Lion

by Jeff Stone

  Then he had us tighten up, each front tire less than a foot away from the next bicycle and off to one side. I was in the lead, with Hú Dié behind me, then Phoenix, and finally Jake. The others hooted their approval as they began to draft off me and each other in sequence. It was a good feeling.

  We reached a turnaround at the end of the road and snaked around two parked cars after a quick warning shout from me. The cars were empty, but I steered us well away from them, just in case. We breezed through the turnaround and headed back in the other direction, still in our tight peloton.

  “You guys are doing great!” Peter shouted. “Let’s practice falling off. Do you remember the signal, Ryan?”

  “Yeah!” I shouted back. We’d just talked about it on the drive over here.

  “Whenever you’re ready, go for it!”

  We were hugging the right side of the road, so I glanced over my left shoulder. The coast was clear. I stuck my left elbow out as a visual signal and shouted, “Falling off!”

  “Falling off!” Hú Dié shouted back, acknowledging my verbal signal.

  I accelerated to make sure I’d clear Hú Dié’s front tire; then I veered to the left and tapped my brakes slightly so that the entire group could pass on my right. I pulled in behind Jake and locked onto his wheel, feeling my bike suddenly sucked forward. It was my first time drafting, and I hooted, too. It was neat.

  We took turns falling off until Peter had plenty of footage.

  “One more drill, and we’ll call it a day!” Peter shouted to us. “I’ll pretend I’m a car. You guys react. Do you remember the verbal signals we talked about?”

  All four of us shouted, “Yes!”

  “Do it!” Peter shouted, and slowed until he was behind us.

  “Car!” Phoenix shouted from the back of the peloton. “Single up!”

  “Single up!” we all shouted back, and we spread out in a single-file line to minimize the risk of possibly crashing into one another and to leave more space for the approaching vehicle to pass.

  Peter shot past us as if we were standing still. I couldn’t believe how fast he had accelerated. His bike didn’t have any more mechanical advantage than ours. I glanced at my bike’s electronic display. It read fifteen miles per hour.

  Peter was easily going twice that speed—with his arms.

  We ran the car drill a few more times, rotating our positions within the peloton. Peter passed us on our final run-through when Hú Dié, who was at the end of the line, unexpectedly shouted, “Car! Single up!”

  “Single up!” we all shouted, and we spread out, single file.

  I was in the lead, and I glanced over my shoulder to see a car coming up behind us. Peter was about fifty feet ahead of me, matching my speed.

  The car gave our peloton plenty of room as it eased past, which was nice for a change, but it slowed suddenly once it reached Peter. The driver had his windows down, and he began to wave enthusiastically to Peter.

  Peter nodded back.

  The driver then began to fumble around for something, causing his car to swerve.

  I did my best to keep one eye on the road ahead of me and another on the swerving vehicle. Thankfully, the driver soon regained control of his car. Now holding a cell phone, he snapped Peter’s picture. Then he eased off the gas and snapped pictures of me and the others. As he sped away, I noticed that the car had a handicap license plate.

  We tightened our peloton back up, and Peter slowed until he was riding beside me.

  “Who was that guy?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” he replied.

  We were nearing the van, and Peter announced that we were done for the day. It was time to warm down. We all shifted to low gears and began to spin like we did earlier. We reached the parking lot and climbed off of our bikes.

  “Five minutes of stretching,” Peter said. “Hú Dié, would you do the honors?”

  “Come on, Coach!” Jake moaned. “You said we were done for the day.”

  “You’ll live,” Peter said.

  “Everyone, follow me,” Hú Dié said, and she led us through a short but grueling routine. She seemed to enjoy watching me and Jake writhe in agony, and Phoenix appeared to enjoy our pain, as well, as I caught him smiling more than once.

  Back at Peter’s house, we took turns showering, and then Peter set about making dinner. I hunkered down over my tablet to surf the Internet.

