Chapter 4 - The Race

Chapter 4 " The Race

The orange haze of sunset had descended on the plain just outside town, bringing with it a congregation of racers, spectators and gamblers.  Many people had ventured out to witness the race up close with many more spectating from a nearby ridge overlooking the whole track.  Darkness would soon blanket the land and provide a cover for men and women of all ages to race.  The night was the refuge from the blistering heat of the day and above all the best time to push engines to their limit.

Having failed to take a short nap Scott was making his way to the race track just outside of town.  The thoughts that had kept sleep away were still bouncing around inside his helmet.  If he did not win this race he would lose everything he had worked for and would be almost back to where he started when he was dumped into that town.  He was struggling to set his mind on the twists and turns of the track that he would have to perfectly navigate to win.

His mind continually tore him away from the present, showing him a series of abstract potential futures.  He strained at the thought of any one of them coming true.  The contraption he was sitting on would be a hugely deciding factor in what his future would be.  Each pop, whizz and shudder chipped away a little more of his already crumbling confidence.  His mind darted between his past mistakes and the potential dark future he could face if he did not win tonight.

As Scott approached the track, the late evening shadow was already creeping across the large dusty plain signalling the coming night.  He was as usual, late, and was riding at speed to reach the start in time.  Now adding the prospect of missing the race altogether to the already swelling collection of prospective futures.  His felt like his head was about to burst open releasing every proposed timeline in one reality splitting cataclysmic event.

His helmet somehow managed to beat the strain and kept those thoughts from escaping while he rode to the start-line.  He soon reached the waiting pack of riders, and race officials.  Beyond them there was a small crowd placing bets with the bookies who stood infront of a large board displaying odds for different riders. He made it in time erasing the potential timelines he had imagined into existence.  The only timeline that mattered now was one where he crossed the finish line first.  Scott removed his helmet to acknowledge one of the ragtag race officials who shot him a look filled with annoyance. 

‘You’re just in time’ the official shouted trying to compete with a dozen engines and gestured him forward.

Although officials and bookies tried to appear separate they were really the same people, the same gang.  Felix, the head of the gang was conducting proceedings from a box in the centre of the board.  He was busy whipping the crowd up into an excited mass all staking their little money on their chosen champion.  That was how the race was funded, a small portion would go to the winner of the race just enough to make it interesting.

Scott headed for the start line now he had gotten approval from the official.  The start line was literally a line drawn in the sand marked by two poles stuck in the ground.  An unholy chorus of growling engines and screams paid tribute to the setting sun on the horizon.  The deafening tones grated on each other, vibrating the air in a terrible disjointed cacophony.  Fingers filled ears to escape from the ferocious snarls of these mechanical beasts.

Even through all this noise he could still pick out the sound and then sight of Dennis.  He was berating riders either side of him flailing his arms and legs in anger towards them creating more space for himself on the starting line.  Dennis had won more times than Scott cared to or dared to remember.  Usually there was some dispute over the victory with accusations flying faster than the bikes.  The post-race enquiry usually involved Dennis intimidating the officials in to taking his side and him emerging with the cash in his hand.

Scott joined the melee of the racing line-up and moved into position alongside his competitors.  His bike chugged and whirred erratically as he pulled forward.  The headlight dimmed with each twist of the throttle.  The rest of the line-up was filled with a range of decrepit old rattling motorcycles that had been heavily modified and tinkered with one sole intention.  More speed!  None of these however were more decrepit or more modified than Scott’s beat-up Frankenstein’s monster of a motorcycle.

Even with little money motorcycles were pretty easy to come by or at least the carcass of one.  The Junk yard just outside town had a sea of spare parts.  A treasure trove for anyone needing to fix up a clapped out ride.  That’s where this line up of misfits had come from; junk.  This is where these people had come from; junk.  None the less the junk was here and the junk was ready to race.

Now finally on the starting line Scott meticulously adjusted his goggles making sure they were tight against his face.  He took a glance at the odds on the board, his name was so low he looked away not wanting to consider not winning.  Taking his position in readiness of the starting pistols blast along with the line of other competitors and his friends.  His ash blonde hair quivered in the breeze as he placed his black open face helmet back on his head. 

A waving hand stood out in the melee Karla waving at him wearing her usual white gloves and helmet combination.  He looked over to see her mouth the words ‘good luck.’  He snapped his head back to the track choosing to ignore her.  Almost pretending to not see her, no one ever wished each other luck before a race.

Carlos was gearing up on his prised possession a medium sized dark purple motorcycle with only a slightly rusted chrome finish.  This very average bike was definitely one of the best on show in this town and quite how he obtained it was a mystery to most.  Carlos was hugely proud of this machine and paid in constant attention with maintenance and cleaning but of course nothing could be kept clean in this dust.

