by Jeff Stone
“Nah, man, during the school year. Check it—Jake’s folks are both busy lawyers, right? Mine are both doctors. Every day after school, a van used to pick us and a couple other kids up and take us to the local BMX track. We’d do our homework, eat a snack, and then ride until our folks got us. We all got real good at racing and doing BMX tricks and stuff, but your boy Jake here was always the best.”
“Now you’re the one who’s exaggerating,” I said.
“It’s true,” Raffi said, raising his right hand. “I swear.”
I glanced at his long-sleeved racing jersey. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many sponsor logos on a BMX jersey before. You pro now?”
“Not yet. Sponsors are flowing all kinds of gear to kids nowadays, even if they’re not pro. I bet you’d be pro by now if you’d stuck with racing.”
“Hey, you kids!” someone announced with a bullhorn. “Clear the track! We have another heat to run.”
“Sorry!” we yelled back, hurrying away from the finish line with Raffi in tow. We headed for the concession stand, where Ryan’s mother was waiting for us. She was hard to miss. Her body got messed up from taking some kind of bad experimental weight-loss drug, and no matter how little she ate, she kept gaining weight. I felt bad for her.
Ryan’s mom frowned. “I was wondering when you kids would show up. Jake could probably use a little hydration after all that jumping. I hear the air is drier in the upper atmosphere.”
“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Vanderhausen,” I said. “I got carried away out there.”
“It is what it is, Jake. Turn in your bike and your gear. You’re done. We’re leaving now.”
“But, Mom!” Ryan said. “We all planned to rent bikes and do a race or two for fun.”
“Absolutely not,” Ryan’s mom said. “Jake’s parents signed the waiver, but I have yet to hear back from Phoenix’s grandfather. I won’t put my name on the line for him in a place like this, and I certainly won’t put my name on the line for you. You could die on that track! I’ve been involved in cycling most of my adult life, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Most tracks aren’t this crazy, Mrs. Vanderhausen,” I said.
“Which, I suppose, is why you wanted to ride it?”
I shrugged.
“Come on, Mom,” Ryan said.
“No,” she replied. “You probably shouldn’t be riding yet, anyway. Hok said that you should take it easy.”
“I’m fine,” Ryan said. “I told you last night, I haven’t felt this good in months.”
“My answer is still no.”
Ryan shook his head. “What about Hú Dié? She’s eighteen.”
Ryan’s mom laughed. “That’s what her passport says, but I know better. Now all of you, say goodbye to your new friend … what’s your name, son?”
“Raffi,” he said, sticking out his hand. “Jake is an old friend of mine. We used to ride BMX together down in Southern California.”
Ryan’s mom shook Raffi’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Raffi. Where are your parents?”
“Working. My dad’s delivering a baby and my mom’s doing an emergency appendectomy. This place is my home away from home. I have a question, ma’am. If these guys can’t ride the track, would you consider letting them ride a small loop?”
“What do you mean?”
Raffi gestured toward a patch of woods a few hundred yards away, across an open farm field. “There’s a short trail over there. You don’t need a waiver or anything.”
“How short?” Ryan’s mom asked.
“It’s a seventy-five-yard loop. The track we just rode is more than five hundred yards long.”
“Are there jumps?”
“Not exactly,” Raffi said. “It’s a pump track. You don’t even pedal when you ride it.”
“How big are the—what do you call them—whoops?”
“Different sizes, but the biggest one is smaller than the smallest roller me and Jake just raced over.”
Ryan’s mom wiped her sweaty brow and checked her watch. “I don’t know, this place is farther outside of the city than I originally thought.”
“Please, Mom?” Ryan said. “It will be a chance for me to stretch my legs. I’ll prove to you that I’m fine. I haven’t been on any kind of bike since the road bike race.”
Ryan’s mom sighed. “I suppose I could give you kids an hour, if you want. We should still have time to shower back at the hotel and get to the airport. We’ve already said our goodbyes.”
“All right!” Ryan said. “What do you guys think?”
“I’ll do it,” I said.
“I would love to,” Hú Dié said. “I have never been on a pump track.”
