by Jeff Stone
Ling must have read my mind. “So many different uses for bicycles, no?”
“Yeah. I had no idea. I think I get what you and Mr. Chang are trying to do. People here think of bikes as a way to get around, not as a sport.”
“Exactly. I thought it would make more sense to you once you arrived.”
The minivan slowed for a traffic light, and I saw a huge line of people in front of a small shop. Ling powered down his window, and the oily smell of fried food wafted into the minivan. It wasn’t very appetizing.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Shanghai is famous for its dumplings, and this place is one of the best.”
“No thanks,” I said. “I ate on the plane.”
“Have you ever tried traditional Shanghai dumplings?”
“No.”
“Well, do yourself a favor and try some while you are here. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like xiao long bao. People eat them at any hour, even for breakfast.”
“Okay,” I said.
We continued on through the night, merging onto another highway. I couldn’t help noticing a long row of illuminated billboards that looked like the ones you’d see in America, except these all had Chinese writing on them. It was surreal, because several of the billboards featured American actors selling different products. Then there was a billboard for—
“What the—” I began, but couldn’t find the words to continue.
Ling laughed. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
One of the billboards was a picture of me, along with Phoenix, Ryan, and Hú Dié road bike racing in California. It also showed four Chinese guys who were about the same age as us. They were dressed in matching road cycling uniforms and posed as a team. One of the riders was standing in front of the others as if he were the leader. He was really skinny and had messy black hair as well as close-set, beady eyes. He looked like a psychopath. I had no idea what the billboard said because, of course, the text was in Chinese.
“You and your friends are big in China,” Ling said, still laughing. “Literally! What do you think?”
“It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen!” I said, pulling my cell phone from my pocket. The phone didn’t work in China, but the camera would. I snapped off a couple shots before we passed the billboard.
“Seriously,” I said. “That’s nuts.”
“No, that’s the publicity machine in motion. Several of those billboards have gone up on both sides of the river. By race time, half of Shanghai will recognize your face.”
I put my phone away. “Who is the other team?”
“Yes, the other team,” Ling said. “I suppose we should discuss that. When you told us that you needed time to consider our offer, Mr. Chang realized that he needed a backup plan. Specifically, he needed a backup team. He made some phone calls, and our trainers put together a group of talented young Chinese riders. They wouldn’t settle for playing the role of backup, though, and Mr. Chang decided that there really was no reason for that. They should be allowed to compete alongside you and your friends as well as the entire field of adult participants. May the best team win, if you will. If the young Chinese team wins, well … then you and your friends will go home and they will be the official poster team. If you win, then you will have the opportunity to stay, if you’d like, and be the poster team.”
I felt my jaws clench. “That wasn’t the deal.”
“Your indecision forced this upon us, Jake. Moreover, it is uncertain whether US officials will even allow Phoenix and Ryan to travel here in time to participate in the race. We needed a contingency plan, and now we have one.”
“So what happens to me if Phoenix and Ryan can’t make it? I’m out?”
“No. Mr. Chang has decided that you and Hú Dié will still race as a team.”
“Just the two of us?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll get killed!” I said, nearly jumping out of my seat. “Two against four isn’t a fair fight in a road bike race. They’ll have twice as many people to rotate through their lead rider position. The lead rider pulls the entire team along in the slipstream.”
Ling shrugged. “It isn’t our fault that two of your riders may not be able to attend the race. Perhaps you now see the wisdom of Mr. Chang’s decision to assemble a second team of youths.”
I rolled my eyes, but Ling was right. From their perspective, it was a good plan. From mine, however, it meant that my trip here was pointless as far as the race was concerned if Phoenix and Ryan wouldn’t be here in time. Hú Dié might as well not even bother to show up if it was just going to be the two of us. I had to contact her as soon as possible. Maybe we could figure out a way for me to go to Kaifeng, drop off the dragon bone, and then head straight home. There was no point in just her and me racing. We’d make fools of ourselves in front of twenty-three million people.
