by Jeff Stone
I raised my tiger-claw fists and inhaled, pulling them back to my chest; then I exhaled powerfully while thrusting the heels of my palms forward with all my might. This time, my grunt came out as a ROAR.
“Wow!” Hú Dié said. “Very intimidating! Just like when you ride. Keep practicing, but you do not have to get quite so into it. Maybe go back to grunting like you did the first time.”
I nodded and wiped beads of sweat from my brow. The seemingly simple strike was turning out to be a lot of work. “This is great exercise. Thank you for showing it to me.”
“My pleasure. Practice it two thousand times a day, and you will have it down in less than a week.”
“Two thousand times? Are you kidding?”
Hú Dié shook her head. “There is a famous saying, ‘I fear the person who practices one strike ten thousand times, not the person who practices ten thousand strikes only once.’ ”
“Good point,” I said.
“If you truly do one thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight more today, I promise I will teach you something else tomorrow. Make sure you alternate hands, though. Do one thousand with each. It sounds worse than it is.”
“I’ll do it.”
Hú Dié smiled. “I think you are going to make a great martial artist, Ryan.”
I beamed. “Really?”
“Well, you actually punch like a girl. We are going to have to fix that.”
The next five days were more or less the same. We would wake up and do our own thing until late afternoon; then we’d train as a team at Point Lobos. Afterward, we’d watch the footage together.
True to her word, Hú Dié taught me five new kung fu moves, one each day: a hammer fist, a front kick, a side kick, a knee trap kick, and how to catch an opponent’s kick like Phoenix had caught her kick at his house. The last two could only be done with a partner, so she worked with me. Hú Dié took quite a beating, as both moves involved my knocking her down in the cold, wet sand and twisting one of her legs into a pretzel. We switched legs to give me practice from both sides, and I could tell that she was still pretty sore from the routines. She was tough.
I was sore, too, but it was worth it. I was getting a great workout, plus I was beginning to feel like I could protect myself if I ever needed to. The dragon bone still seemed to have a stranglehold on my energy level, but at least it wasn’t getting worse.
Jake continued to train one-on-one with Peter and made amazing progress. Everyone noticed it, and no one was more proud than Jake. It was cool to see. Peter only needed to show Jake something one time, and he never forgot it.
Phoenix spent his time alone on the ’cross bike, usually riding over to Point Lobos and tearing up the trails that allowed mountain biking. It was pretty obvious that he didn’t like being on a road bike, but being out on the trails seemed to make him happy, so Peter let him ride that far on his own.
On our eighth night in California, we gathered as usual to watch the video, but Peter announced that he had other plans instead. There was something we needed to discuss.
“I have some exciting news for you guys,” Peter said. “You all know that people are still gossiping on the cycling forums about you, right?”
We all nodded.
“Well,” Peter said, “it looks like it may have amounted to something. There is an invitation-only twilight criterium in one week that will take place in downtown San Francisco. It’s a race for adults, but all four of you have been invited.”
Our jaws hit the floor.
“This is … incredible,” Hú Dié said. “Even if none of us won, we would be sure to get attention. We could all find ourselves on teams.”
“That’s right,” Peter said.
“Wait,” Jake said. “What’s a criterium?”
Peter laughed. “Sorry, Jake. It’s a special kind of road bike event that’s usually quite short. A typical road bike race lasts several hours. The race usually begins in one place and ends in another. A criterium, or crit, takes place on a closed-loop course. It begins and ends in the same place, and usually lasts about an hour. It’s basically a really long sprint. This one is a one-mile loop, and the race will run for one hour, plus three laps.”
“How does that work?” I asked.
“After one hour, a signal is given. Whichever lead rider completes three full laps after the signal wins.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“Yeah, they’re very straightforward solo events. However, individuals sometimes work together as a team to improve their odds.”
“Why did you call it a twilight criterium?” I asked. “They don’t actually race at night, do they?”