Phoenix didn’t answer. He was staring across the parking lot at something.
I poked him. “Phoenix?”
“Huh?” Phoenix said. “Oh, I’ve never been on a pump track, either, but I’m game.”
“Then it’s settled,” Ryan said. “Let’s rent some bikes and gear and get rolling!”
Ryan’s mom decided to wait in her rental van while the rest of us jumped on our rented BMX bikes and followed Raffi across the field, toward the patch of woods.
The bumpy ground reminded me why BMX bikes weren’t as popular as mountain bikes. A mountain bike’s larger diameter tires rolled over bumps much easier and acted kind of like shock absorbers. More than that, many mountain bikes had actual shock absorbers built into the front forks and sometimes even the rear-wheel supports. It really smoothed out the ride. But what a mountain bike gained in smoothness, it lacked in sprinting speed and handling. A completely rigid BMX bike allowed all of your power to be transferred to the rear tire, and the smaller bike size and tire diameter meant that you could maneuver it a million times better. I’d take speed and handling over a cushy ride any day.
We reached the woods, and I saw that it was larger than I’d imagined. It was a couple hundred yards square and surrounded on all sides by farm fields. Raffi said that the woods and farm fields were owned by the same people who owned the BMX track. They wanted to create a place for kids to hang out away from the city, so they sectioned off part of their farm and used their farming equipment to push dirt around until they came up with the Olympic-like track he and I had just ridden. It became so popular, the people then built the roll-in ramp with a starting gate, concession stand, bleachers, and bike rental shack. Running it took more than a hundred volunteers.
I wasn’t sure if the landowners knew about the pump track in the woods, and I wasn’t about to ask Raffi if they knew, either. Back in the day, Raffi and I had trespassed more than once to build dirt jumps in parks or on abandoned property.
We followed Raffi along a well-worn trail fifty yards or so into the trees. Then we stopped beside the most beautifully sculpted mounds of dirt I’d ever laid eyes on.
Hú Dié gasped. “This is amazing!”
“You built this?” I asked.
“Yep,” Raffi said proudly. “I had some help from my crew, though.”
I was blown away. The pump track looked better than some of the ones I’d seen on DVDs and online videos, including those built by professional BMX trail builders. The lines were amazing, and the flow was so strong it just about sucked you in. Some of the rollers were chill, while others were so steep that they could only be called ramps. Each takeoff ramp had a perfectly positioned landing ramp, and it was clear that a person could pump endless loops around this thing without ever pedaling.
“I can’t believe it,” Ryan said. “What did you use to build it?”
Raffi reached down and lifted an old canvas tarp. “These. Nothing but hand shovels, rakes, and watering cans.”
“Incredible,” Phoenix said. “How many people did it take?”
“About a dozen kids. I’m the oldest, just turned fifteen. I’m basically the ringleader. This track is my design.”
“You da man, Raffi!” I said. “How long have you been working on it?”
“Almost two
years. That’s when my folks and I moved up here.”
“Sweet,” I said. “Who else knows about this place?”
“No one, and we want to keep it that way. You’re the first outsiders to come here. We especially don’t want adults to see it. Fortunately, the landowners are old and don’t get around much. They know we have a trail out here, but I doubt they’ve ever bothered to come look at it.”
“I’ll bet you a million dollars they’ve never seen it,” I said. “This is totally rad! Later!”
I rolled my bike onto the track.
“Hold up,” Raffi said. “We’ve got to water it down first.”
I looked back at him. “Why?”
“It’s way dry today, man. You remember the drill down in So Cal, right? Hours of packing dirt for a few minutes of riding.”
“But we do not have hours,” Hú Dié said.
“No worries,” Raffi said. “There’s a stream close by. If we each grab a watering can, we’ll be done in no time.”
I sighed and rolled my bike back off of the track. “Fine, let’s get to work.”
Twenty minutes later, we’d finished watering and packing the pump track. We were ready to rock.
I hit the track first, with Raffi close behind. We were going to ride in a line, each rider doing a different trick than the next. It was fun to do and looked really cool.