I sat back and turned away from Ling. I doubted this trip could get much worse.
We arrived at the apartment complex, and it was just like Ling said it would be. It was very new and very large, and the neighborhood looked just like America. Even the street and building signs were in English.
I grabbed my backpack, and Ling grabbed my suitcase. Ling said a few words in Chinese to the driver, and the driver left.
“Keep an eye out for that same minivan tomorrow morning at seven a.m. sharp,” Ling told me. “There may be a different driver, but the vehicle will not change. You will return here around eight p.m. That will be your daily schedule right up to the race, seven a.m. to eight p.m.”
“That’s a long day,” I said.
“You have much work to do. Being a celebrity is a round-the-clock job.”
I sighed and followed Ling up a set of concrete stairs into the apartment complex. We passed through a set of gates, and I saw that the complex was even bigger than I’d imagined from the street. At least twenty ten-story buildings surrounded a huge courtyard.
“How many apartments are in here?” I asked.
“Several thousand. It’s the largest concentration of Westerners in China. You’ll feel right at home.”
We entered one of the ten-story buildings, and Ling nodded to a security guard stationed beside the front door. The security guard nodded back.
“Jake, this is Loo,” Ling said. “Loo, meet Jake.”
Loo grinned. “Hello, Jake,” he said in perfect English. “Pleased to meet you. I saw your picture next to the highway.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Loo. That picture is kind of embarrassing.”
“No, it’s not,” Loo said. “Maybe if your legs were shaved like most adult cyclists’, then it would be embarrassing.”
I laughed. “Good point.”
Ling turned to me. “If you have any questions about the neighborhood or need anything, Loo is your man.”
“Got it,” I said.
“This is building number three. Your apartment is number one. Just remember three-oh-one.”
“Check,” I said. “Three-oh-one.”
We climbed up an interior staircase to a long hallway that had several different apartment doors. Mine was the first one. Ling inserted a key into the lock, and we went in.
The apartment was pretty sweet. It had new furniture and was bigger than most people’s houses. In fact, it looked like you could fit at least two of Phoenix’s house inside here.
“There are three large bedrooms and three bathrooms,” Ling said. “You will share this apartment with Phoenix and Ryan, if they make it. Hú Dié will stay in apartment three-oh-two across the hall. It’s smaller than this one, but not by much. Residents here receive visits every other day from an ayee, or housekeeper. Many of the ayees also cook and will buy your groceries, too, if you give them money in advance. Your ayee is a wonderful chef, and we’ve made arrangements for her to have plenty of money to keep you well fed.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
He handed me his key and said, “I have copies of this key back at my office, so no funny business. I will be making periodi
c checks on you. I am also arranging to get a cell phone for you to stay connected with me at all times. I should have it by tomorrow. Do you have any questions?”
“Um, I don’t think so. This is all coming at me kind of fast.”
Ling placed a hand on my shoulder. “It is, Jake, but you’ll be fine. I realize that you’ve probably never been in a situation like this before. Your parents told me that when you trained in California, you lived with your coach as well as your friends. Would you like me to make arrangements to have an adult stay with you?”
“No, I’m good. I’ll be even better after a nap. I didn’t sleep a whole lot on the plane.”
“I’ll leave you, then. There is just one more thing before I go. Follow me out to the balcony.”
I tossed my backpack onto the living room couch and stepped outside with Ling through a sliding glass door. The night air was still warm and humid. I couldn’t see a single star, but the lights from restaurants and shops shone just a few hundred yards away across a park.
“Well?” Ling asked. “What do you think?”
“It’s a great view,” I said.
Ling chuckled. “You must be tired, Jake. I wasn’t referring to the view.” He pointed to the opposite end of the balcony. “Look.”
I turned around and saw a brand-new BMX bike. It looked to be the perfect size for me, and was tricked out with more bling than a jewelry store. A skater-style helmet hung from the handlebars—exactly the type freestyle BMX riders wore.