Peter nodded. “They sure do. It’s not as bad as you might be thinking. There are streetlights. I’ve raced in a few twilight criteriums before. They’re a lot of fun.”
“What about prizes?” Hú Dié asked.
Jake’s ears perked up. “Prizes?”
“Most crits have stage prizes, or primes,” Peter explained. “During certain laps, riders have the opportunity to win a prize if they win that particular lap. This race is special, so there won’t be any stage prizes. However, there will be one whopper of a prize for the rider who crosses the finish line first—a professional cycling sponsorship!”
Phoenix’s eyes widened. “Do you think any of us have a shot at winning it?”
“Honestly?” Peter replied. “It’s a very long shot. The race promoter is an old friend of mine and I told him as much, but he said that he didn’t care. Your participation would help the event get more attention, and that’s a priority for any promoter. I’ve already spoken with all of your folks, except yours, Hú Dié, and they support your participation and don’t mind you staying out here longer. Additionally, Ryan’s mother has finished her business in Indiana and has offered to fly out and help, which would be invaluable. While she doesn’t ride, she has a deep knowledge of cycling strategy. She was instrumental in several of my victories in the past, particularly in criteriums. What do you say? Are you guys interested?”
“Yeah, baby!” Jake shouted.
“I’m in!” I said.
“Me too!” Hú Dié said. “I have plenty of time left on my travel visa.”
We all turned to Phoenix. His face was somber, but then he broke into a huge grin. “I’m in, too.”
“Yes!” Jake said, and he began to dance around.
Peter groaned. “You need a theme song to go along with that dance, Jake.”
“How about ‘Eye of the Tiger’?”
Phoenix, Hú Dié, and I replied as one: “No!”
We spent the rest of the morning making plans for the race. The fact that we would be competing against adults beneath streetlights began to wear on my mind, but it didn’t bother me enough to make me want to back out. Plus, Peter promised to begin training us at night, which helped put me somewhat at ease.
Once I was able to push the night-racing concerns out of my mind, I realized I had a bigger problem—I was going to need more dragon bone. I didn’t have enough to get me through the extra days. I thought my mom could bring me some, but she was worried about trying to get it through airport security.
Fortunately, Uncle Tí had me covered. He made a phone call to PawPaw, an apothecary friend of his in Beijing. It turned out she had a friend in San Francisco’s Chinatown who could be trusted. Her name was YeeYee, which means “Auntie” in Chinese. Uncle Tí made arrangements to ship out a small amount of dragon bone via courier airplane as a medical necessity—which it was—and YeeYee was going to be able to pick it up at San Francisco International Airport, and we could get it from her. Sending it to her instead of Peter directly seemed best because she often received medicine from doctors. Additionally, she could check it over to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with. Uncle Tí didn’t want to take any chances.
I was also happy that my mom was coming to help us. She seemed more excited than I was, and I looked forward to learning all she knew about racing strategy. I’d had no i
dea her background was that extensive, and I felt closer to her than ever before.
Peter called the race promoter to confirm our participation, and almost immediately the cycling forums and blogs began to light up with news that the “mystery teen team” would be at the event. It was both exciting and a little scary for us. What it meant, though, was that we were going to have to practice like never before.
Since Peter was going to take us all to Chinatown tonight to pick up the dragon bone, we decided to head to Point Lobos early. We arrived around noon and parked in our usual spot in front of the tidal pools.
Jake said that the forks on his road bike had been acting a little strange the previous day. Hú Dié suspected a hairline weld fracture, but she hadn’t found one. As a precaution, we’d brought along the ’cross bike for Jake to ride, if necessary.
We started with our usual spinning; then we stretched. The stretching routines were getting more difficult, but Jake and I were already seeing some serious results. While standing, I could almost put my palms flat on the ground, and Jake could now press his knuckles against the road. Peter was impressed.
We finished stretching, and Peter decided to begin our session with the “car” drill we’d practiced the first day. Peter once again played the role of the car as the cameras on our helmets recorded our every move. He was in rare form, zooming past us faster than I’d ever seen him ride.