  I did another search for dragon bone, but didn’t get any more hits. Then, for the heck of it, I did a search for “Peter Hathaway.” I’d Googled him several times before we came out here, and I was pretty familiar with most of the cycling forum and blog posts floating around concerning him. However, a new one popped up. It was from a handcycling forum, and it had been posted in the last few minutes. It read:

  Yo, fellow hand-crankers! Guess who I just saw tearing up the pavement at Point Lobos today? None other than the great Peter Hathaway! Man, it was cool. It’s no big surprise that he was tooling around on a sweet custom handcycle, but it looked as if he was coaching a team—of teens, no less! And one of them was a girl! How sweet is that? Coach Hathaway, back in the training business! I like the sound of it. Here are a few pics!

  Embedded in the post were several photographs that clearly showed Peter and the rest of us. While it was kind of creepy, it was also pretty cool. We looked like a real touring team.

  “Hey, guys!” I called out from the guest bedroom. “Check this out!”

  Jake poked his head in. “What’s up, bro? Phoenix and Hú Dié are chilling outside on the porch.”

  I handed him my tablet.

  “No way!” he said. “That’s totally rad! Come on, let’s show the others!”

  We showed Phoenix and Hú Dié, and they thought it was as cool as Jake and I did. Then we all went into the kitchen and showed Peter, but he didn’t think it was a big deal, probably because he was used to the attention. I emailed a link to the post to my mom, along with a link to the dragon bone article from last night, and we ate dinner.

  By the time we’d finished doing the dishes, the cycling forum had more than a dozen comments about Peter and his “mystery teen team.” Several of the forum members said that they had spread the news by forwarding a link to the post and pics to friends. It seemed that Peter was even more famous in the cycling community than I had imagined. It made me proud to be training with him, and even more proud that we were related.

  I began to feel a little woozy and my abs started cramping, so I snuck off to take my daily dose of dragon bone while Peter connected his video playback system to the big-screen monitor in his living room. When I rejoined the group, everyone was lounging on Peter’s large sectional couch.

  I plopped down next to Jake. He was holding a huge bowl of popcorn. It made my stomach turn.

  “How you feeling, champ?” Peter asked.

  “Not too bad,” I lied.

  “You did well today,” Peter said, “all of you. I’m going to enjoy reviewing the footage. Just sit back and relax while I talk us through it. I’ll start with my recording. Then we’ll fast-forward through each of yours, stopping only when I need to highlight something. It’s going to take a couple hours.”

  Great, I thought. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay awake that long.

  Peter ran through everyone’s footage, but he didn’t have much to say about my technique. It was solid, thanks to the private coaching I’d had when I lived in Belgium with my uncle. Phoenix was pretty solid, too, and Hú Dié looked as if she’d been riding her entire life, which she probably had.

  Jake, however, was another story.

  “How long have you been riding, Jake?” Peter asked when we’d finished the last of the footage.

  “I don’t know,” Jake said. “I think I learned to ride without training wheels when I was like four years old.”

  “No, I mean, when did you start racing mountain bikes?”

  “A couple years ago.”

  “Had you ever raced any other kinds of
bikes? BMX, maybe?”

  “Sure.”

  “How did you do?”

  “I used to smoke everyone!” Jake said. “I only stopped because the place where I used to race closed down. Why?”

  “Because of your pedal stroke,” Peter said. “When you race BMX, your feet aren’t connected to the pedals, so you’re always hammering down with your legs, never pulling up. Also, you don’t change gears enough, which is also a throwback to your BMX days. BMX bikes only have one fixed gear. Despite these things, I understand that you usually do quite well in your mountain bike races.”

  “Yeah. I only lose to Ryan and Phoenix.”

  Peter smiled. “That just goes to show how much natural talent you have. You are a beast, Jake. With a little coaching, you just might catch these two.”

  Jake flashed a huge grin. “I did beat Phoenix once, but it wasn’t exactly a race.”

  “I beat myself,” Phoenix said. “I’d never ridden a road bike before. I burned out too soon.”

