Behind The Glasses

21

The bike lept to life beneath me the moment I released the break. Already we had crossed fifty meters, maybe a hundred; the majority of the bikers were eating my dust. I grinned over my visor, loving the rush of adrenaline that was seeping through my veins. I lean the bike left as we take the turn, dipping low to the ground - this corner is nasty, and has been put in place to weed riders off - nobody excpects a tricky corner that early in the course; I only know because I am on home turf. 

Two riders dip hot on my tail, for a moment I think they may catch me, but then one dips an inch too low, his feet catch the ground and he if flipped off of his bike. I don't turn to look, but i know he will have skidded out of harm's way, for now - he will have to move quick if he doesn't want to get hit by the other bikers. His bike on the other hand... the track turns right and I catch a glimpse of what was his bike. It had flipped like he and skidded along the dirt until it hit one of the barriers - it was going to need a lot of fixing up. 

I focus, I can't afford to get distracted now. 

I check my speed, pressure and fuel, everything is fine; I accelerate a little more down the track. A couple more simple twists and turns and we're heading uphill. I push the bike to go faster, repositioning myself, sitting back a little, tipping the bike up ever so slightly. The bike is labouring more than usual - which is odd. A frown creases my forehead. Normally, the bike doesn't labour at all. I check again, but everything seems to be fine; it's probably just all in my head. 

Focuss Harper for god's sake! If there's ever been a time in your life where you just have to foccus for once, this is it. 

I gulp down the thickening anxiety about the bike and push on - the biker who had previously been taking a tight second, was now well ahead. 

I catch him on the top though - I know exactly where each little root and crevis lies; I steer easily through them, being able to map out a route around them in  my sleep. My biggest competition however, was having problems. 

I felt a smug sense of accumplishment as I sped past the rider, but had no time to dwell on the thoughts as I visualised the obsticle up ahead. An uphill slant, a tight turn, followed by a couple of dips, a couple more turns and then the big hill. 

I focus, calming my breathing as I begin the uphill slant - every rider needs to have perfect balance when doing a jump, even if you practice every day, there is still a chance that one day you will slip and fall.

Falling isn't too bad, if there is only one jump, and you are training on your own. But this is not one jump, it is three, all one after another, with hardly enough room to get the bike back underneath you and you have to be back up in the air again. If you fell here, not only would you have to watch and wait for other riders to fly over you, before you were carried out, but you might have others land on top of you - other's with bikes. And if you take out a couple of people with you on the fall, it can be nasty too; or if there is someone immedietly behind you, chances are, they're going to come down straight on top of you. 

All too soon I am on top of the slant, the second rider parallel to me. I can afford a couple of seconds to take a less indirect route, putting a little more space between the other rider and myself; no way am I going down with him in a fall. 

We take the tripple dip perfectly, the other rider and I; completely in synch: accelerate, dip, lift; a moment of suspense to turn your bike back underneath you, landing down, a dip, then wrenching yourself, and the bike almost vertical to take the second dip. Landing from that was exhausting, all my muscles screamed in protest, but I pushed them on; I had to win this race; my life as I knew it, depended on it. 

I was in pure agony by the time we came out of the tripple dip; I had no idea why. The bike seemed to weigh a tonne in my arms, where it should have been as light as a feather. Yet the montior says the bike is in perfect condition, nothing was picked up at inspections this morning. I sigh, forcing myself to breathe again. 

The other rider is seconds in front of me, if he gets to the big hill before me, this is it, game over. I accelerate, leaning right forward over the front of the bike. For a moment, suprise catches the other rider, stood in the usual out-of-seat stance. The suprise causes him to loose his foccus for a moment and he slows down; I take full advantage of this and speed past him. 

100 meters. Not long now, then it will all be over. "Just this one last race" Hunter had promised. Hunter was unreliable, selfish and arragant; but he always kept his promises. 

50 meters. Faster and faster, no time to even think now; there is only time to react. 

10 meters. I tilt the bike back slightly, slamming my foot on the accelerater; pushing the bike to as past as it will go. 3 meters. The bike is screaming in protest. I jam my foot down harder, if it would just give a little more, then we would make it. We would have the perfect jump, the perfect land, and the perfect finish. 

The bike gives, half a meter out. I throw myself and the bike forward, tilting the bike almost vertical over the huge ditch, which stands a good seven meters wide. The bike gives again, but this time, it gives up. The tiniest little crack and the engine is gone. 

There is no time for thinking, there is only time to react.

Seconds later the engine underneath me explodes.