When we reached the turnaround at the end of the road, I saw a pickup truck parked there. A man wearing a cowboy hat was behind the wheel, and a large dog sat beside him. I gave the others a warning shout, and we expertly avoided the vehicle as we came about in our peloton with Peter bringing up the rear. We began to head back in the opposite direction, when Peter suddenly surged forward, pretending to be a car once more. Hú Dié shouted, “Car! Single up!”
Jake, Phoenix, and I shouted back to confirm that we’d heard her. “Single up!”
We spread out, and Peter blew past us.
“Wow!” Jake shouted from behind me.
I glanced down at my electronic display: twenty-two miles per hour.
“What a maniac!” I shouted back with a laugh. “He has to be going at least forty miles per hour! I—”
“Car!” Hú Dié shouted again. “Single up!”
“Single up!” Phoenix, Jake, and I shouted back, and I glanced over my shoulder. The truck that had been parked at the turnaround was approaching us.
Fast.
We spread out and slowed. Ahead of us, Peter turned around in the very center of the road.
“Car, Peter!” I shouted.
Peter saw it, too. He began to crank for the opposite shoulder of the road to give the pickup plenty of space. I glanced back once again and saw that the truck was already beside Hú Dié. Phoenix was thirty feet in front of her.
The truck’s horn blared, and I heard a dog howl.
My heart leaped into my throat.
I knew that howl.… It was a black mouth cur hunting dog from Texas named Bones.
“Phoenix!” Hú Dié cried. “Help!”
The horn blasted again, and Bones howled once more.
I started to turn around as the driver suddenly jerked the car’s steering wheel toward Hú Dié, cutting her out of the peloton like a cowboy cutting a calf out of the herd. She screamed and veered across the road onto the narrow rock-strewn shoulder, the tidal pools only a few feet away from her. An instant later, she fell.
I cut across the road as the truck stopped and Bones leaped out of the vehicle’s open passenger window.
“Bones!” the driver shouted. “Git back here!”
Bones ignored him.
Jake veered around and pulled up next to me.
“What’s going on?” he shouted.
“I don’t know, but that’s Murphy’s dog!” I shouted back. “Murphy was a bad guy down in Texas. The dog hates Hú Dié!”
Phoenix had turned, too, as Jake and I caught up with him, and Peter was not far behind.
The driver suddenly gunned the truck’s engine, and the vehicle lurched toward us, head-on. Jake and I steered away, but Phoenix headed straight for the oncoming pickup.
“Phoenix, no!” Peter shouted, but Phoenix continued to hammer forward. When a collision seemed inevitable, Phoenix turned his handlebars hard toward the truck’s driver’s side. His bike whizzed around the vehicle, and Phoenix reached toward the open window.
The driver opened his door, which smashed into Phoenix’s bike.
Phoenix grabbed the door for support as his bike fell away. Phoenix was hanging from the door as the truck continued down the road.
The driver cut the steering wheel hard, and the door slammed shut with Phoenix still dangling from it. Peter pulled up to Phoenix on his low-riding handcycle, and Phoenix loosened his grip on the door as if to drop into Peter’s lap. However, the moment Phoenix’s feet touched Peter’s bike frame, Phoenix pushed off and sailed into the driver’s-side window, falling across the driver’s arms. The steering wheel slipped out of the man’s hands, and the pickup careened off the road. With the brakes shrieking, the truck stopped on the wet rocks at the ocean’s edge. I could see Phoenix kicking his legs as Jake and I steered our bikes toward Hú Dié and Bones.
The huge dog had Hú Dié backed up to one of the large, deep tidal pools we’d stared into earlier. Bones snarled and snorted, saliva dripping down his huge jaws. I rode straight toward the animal, unsure what I was going to do next.
Bones made my decision for me. He leaped at Hú Dié, and I bunny-hopped a row of rocks, going airborne. As Hú Dié jumped into the tidal pool to avoid Bones’s attack, my front tire hit Bones in midair. The dog, my bike, and I sailed into the pool after Hú Dié.
