14. The Cherry on Top

FOURTEEN

THE CHERRY ON TOP

Lose Control, Teddy Swims

Roe

It’s race day, and I’m at the front of a sea of bikes. Everyone is uniformly lined up all the way back to the starting grid, but I’m struggling to keep my eyes on my own bike. I’m entirely too aware of Saint’s presence. The fucker stood his bike right next to mine and now we are stuck together on the starting line.

He’s hot, and I hate it. It’s unfair how he looks wearing his gear, or anything else for that matter. His navy jersey with red and white accents is completely fitted against his chest protector and arms, and it’s doing more for me than any Calvin Klein model could. And I don’t even want to talk about the pants or the boots. Maybe for most people, good boots are not a turn-on, but there’s something about high-quality protective gear that tugs at not just my heartstrings. The cherry on top? He looks even more intriguing with his helmet on. I can see tips of his tattoos trailing his neck in the space between his jersey and helmet.

He knows how hot he is, too. It’s the way he carries himself, the way he stands, and the way I know he’s looking at me through his goggles And he knows I’m staring right back at him. I’m not backing down though. Let him know I’m watching; it’ll make it even sweeter when I outplace him in this race.

The thirty-second announcement happens, and the bike holders stand tall at the back, grabbing onto the rear fenders to allow space for the riders to run and start the bike when it’s time. Allen, the grumpy pain-in-my-ass owner of the track, is holding mine. When you are an orphaned only child and not the most extroverted person out there, you take what you can get. His eyes are on mine, and when I look back at him, he nods at the same moment as the ten-second announcement. My hands are sweating in my gloves and I can hear my heart thumping in my ears. Your fears don ’ t control you. You control them. You ’ ve got this . I say this to myself over and over again, narrowing my eyes and repeating the steps I need to take. Run to the bike on the left side, swing my leg over, hold the handlebars, kick start the bike, hit the throttle, and leave everyone behind.

I choose to believe that life is meant to be lived as if today was your last day. It allows me to be fearless, ready to take on any new challenge. But this doesn’t erase the fact that my sensory processing difficulties often give me a run for my money. That’s why I’ve adopted this cognitive training skill. Fear is all in your head – I can work with that. Overstimulation? Not so much; that’s where the repetition of new language comes into play. There’s no room for overthinking if I tell my body exactly what to do.

The horn goes off with a low and heavy honk. I start running toward my bike, but Santiago Cruz runs on the same side as me, making me fumble a little and second-guess what I’m doing. What the fuck? This asshole runs on the right side instead of the left, so we have to share the space. He takes the lead because it caught me off guard and I hear a muffled sound from Allen telling me, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, Aurora.”

I shake off the uneasy feeling of sharing space and focus on making it to the bike, running through every step for a perfect start. He uses his lead and leaves me behind but in no time, I’m tailing his bike with only one end in mind. Finish before him even if it’s the last thing I do.

I rev my engine, tilt my elbows up, and lower my head. I hold my stance and fly around the bikes in front of me. I’m not in front yet , but I will be taking the lead. I know it. Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I zoom around the narrow trail through the forest. The trees echo with the collective roar of engines as the other riders try to give it their all. Everyone is jostling to hold their position without crashing into a tree or running off the trail.

This trail is known for being challenging. The terrain is rough. There are no steep inclines in Florida, but a mix of moisture and mud makes it sloppy. Wet palmetto leaves and slippery roots can make or break your performance. Can make or break you. It’s good to have some moisture to give traction to the dirt as opposed to the dry patches that are like sugar. Sugar Sand is very loose, fine, terrain. It’s these areas that are the biggest concerns for slippage and falls. In some trails, you can have one or the other, but here we have both.

I navigate through the trails using all the skills that I’ve learned through the years. And my fearlessness. A magic combination that my parents left me with. The focus my mom had as an instructor and teacher and the grit my dad had as an athlete. I go over branches and obstacles with precision, lowering my foot from the peg when taking turns in case I slip out, and shifting my weight to leverage against the bike and the conditions.

As the race progresses, I manage to do my best time. And with the oversized gas tank I only had one pit stop, only slowing me down for about thirty seconds. With ten minutes left in the race, I can see two bikes ahead of me, both from my class which probably means that I’m in third. Fuck that . One of the bikes is a KTM. It’s bright orange and white but I don’t remember who races that one. I strategically watch as they lean over a broken branch, and I know I have the possibility of passing if I cut through the narrow edge. And I do just that. Holding my breath and looking right where I want to go, I snatch the handlebars quickly, and twist the throttle. I pass him easily. One down, one to go.

I can see the start of the trail, which means we are about to complete another full lap. I glance at my watch quickly and see we have two minutes left. I want that extra lap and I want that first place. My legs are shaking and my hands are numb but I’m so close, I’m not giving up now. Maneuvering around the rocks and leaves has me right behind the blue, white, and red bike with 755 on it. Of-fucking-course . I follow him as closely as I can but he’s fast and skilled.

Up ahead, there’s a tree with low branches that I ran into before so I could avoid the sand on the other side of the trail. I have to choose between slipping in the sand or getting hit by the branches. I’m not taking the risk of falling, so I keep following Saint. I plan to go around him on the last turn before the end of the lap. But as he nears the tree, he lifts his hand and grabs the lowest branch. In a split-second, he rips it off and tosses it back. The branch hits the top of my bike and makes me lose my balance for a couple of seconds.

No matter how quickly I react, or how skilled I am, those seconds are valuable, and time is up. I finish second, with Saint finishing first.