  “Knowing your limits is one of the most important aspects of cycling,” Peter said, “particularly for sprinters. I’ll help all of you with that.”

  “Sweet,” Jake said. “Hey, is there any way you could give me a little extra coaching? Maybe during our downtime or something?”

  “Be glad to,” Peter said. He glanced at the clock and sighed. “Here we are, past midnight again. It seems you guys are night owls, just like me. Let’s hit the hay and see what time we all roll out of bed. We can spend the first part of the day around the house, fine-tuning specific skills, and the latter part pounding the pavement. At night, we’ll go over the footage. Sound good?”

  We all nodded.

  “See you in the morning, team,” Peter said. “I’m really excited about tomorrow. You guys all have serious potential.”

  I was wakened by a gentle poke to the ribs from Hú Dié’s steely elbow.

  “Rise and shine,” she said. “You look terrible.”

  I glanced at the clock and saw that it was ten a.m. I didn’t feel the least bit rested.

  I groaned as Hú Dié left, closing the door behind her. I dressed before stumbling to the kitchen, where she, Phoenix, Jake, and Peter were downing strawberry protein shakes. I hadn’t even heard the blender.

  “Whoa,” Jake said. “You look like crap.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I feel like I look.”

  “Is there something I can do for you?” Peter asked. “Should I call your mom?”

  “No,” I said, and I grabbed a shake they’d poured for me. “I don’t want her to worry. Hopefully, it will pass soon. If not, I’ll try exercising. That usually helps.”

  I sat down and took a sip. I immediately felt a little better. My body seemed to appreciate the sugar. “This is good,” I said. “Who made it?”

  “Me,” Jake said. “Peter showed me his secret recipe. He used it when he trained for the Paralympics!”

  “Awesome.”

  “He’s also going to give me private coaching right after we finish our shakes. We’re going to hook my bike up to his old-school stationary trainer. It’s got rollers and everything!”

  “Very cool,” I said. “Are we going back to Point Lobos today?”

  “Yes,” Peter said. “We’re leaving at five p.m. sharp. You’re free to do whatever you’d like before then, within reason.”

  I turned to Phoenix. “What are you going to do?”

  “Peter’s got an old cyclocross bike in the garage,” Phoenix replied. “Hú Dié is going to clean it up so that I can take it for a spin, but you could use it instead, if you want.”

  “No thanks,” I said. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure I could manage the neighborhood hills right now. I don’t want a repeat of my handcycling performance.”

  Phoenix nodded.

  “What are you going to do, Hú Dié?” I asked

  “After I get the ’cross bike rolling, I am going down to the beach to practice some kung fu,” she said. “You can come along, if you would like. I can show you some stretches to help with your flexibility.”

  “Kung fu?” I said.

  “I know what Peter said yesterday,” Hú Dié said, “but I think you’ll be fine as long as you stay away from tai chi. What do you think, Phoenix?”

  He shrugged. “He’ll be all right, unless you start knocking him around again.”

  “She’ll be nice,” I said. “Won’t you, Hú Dié?”

  “I’ll be nice to you,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Phoenix.

  Phoenix rolled his eyes.

  “The beach sounds good,” I said. “I could do some push-ups or something, too. Exercise always makes me feel better.”

  We finished our shakes, and Hú Dié headed out to the garage with Phoenix, Jake, and Peter. I went to the guest bedroom to grab my tablet. I did an Internet search for Peter’s name and received an entire page of hits listing various cycling forum posts since last night. I clicked through most of them to find our photos and the same general story reposted, along with a wide range of speculations on who the “mystery teen team” was. It made me smile.

  I then did a search for dragon bone but found nothing new. I checked my email and saw a reply from my mom:

  Hey, kiddo. Thanks for the links! It’s so nice that you and your friends are celebrities. How exciting! Who knows, maybe it will lead to something? A youth sponsorship, perhaps? Fingers crossed.

