers continued on into their forties. Whatever she did to help her teammates make a good impression with the media would help them.

  A movement in the back of the room caught her eye. When the crowd shifted, she caught sight of a tall man, blond, familiar.

  It can't be!

  But it was. The reporter in front of him moved and she saw his face clearly. Adam!

  For the rest of the session, she was hardly aware of what she was saying. At last the media was packing up to leave. She wasn't sure whether to run away or wait and see why he was here.

  That's a pretty silly question. He's here because he's a sponsor. When she'd first seen the KIWANDA logo on another team's jerseys, she'd been stunned. Then she'd gotten angry. Why were they sponsoring the competition? Only when she thought about it did she remember that the Rozinski-KIWANDA team had been formed just this past January. Of course they couldn't have sponsored her team, which had been under the same sponsorship for years. At the most, all KIWANDA could have done was be a supporting sponsor. Somehow she couldn't imagine Adam settling for second place, not even in advertising.

  He was coming toward her. For one crazy moment, she wanted to run. For another, she wanted to rush into his arms.

  She did neither. "Hello, Adam. What brings you here?"

  He didn't return her smile. "You."

  "How nice. It's good to see you."

  "Cut the crap, Stell. You know you'd
rather see the devil himself." He took her arm, applied gentle pressure. "Can we go somewhere it's quieter. I want to talk to you."

  Oh, how she wanted to go with him! Anywhere. As long as they could be alone. As long as he would hold her in his arms, where she'd wanted to be for so long.

  Good sense won. "No, Adam, I won't talk to you. Not now."

  His hand on her elbow tightened, then released. "You won't?"

  Stell shook her head. "Not until after the race." Feeling as if every word sliced her tongue as it slid off, she said, "Go away Adam. I can't afford to be distracted."

  Chapter Fourteen

  SPRINT: a sudden burst of speed

  With two events the next day, Adam found his time was occupied doing all the social and promotional things a sponsor did. Breakfast with the other sponsors of the Rozinski-KIWANDA team, meeting the team members and assuring them that KIWANDA was proud to be their sponsor, even though thus far their performance had been less than impressive.

  "How long have you been racing?" Adam asked one very young woman who didn't look big enough to ride a full-size bike.

  "I started last year," she admitted, looking almost sheepish.

  "Well then, don't worry about it. You'll be better by the end of the season, and better still by next summer. These things take time." He had noticed her yesterday, riding doggedly far back of the pack, her face set in lines of strain and pain. But she hadn't given up, and she'd crossed the finish line only seconds ahead of the time when she would have been disqualified from the race. He was impressed, and made a bet with himself that she'd be winning races in a year or two.

  How many years had it taken him to get to top fencing performance? Far longer than she'd been riding bicycles, he'd wager, even if she'd started at an early age.

  Then it was time for the next Stage. There were two today, Time Trials this morning, then a grueling Circuit Race this afternoon. He hoped Stell hadn't lied about the condition of her leg.

  The Time Trials were interesting, but not very exciting. Mostly he couldn't see the cyclists until they came close. He was at the finish line, three crooked miles from the start and almost three hundred feet higher. Not knowing anything about the rules didn't help either. Why were only two cyclists riding at a time? He decided to ask, but forgot everything when he heard Stell's name on the loudspeaker.

  Then he saw her. In her team's distinctive neon pink jersey and bright green shorts, she was far more visible than her opponent who wore red, blue and green. The pair of riders seemed to be about even. Both were standing on their pedals, their bodies vertical and their bikes swaying widely from side to side as they climbed the hill. Stell had told him once that riding that way gave more power on a climb. It looked pretty dangerous to him.

  It seemed to him that the women crossed the finish line at the same instant, but a moment later he heard, "Rider #56, Carolle Furukawa, beats Rider #19, Stell McCray."

  He turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment on her face.

  * * * *

  Stell and Becky went exploring after the Time Trial. Although both had been to Sun Valley before, this was the first time they'd had time to look around.

  "I remember this place from 'White Christmas,'" Stell said, gazing at the skating rink. "It was my mother's favorite movie, and we used to watch it about once a year."

  "I'd sure like to ski here," Becky said. "My boyfriend spent one winter in Ketchum and said that if the snow's good, there's no place better."

  "You should both try Mount Hood. The season's longer and the snow is usually good." Stell turned around and they walked back toward the front of the Lodge. As they reached the steps, a man emerged from the wide front door.

  "Good race," Adam said, his smile looking forced. "Congratulations on your finish," he said to Becky, who had taken fourth. "How's your leg doing?" he asked Stell.

  "Just fine," she told him, irritated to know he must have seen her poor showing. She'd missed placing in the top ten by three-hundredths of a second. "Thanks for asking," she added, knowing she'd sounded surly. Ex-lover or not, Adam was still a sponsor, and it wouldn't do to be rude to him.

  "Is that him?" Becky said, once Adam was out of earshot. "The man you were seeing last winter?"