“For me?” I asked.
Ling nodded. “A little token of our appreciation for you coming here. It’s yours to take back to the States, if you’d like. We realize that road bike racing isn’t your passion. Saturday’s race is simply a means of gaining you notoriety. If you stay, you will choose which type or types of cycling you want to promote.”
I couldn’t help grinning. “Thanks a ton! I wasn’t expecting this.”
“I’m glad to see you smiling,” Ling said. “Let me leave on that note. There is an alarm clock in each bedroom. Make sure you set one and leave yourself plenty of time to get ready in the morning. As I said, you will be picked up downstairs at seven a.m. sharp. You will be driven to our makeshift training facility about half an hour away. Mr. Chang is looking for a permanent location for a mega-training center, but that will take a couple more weeks of scouting. The good news is, things happen very fast in China. Once a location is found, we’ll be up and running in just a few months. You’re here at a very exciting time, Jake.”
“No doubt,” I said. “Are you going to be there tomorrow?”
“Of course. I will be there every day, and—”
I heard a snicker, and a voice said, “This is my competition? Ha!”
I whipped around and saw someone standing on the neighboring balcony. The person flipped on an outside light, and I realized that it was the lead kid of the Chinese team that Mr. Chang had put together to challenge us. The kid looked even skinnier and more psychotic in real life.
“Good evening, Keng,” Ling said. “This is Jake.”
“I know who it is,” Keng replied, and he spat over the balcony to the sidewalk below.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Yep,” Keng replied. “It is nice for you to meet me. Too bad I don’t feel the same way about meeting you. Why don’t you go back where you came from?”
I felt my eyes narrow. “I—”
“That is enough, Keng,” Ling interrupted. “Don’t take the bait, Jake. Keng is just trying to rile you up.”
“I know that, and he’s doing a pretty good job,” I said, “but I don’t mind a little trash talk. It just motivates me more. Make sure you put on your big-boy shoes on Saturday, Keng. I’m going to show you how us Americans roll.”
Keng scowled and said something in Chinese.
Ling shook his head and ushered me inside.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“Something about you almost losing to a girl in California. It’s not important.”
“What a gasbag,” I said. “I’d like to see how he does against Hú Dié. She’s awesome. You guys recruited him as a possible poster boy?”
“He’s an amazing rider. Mr. Chang believes that Keng can be taught to behave better if he and his team win on Saturday. Personally, I’m rooting for your team, Jake. I would rather not work with Keng for years. Please don’t tell anyone I said that, though.”
“My lips are sealed. Thanks, Ling.”
“My pleasure,” he replied, and he reached into one of his pockets. He pulled out a wad of Chinese bills and handed some to me. “Here’s some pocket money,” he said. “Buy whatever you’d like. There are plenty of souvenir shops in this neighborhood, as well as a wealth of stores that carry snacks and the like.”
“Are you sure? My folks exchanged a bunch of money for me at the airport back in Indiana.”
“I’m positive,” Ling said. “Take your new bike for a spin around the neighborhood sometime. Treat yourself.”
“I will,” I said. “See you, and thanks again.”
Ling nodded and left, and I locked the door behind him. The last thing I needed was Keng to come barging in here. He seemed exactly like the kind of kid who’d do that.
I actually was getting a little hungry, so I hit the kitchen. The cupboards were indeed full, but most of what I saw was protein powders and vitamins. I wondered how much of this stuff they actually wanted me to take. The less, the better, as far as I was concerned.
There were a few different kinds of fruit in the refrigerator, but nothing really jumped out at me. The freezer was packed, too, but only with various types of frozen Chinese dumplings. What was up with people from Shanghai and dumplings?
I gave up on the food and checked out the rest of the apartment. All of the bedrooms were the same size, shape, and color, and they all had identical bathrooms. I went back to the living room, where Ling had left my suitcase, and took it to the bedroom farthest from the living room. I figured it would be the quietest. I was going to unpack, but I didn’t feel like it. I was tired, but I didn’t really feel like sleeping.