Hú Dié and Ryan decided to sit on the sidelines and watch a few laps before joining in, while Phoenix said that he had to pee. He tromped off into the woods to take care of his business.
The pump track was all that I’d hoped it would be, and more. The low rollers and berms turned out to be perfect practice for BMX racing, while the steep seven-foot-tall ramps provided more than enough height to pull off wicked tricks like 360-degree tail whips, bar spins, and tabletops. Halfway around my first lap, I was ready to sell my clunky, oversized mountain bike and buy a sweet little BMX bike. At the end of one full lap, I swore I would build a track just like this the minute we got home.
After Raffi and I did a few laps, Hú Dié was ready to join us. Ryan wasn’t sure he could handle all of the jumps, so he said that he would just watch for now. Hú Dié rolled onto the track, and—
“OOOWWWWW!”
Someone screamed in pain.
The scream stopped abruptly, and a deep voice boomed in a foreign language that sounded like Chinese.
“Tíngzhí!”
Raffi and I skidded to a stop, while Hú Dié ditched her bike without even bothering to slow down. She shouted, “Phoenix!”
“Was that Chinese?” I asked.
“Yes!” Hú. Dié replied as she ran over to the pile of tools.
“What did he say?”
“Stop!” she replied, grabbing a flathead shovel and taking off in the direction of the cry.
Raffi looked at me. “Is that girl crazy?”
“You have no idea, bro,” I said, and dropped my bike. “Come on!”
I ran over to the tools, grabbed a shovel, and headed after Hú Dié. Ryan had already grabbed a rake and was running after her. Raffi dropped his bike and grabbed a rake, too.
“I’ll stay here and guard our stuff!” Raffi yelled.
“Good idea!” I shouted back.
Hú Dié, Ryan, and I ran at least a hundred yards before I realized that we’d reached the opposite end of the woods. There was a black Jeep parked where the woods met a plowed field. Two Asian men were getting out of the Jeep. One guy was short and fat; the other was a gigantic bodybuilder type. Both wore suits and ties despite the heat. They left their doors open, and I could hear their air conditioner fan blasting from within the vehicle.
CRACK!
I swiveled my head toward the sound and saw that Hú Dié was holding just her shovel’s wooden handle. She’d wedged the flat blade into the fork of a thick tree trunk and snapped the long handle clean off. She leaped out of the woods, into the field, and began to spin the shovel handle in front of her like a kung fu staff.
“Phoenix!” Hú Dié shouted. “Where are you?”
“Over here!” he replied from somewhere behind us. “I’m fine! I’m still in the woods! Watch out for the guys in the Jeep! I just took out a dude who was creeping around, spying on us.”
The bodybuilder guy slid his hand beneath his suit jacket and pulled out a pistol. He took a step toward Phoenix’s voice, and Hú Dié attacked.
She covered the distance between her and the huge guy in three long strides. He took a giant step backward to create some space but bumped into the open Jeep door behind him. It caused him to stumble for an instant, and that was all the time Hú Dié needed.
Quick as lightning, she brought the spinning piece of wood down on the guy’s meaty gun hand. He swore and dropped the weapon, and Hú Dié swung the shovel handle like a baseball bat at the guy’s head.
The guy raised one massive forearm to block the blow, and the shovel handle snapped in half, leaving Hú Dié with only three feet of splintered wood. The guy reached for her throat, and she stabbed at his huge hand with the splintered end. He pulled his hand back, pivoting away from her; then I heard Ryan shout.
I looked over to see him sprinting toward the big guy. Ryan raised his rake and brought it down hard, slashing at the man’s head.
The big guy caught the rake’s shaft with both hands. He yanked at the rake, but Ryan held fast. Ryan was crazy strong, too. As the two of them wrestled for control of the rake, Hú Dié raised both of her forearms and smashed them into the sides of the big guy’s head as if she were crushing a walnut with a nutcracker.
The big guy went down. He wasn’t getting back up anytime soon, either. Hú Dié’s full name means Iron Butterfly in Chinese, and she practiced some sort of Iron Kung Fu training on her forearms.