Mike had a garish bright yellow dirt bike that was pretty much like the original apart from the electrically upgraded engines that each bike shared.  It was a good bike really and he had won a couple of races before.  Finally and who had little chance of winning was Puerco.  His bike as underpowered and small as he was.  Still he raced though and still he had hope.  There was no sign of fear as Scott caught his eye even with Dennis flailing around close to him.

Scott pulled his oil stained blue scarf over his mouth and nose and looked down the track. His heart quickened and adrenaline flooded into his bloodstream in anticipation of the starting blast. A nervous tension gripped him as engines fired and smoke bellowed from exhausts.  The spectator’s screams and cheers grew louder as the time to race approached.

The rising dust and smoke danced together closely in the air like lovers.  The soundtrack of roaring engines and raised voices becoming a slow passionate waltz.  The pair moved gracefully, Illuminated under the spotlights of a dozen bike headlamps.  They moved in and stole one last kiss as a gust of wind tore them apart.

The start of the race would be signalled by the bang of a flare gun, fired the very instant the orange ball of fire vanished from view.  With all the noise around him Scott fell in to a world of perfect silence.  He was busy playing the start over and over in his mind.  The right amount of throttle, the perfect release of the clutch along with starting exactly on the “B” of “Bang.” 

The crowd calmed and fell quiet as all watched the sun slowly melt into the ground.  All united in an overwhelming anticipation.  The race official raised his starting pistol in to the air.  The engine noise seemed to fade as reds and pinks took over the blue sky while white clouds brewed into dark orange shadowy puffs.  The shadows of rocks stretched long across the ground until they themselves fell into the sleeping darkness.  People now stood silent with their excited faces bathing in the fading soft orange light.  Gradually the final speck of the now deep red sun faded from sight disappearing into the ground.

Bang!

The pistol fired and the calm vanished like the setting sun with bikes exploding into movement in a furious cacophony.  A bright white flare streaked across the sky, the race was underway.  Dust bellowed into the air hiding any trace of the competitors from view.  One by one each rider emerged from the dust firing down the course as fast as their rundown motorcycles could take them.

As they headed for the first corner the usual competitors were leading the way.  In the lead, Karla followed by Mike, and then Dennis.  Three or four riders were either side of Scott as he did his best to accelerate away.  A flash of Purple caught his eye, maybe it was Carlos but it didn’t matter here.  There were no friends in this race.  He could not care where Carlos or Puerco where now.  His one aim was to finish in first place.  The chasing pack was close but Scott fixed his concentration forward to the riders ahead.

His bike rattled furiously as it soared down the dirt track.  Truly an awkward mishmash of borrowed parts strapped together with spit and tape.  The riders either side seemed to want to keep away in fear of its loose parts flying off and into their path.  Scott was gripping hard just to stay on the bounding bike.  His face filled with concentration.  The first corner would define his race and the worthiness of his creation.

The three riders ahead rounded the corner without incident in rapid succession.  Scott approached, simultaneously tightening his grip on bike and mind.  Other riders were still beside him as he prepared to manoeuvre.  Red dust filled the air.  He leaned into the sharp left hand corner with perfect balance and poise sliding round maintaining as much speed as possible.  He rose again, upright, opened the throttle and began picking up speed with every bumpy metre.  The riders at his side now gone from sight.  He didn’t care where just as long as they were behind him.

His target now was Dennis who had already gained ground on Mike heading in to the second corner.  They both rounded it in perfect order and carried on down the next straight.  Dennis now close, moved around the rear of Mike looking for a chance to pass.  Mike battled back closing every avenue that appeared, before Dennis could take advantage.

This battle allowed Scott to catch up significantly as he rounded another corner perfectly.   He powered down the straight and suddenly his headlamp flickered on and off and the bikes power fluctuated.  His nerves rattled as loudly as the bike.  It was almost immediately back to normal though and he didn’t lose much time over the minor incident.

Ahead, Dennis pulled to the right of Mike to take the inside line for the next corner.  Both headed into the sharp right turn.  Side by side they leaned in and rounded it closely almost grazing each other.  Again side my side they headed down the straight as fast as their bikes would take them.  Dennis pulled slightly ahead as the two pushed their bikes to the limit.

The next long sweeping left curve gave Mike back the inside line and the impetus to quash the gap Dennis had created.  Suddenly an arm swung out.  Dennis threw the limb out towards Mike in an angry gesture of frustration but failed to make any meaningful contact.  Mike turned to him exasperated but the two continued to fire down the track side by side.  Racing to the next left hand corner it was a battle of who would brake first.  Deciding who would emerge out of the next corner ahead of the other.