I checked the clock and saw that it was nearly eight p.m. The sun set early here this time of year. If I went to sleep now, I might wake up in the middle of the night and be unable to fall back asleep. Jet lag did things like that to people. It would be better for me to stay up a couple more hours before crashing for the night at my normal Indiana time like my mom had suggested. Phoenix once told me that Chinese people tended to stay up late, and therefore shops usually stayed open late. Based on all the lights I’d seen from the balcony, that seemed to be the case. Maybe I’d take my new bike for a little spin and find something to eat.
I went out to the balcony and found that, thankfully, Keng was no longer there. I strapped on the helmet and threw the BMX bike over my shoulder, then grabbed my backpack and left. I carried the bike down the interior stairs, nodding to Loo, the security guard.
“Heading out for a ride?” Loo asked. “Searching for anything in particular? Dumplings, perhaps?”
I rolled my eyes. “Not dumplings, but I am kind of hungry. I think I’m just going to wing it, though.”
“Go anywhere you’d like, except I strongly suggest that you not cross under the highway into Old Town.”
“Why not? Foreigners aren’t welcome there?”
“It’s not so much that. The streets are covered in rubble. No one bothers to ride bicycles there because they experience far too many tire punctures. Also, no one speaks English. A few of the Americans who live here venture into Old Town about once a month to grab a bite to eat, but that’s only because the dumpling shops there are the very best in the entire city.”
“Sounds like I won’t be missing much.”
“Exactly,” Loo said. “Be safe.”
“I will. See you in an hour or so.”
“I’ll be here.”
Loo held the door for me, and I pushed my new BMX bike outside, into the warm nig
ht. I was wearing the same t-shirt and cargo shorts that I’d worn on the plane, and they were beginning to feel a little sticky. It didn’t matter, though, as I was bound to work up a sweat cruising around here. I’d just shower once I returned.
I walked my bike through the main gates and then jumped on, riding down the concrete stairs. The bike handled them like a dream. It had been far too long since I’d bombed down steps. I hit the sidewalk and began to pedal, searching for more stairs or other things to ride.
I’d forgotten how much fun this was, just cruising around. Out here, I was part of the street, not riding someone else’s trails. Street riding was all about breaking the rules and riding something that wasn’t meant to be ridden. I kept my eyes peeled for setups—ledges, wedges, rails, ramps, whatever.
I soon found a low rail and bunny-hopped onto it, doing a perfect pedal grind that lasted almost five seconds. It was awesome. Next, I came across a small loading dock at the back of a clothing shop. The dock had a ramp that looked pretty sketchy, but I hit it anyway. I caught some sweet air and landed with a fluidity that reminded me why I loved BMX so much. It was all about flow and creating new lines.
BMX was whatever you wanted it to be.
I circled around to the front of the clothing shop and saw a line of people waiting to get into a movie theater next door. Two girls about my age pointed at me and began to giggle excitedly. I was pretty sure they’d seen my face on the billboard. I had to admit, it felt pretty good. I decided to give them a little show. There was a low bench nearby that didn’t have anyone sitting on it, so I bunny-hopped over the whole thing.
The girls squealed with delight and clapped their hands. “More! More!” they shouted in English.
Who was I to let them down? I leaned back into a manual, which was basically a wheelie without pedaling, and cruised the length of the line. More people began to clap.
This really was fun. There was an old guy riding past on an ancient delivery bike, and even he stopped to watch from the bike lane next to the road. I nodded to him and pulled off a series of flatland moves that I hadn’t attempted in years. Flatland was essentially doing every kind of trick imaginable on your bike without actually riding or falling off of it. I climbed up and down the handlebars, balanced on the front and back tires, and stood one-legged on the bike frame’s downtube, all without losing my balance a single time. The people waiting in line seemed impressed, as did the old guy. He clapped wildly and flashed me a huge, toothless grin.