  Stell had regretted telling Becky about Adam almost as soon as she had done so. Oh, she hadn't revealed how close their relationship was, but when Becky commented on the attractive jerseys worn by the Rozinski-KIWANDA team, she had admitted dating KIWANDA's owner for a while. That's what you get for bragging about your important acquaintances. "Yes," she said. "That's him."

  Becky turned around to look after Adam. "He's got a great body. What does he do?"

  Knowing exactly what her teammate meant, Stell said. "He used to fence. I doubt he does anything more than work out in a gym nowadays."

  "Fence? Like with swords? My oldest brother used to do that. He made it to the Nationals one year."

  Despite her lingering disappointment with him, Stell wanted to boast of Adam's accomplishments. "Adam won the World Cup once and was in the top three places twice. He was on the Olympic Team until he qui-- Until he had to drop out due to family problems."

  "Oh, wow! I know who he is, then. Adam Vander-- Vander-something. He was a really big name in fencing, oh, years and years ago. My brother used to talk about him like he was God himself. He and his best friend were the best in the world. It was a real tragedy when he quit."

  Becky's admiration bothered Stell. It didn't seem right, somehow, that a man who'd given up his dream for such a trivial reason should still be remembered. "Yes, it was too bad." The real tragedy was that Adam still believed he'd done the right thing.

  They walked back to their lodgings, stopping to peer into shop windows and once to watch a man go by whom both recognized.

  "Did you see?" Becky asked, eyes wide, once he was past.

  "I did. He's every bit as gorgeous in person as he is in the movies." Stell patted her chest. "Be still my heart."

  "I love his movies. They're always so thrilling. I feel like I've ridden a fast Century after watching one."

  "Did you see the one where he was on the hijacked plane?"

  For the rest of their walk, they compared action-hero movie stars.

  The Circuit Race that evening was as demanding as any short race Stell had ever ridden. The course was less than two miles long, but it started at the top of a hill and went down for more than half the distance. The climb back up to the Start-Finish line was short and steep, the steepest yet. She stayed with the pack, but when some of the other riders made a breakaway, she simply could not summon the energy to go with them. At the first sprint, she drew a little ahead of the peloton, then dropped back on the uphill pull.

  On the eleventh lap--she thought it was the eleventh--the bell rang for a Prime. Although her legs already felt leaden, she crouched lower and pushed as hard as she could. By the time she was at the bottom of the hill, she was in the lead. Then the climb began. She stood on the pedals, not willing to give away her advantage. When she topped the hill, she was still out in front. The surge of adrenaline that had carried her this far got her over the top, then it dissipated like fog in a hot wind. She felt her control slip, felt the front wheel wobble. In a moment the pack had surrounded her.

  I am going to win. I am going to win.

  This time her mantra did her no good. Each pedal stroke was work, as if she and her bicycle had suddenly doubled or trebled in weight. One after another the riders behind her drew even, passed. At the bottom, she was among the last to round the traffic circle.

  She barely made it up the hill.

  "Go, Stell! You can do it!"

  Adam. He was watching her. Watching her fail. Summoning strength from some previously untapped source, she lowered her head, breathed from her belly, and spun faster. By the end of the lap, she was back in the middle of the pack, just in time for the next sprint.

  The rest of the race might just as well have happened to someone else. Stell fi
nished in thirty-seventh place. But I finished.

  She coasted down the hill one last time. As she rounded the corner at the bottom, she heard her number over the loudspeaker. Oh, God! Of all days to get called for the drug test. She rode to the medical bus and leaned her bike against the wall. Two other riders were ahead of her, so she sat on the grass and waited her turn.

  "Are you okay?"

  Looking up was an effort. "Just tired," she told the EMT who stood at the foot of the steps. "I had a low energy day, I guess."

  "That's tough," he said. "Hope tomorrow's better."

  So do I. She smiled, wondering if it looked as strained as it felt. When her name was called a few seconds later, she stood, feeling her exhaustion in every muscle and tendon. The three steps up into the bus seemed like three hundred.

  Fortunately the hotel wasn't far from where the medical bus was parked. Stell walked her bike there, took the elevator upstairs. She should have washed the bike first, but right now she didn't care how dusty it was. She'd get up early tomorrow and do it.

  Becky wasn't in the room. That's when Stell remembered that there was some sort of local event tonight. She dug out the schedule Milt had given her. Darn! I've got less than a half hour to get ready. All riders were required to attend the local events, to schmooze with the fans and the sponsors, try to impress the media people, and generally make themselves agreeable.

  As she stripped her sweat-soaked jersey and shorts off, she wondered how much charm she had left tonight.

  * * * *

  Adam was worried about Stell. Yesterday her showing in the Circuit Race had been abysmal. At the finish, he had read pain on her face, exhaustion in her movements. Would she be able to continue? There were still eight stages to go. Eight days of racing ahead, without a break. Two of the stages were hill climbs, a couple were almost a hundred miles long.

  Although he was at the start line almost an hour before the race, he didn't see Stell until she was introduced at the sign-in. Was this the same woman who had been drooping and haggard after the Circuit Race? She was vibrant! Her smile was easy, her movements loose and strong. She stood in a crowd of racers, laughing at something one had said, looking young and carefree.