SPLASH!
Seawater filled my nose and open eyes. I twisted my heels outward, releasing my feet from my pedal clips, and I clawed toward the surface. However, before my head even cleared the water, a powerful hand grabbed the back of my collar and began to pull.
It was Hú Dié. She was clinging to one of the rocks. She shoved me halfway up the steep, slippery side of the tidal pool, and Jake helped me crawl the rest of the way out. He let go of me, and as we gave Hú Dié a hand she shouted, “Jake! Get your bike!”
Jake had dropped his bike next to the pool. He shoved it toward Hú Dié as she scrambled up the rock. She began to remove the quick-lock front wheel as Bones attempted to climb out of the pool a few yards from us. He wasn’t making much progress, though; his claws couldn’t get a grip on the slime-coated rocks. Hú Dié got the wheel free and hurled it at Bones. The wheel bounced off the dog’s front legs, and he howled in frustration as he slid back into the water.
I heard a SNAP! as Hú Dié broke the front fork clean off Jake’s bike and rushed to the edge of the pool where Bones had attempted to climb out. She thrust the bike fork at the dog as though she were holding a sword and screamed like a banshee.
Bones paddled over to different rock and tried to scramble, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to be successful. The rocks were too slick.
I glanced over at the pickup and saw that Phoenix and the driver were still struggling with one another on the front seat. Peter was on his handcycle, pulling the car’s passenger door open.
“I can handle Bones!” Hú Dié shouted, still waving the bike fork. “Go help Phoenix and Peter!”
Jake and I ran over to the truck as Peter reached into the front seat. “Phoenix!” he shouted. “Give me some space!”
Phoenix pushed back out of the driver’s-side window as Peter grabbed one of the driver’s ankles and began to haul the man out of the truck. The driver wrapped an arm around the seat belt to anchor himself and opened the glove compartment with his free hand.
Even from where I stood, I saw the glint of metal.
“Gun!” I shouted.
Phoenix ran around the front of the truck, heading for the passenger side.
“Peter!” Phoenix shouted. “Give me some space now!”
Peter l
et go of the driver’s ankle, and the driver tried to pull his leg back into the front seat, but he was too slow. Phoenix hit the open door with his shoulder, slamming it shut on the man’s leg with a horrible crunch.
“Owwww!” the driver howled.
Bones mirrored the howl from the tidal pool.
Phoenix drove his fist through the open side window. CRACK!
The driver’s body went limp.
Phoenix stepped back, pulling the door back open, and Peter hauled the driver’s unconscious body out onto the wet rocks.
I called back to Hú Dié, “Are you still good?”
“Yes!” she shouted. “Bones can’t get out!”
“Let us know if you need help!”
“I will!”
“Huh?” Phoenix said, standing over the man. “He looks just like—”
“Murphy from Texas,” I said, getting a closer look. “I don’t believe it. That’s Bo, Murphy’s brother.”
“You know this guy?” Peter asked.
“Not exactly,” I said. “His brother, Murphy, was the contractor who built my uncle’s training facility.”
“But Murphy died, right?” Peter asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “But during construction, Bo helped him do electrical work at the training facility a couple of times. He was Murphy’s hunting partner, too. They took that dog Bones out into the woods behind the site once and came back dragging a wild pig they’d killed with giant knives. That’s what Bones was bred for, finding pigs and holding them until hunters could finish the job.”
“Nasty,” Jake said.
“That would help explain why the dog is with him,” Peter said, “but what are they doing here? Why would they attack Hú Dié?”
“I have no idea,” I replied.
“Find something to tie him up with,” Peter said. “I’ll call the police.” He began to fish around for his phone in the zippered pouch attached to his cycle’s frame.
Phoenix pulled a large knife from a sheath attached to Bo’s belt and cut several sections of the truck’s seat belts and started to bind Bo’s wrists and ankles. Bo began to stir.