The short, fat guy on the other side of the Jeep said something in Chinese. His voice was deep and calm, and his tone sounded like he was used to being the boss.
Hú Dié seemed to relax a little bit.
Ryan and I turned to her.
“What did he say?” Ryan asked.
“He, uh, complimented me,” she replied. “He said maybe he should consider hiring me as his bodyguard instead of the guy I just knocked out.”
The fat guy nodded and gestured toward the woods.
“Oh, no!” I said. “Phoenix!”
The three of us hurried into the trees while the fat guy followed, taking his time.
We found Phoenix on the ground with his legs wrapped tightly around the torso of a skinny, young Asian man. The man was lying on his side, and Phoenix was latched to his back. He wore a fancy suit like the other two guys, and his gold wire-rimmed glasses were askew. He was trying to talk, but he wasn’t having much success because Phoenix had one arm wrapped around his throat from behind in a chokehold.
Raffi was standing next to Phoenix, looking totally confused. He stared at me in disbelief. “This Phoenix kid is as crazy as Hú Dié!”
I nodded. “Pretty much. I thought you were going to stay with the bikes.”
“I heard more shouts and decided to come help,” Raffi said, holding his rake. “It looks like you all have things under control, though. What the heck is going on?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “Phoenix?”
“Don’t ask me,” Phoenix replied. “I busted this guy creeping up on us. I didn’t really have to pee, you know. I saw three Asian dudes in that Jeep back by the track. They looked suspicious and seemed to be watching us. I thought I heard a vehicle driving through the field while we were working on the pump track, so I snuck back here and found this clown. He looked like he was going for a knife, so I took him down. It turned out to be a fancy pen, but whatever. I was going to let him go, but then I heard you guys fighting someone. I figured I’d hang on to him, just in case.”
“Hú Dié knocked one of the dudes out,” I said. “He was a bodyguard. The other one is right behind us.”
The fat guy ambled over and grinned. He pointed at Phoenix, then said somet
hing in Chinese to Hú Dié.
Hú Dié sighed and turned to Phoenix. “Nice going. You just choked out the only one who speaks English.”
“He’s not completely out,” Phoenix said. “He’s just …”
Phoenix glanced at the skinny man and frowned. He had indeed slipped into unconsciousness. Phoenix let go of the man’s neck, and his head lolled to one side. At least he was still breathing. His narrow chest expanded and contracted beneath his suit jacket. Phoenix unlatched his legs from around the man’s midsection and stood.
The fat guy said something else in Chinese.
Hú Dié looked at him suspiciously; then she looked at us. “This guy says that while he is impressed with our kung fu skills, he and the other two men mean us no harm.”
“Then why were they sneaking up on us?” Phoenix asked.
Hú Dié repeated the question in Chinese, and the fat guy gave her a long answer. Hú Dié’s face took on a look of concern. When he finished talking, he smiled broadly—at me.
“What?” I said.
“He says that he is the boss,” Hú Dié explained. “He apologizes for approaching us in this manner. He actually came to talk with you, Jake.”
“Me? Why?”
“He wants you to race for him. In China.”
I chuckled. “That’s whacked. Tell him no thanks.”
Hú Dié shook her head. “You do not understand. He told me who he is, and who he works for. I think it would be in your best interest to hear what the other guy has to say in English once he wakes up.”
“Why?”
Hú Dié swallowed hard. “Because it is supposedly an offer you cannot refuse.”
I stared at Hú Dié, trying my best to figure out what she was saying. An offer I cannot refuse?
Dragon bone immediately came to mind, and my heart sank. I’d thought that junk was out of my life for good. But what else could it be? These guys were Chinese, after all.
Dragon bone was a freaky Chinese herbal medicine made from ground-up fossils that people claimed came from actual dragons. It supposedly gave you superhuman powers. As if.
The crazy thing was, though, Ryan had taken some in order to make him ride faster, and it really did make him go faster—until it nearly killed him. It nearly killed a bunch of other people, too, including Phoenix’s grandfather. The poor guy has to take it every day, because if he ever stops, he’ll die. The last thing I wanted was to get mixed up with the stuff.