  I don’t know what to make of the dragon bone article. I’ve forwarded it to Phoenix’s uncle and grandfather. I’ll let you know if I hear anything from them. Have fun, and come home soon. I miss you. Love, Mom

  Those last few lines kind of got to me. I realized that I missed her, too. I’d see her soon enough, though. Another seven days, and I’d be back in Indiana with only a few weeks remaining in our summer vacation. The summer was going by so fast.

  “Ready?” Hú Dié asked.

  I looked up from my tablet to see her standing in the doorway. She was digging grease out from beneath her fingernails with the corner of a shop rag.

  “Ready,” I said. I turned off my tablet and followed her out of the house.

  “Peter told me about a staircase leading down to the water. It is supposed to be low tide, so we should have a little more sand than usual to stand on.”

  “I remember the stairs,” I said. “It’s great down by the ocean.”

  We found the staircase and descended to a patch of sand that wasn’t much bigger than my backyard.

  “This ‘beach’ used to be bigger,” I said.

  “It’s fine,” Hú Dié replied. “At least for what I plan to do.”

  “Me too. Are you going to stretch first?”

  “Yes. Kung fu isn’t like cycling. Stretching is the first thing you should do. You want to follow me?”

  “No, but I will.”

  Hú Dié smiled. “I’ll go easy on you. I know you don’t feel well.”

  Hú Dié took off her shoes, so I did the same. Despite the warm air, the sand was chilly and damp. We began by flexing our toes and rolling our ankles. It seemed a strange place to start, but Hú Dié explained that we were going to stretch out our entire bodies, going from our feet all the way to our necks.

  And we did.

  It felt awesome. I kept waiting for my abs to cramp up, especially when I stretched my torso, but it was fine. This encouraged me to ask Hú Dié a question when we’d finished.

  “Do you think maybe you could teach me a little kung fu? Just a punch or kick or something?”

  “I thought you were going to do push-ups.”

  “I want to learn to do what you and Phoenix did in his grandfather’s garage.”

  “That will take years.”

  “I’ve got to start somewhere,” I said. “I promise I’ll let you know if my stomach starts acting up.”

  Hú Dié thought for a moment. “We can try,” she said. “Maybe Phoenix was right. You want to learn a Tiger style move?”

  “Sure.�
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  “How about a palm strike?”

  “A palm strike?” I said. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “Not really. At least, not the person throwing it. The recipient might get a little sore, though.”

  “I won’t break my hand?”

  “You are far more likely to break your hand throwing a regular punch. There are many small bones in a fist that can easily break.”

  “I see.”

  “Drop down into a Horse Stance like Phoenix taught you.”

  I set my feet shoulder-width apart with my toes pointed forward; then I straightened my spine, bent my knees, and sank low.

  “Perfect,” Hú Dié said. “You are a natural.”

  I smiled.

  “Seriously,” she said. “Most people would have forgotten parts of that. You remembered everything. Now straighten your arms and raise both hands in front of you, chest-high, like this.”

  I copied her.

  “Next,” she said, “flex both wrists back so that your palms are facing forward. Spread your fingers out.”

  I did.

  “Good,” she said. “Finally, curl your thumbs and fingers inward. This is a basic tiger-claw fist.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  Hú Dié nodded. “You are going to strike with the heel of your palm. The support for the blow comes from your wrist and the forearm bones behind it. Never throw a regular punch with this kind of fist, though, or you will break your hand, for sure.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now,” she said, “inhale deeply as you bend your elbows and retract your arms, stopping your raised palms on either side of your chest.”

  I did it.

  “Finally, exhale and thrust your palms forward, aiming the heels of your palms at an imaginary target. It is very important that you exhale forcefully when you strike.”

  I exhaled as I thrust my arms forward, grunting with the effort.

  Hú Dié smiled.

  “How was that?” I asked.

  “Not bad. I forgot to tell you that you can make some noise if you feel like it. It means you are giving it all you have. Do it again.”