Mike broke hard slowing down rapidly before the sharp right hander which allowed Dennis to fire past him.  Dennis slammed on the brakes the instant after Mike but it was already too late.  His heavier machine ran wide creating a cloud of dust fogging the track in front of Scott.  Mike with ease pulled around the corner passing Dennis and headed down the next corner.  Karla’s lead was growing all the time as she skirted around the next series of turns with ease.

Scott had gained ground on the battling pair with every moment they were in conflict.  He was now as close to Dennis as he was to Mike as all headed down the long back straight.

The more powerful bike of Dennis allowed him to snatch back ground lost to Mike and he was getting incrementally closer with every second.  Scott did his best to match this raw speed but Dennis had the most powerful bike in the race.  Dennis was bearing down upon his prey but the corner was approaching all too fast.  He slowed matching Mikes speed as they headed in to the left hand corner.

Both going at full pelt dust flew into the air obscuring the view of the two riders.  However only one rider emerged from the dust; Dennis, who forged ahead down the next straight.  Mike rolled along the ground coming to rest outside the edge of the race track with his bike skidding along the surface.

Scott knew what had happened, it had happened so many times before it was almost to be expected.  Although it was impossible to see, he sure that Dennis had hit Mike during the turn or caused him to fall by some other devious means.  Mike would not just fall off. 

None of this mattered now though, it was one less person to pass.  He was closer than ever to Dennis and had to keep making ground.  Even Karla had been dragged back into the race during the long straight.  Dennis had her in his sights having not noticed Scott gaining on him. 

Another loose corner allowed Dennis to use his additional speed to draw Karla deeper into his clutches.  Dennis could now easily pass Karla on the next straight but just slowed and matched her speed.  Scott was astonished as to why Dennis didn’t move ahead.  Either way it allowed him to make up vital ground on the two leaders.  Scott’s concentration gave way to illation for a moment.  Ahead there was sharp left turn then a series of S bends.  This is where Dennis would struggle and this is where Scott would take control of the race.

Dennis was now glued to Karla’s side as they went in to the sharp corner again with dust filling the air.  This time Scott could see what was happening.  Dennis placed a deliberate kick against Karla’s bike firing it back upright and aiming off the track.  With speed she flew up the banked corner, jumping off the course and onto the plains.  Upon landing she was thrown from the bike and rolled on the ground alongside.  Both bike and rider strayed over the yellow line. The Kill line.  She came to a stunted stop as the bike rolled on.

‘F**k, come back’ she shouted after the bike rising to her feet.

The Realisation where of where she was hit and panic pulled her body into motion.  She instantly turned and began to sprint as fast as she could from the wall.  The bike continued to hurtle towards the colossal structure.  Red lights began to flash and a deafening siren wailed.  A large compartment opened on the upper echelons of the wall revealing a huge machine gun array emerged with four long barrels protruding from the structure.

They seemed to instantly lock on to the wandering bike and with a short burst of fire, rounds were sent hurtling through the air.  They cut through the metal exterior of the bike puncturing tyres, breaking glass and finally rupturing the fuel tank.

The bike erupted into a ball of flames flinging high into the air continuing to snap and crackle violently as it summersaulted across the night sky.  The inferno came crashing down to earth with a thunderous smash scraping along the ground in an amalgamation of dust and flame.  It finally came to rest a few yards later.  The wreckage twisted and black smouldering in the sand.  Thick black smoke filled the already dark sky and blanked out the moon.

Scott’s heart fluttered as he continued on past Karla and the wreckage.  Even though Scott was desperate win he would never stoop to such tactics.  At least she was alive and now Dennis was in his sights.  Scott swept through the series of S bends effortlessly closing in on Dennis.

The bucking bronco was now under his spell and responded to every command his body gave.  Gaining on Dennis all the time the sweat built on his brow within his him helmet.  Only two corners remained and that was enough to grab the lead and cross the line first.

Scott rounded the next corner with ease reaching the rear wheel on the now leading Dennis.  He was slowing creeping past Dennis having managed to accelerate out of the corner quicker.  Without warning his headlamp began to flicker more and more frequently. ‘No, No, No, what the f**k,’ Scott exclaimed, the light dimmed to a soft amber glow.  He could barely see the ground in front of him but still he pressed on maintaining his speed.

Dennis skidded into the sharp left final turn creating a cloud of dust making it impossible for Scott to see the track ahead.  Unflinching he leaned in where he imagined the track would be.  The Bike jolted up and down along the ground and as he emerged from the cloud he realised had strayed outside the bounds of the track.  A hose sprang from its clamp firing steam out into the air, instantly the bike lost power slowing to a limp.

Scott looked ahead to see Dennis pulling away and heading for the line, his heart collapsed.  He along with his chances of winning were left behind in the dirt.  He limped back on to that track hanging his head low. 

Dennis crossed the line with his fist in the air ‘Yes!!!!’ he screamed ‘woooooooo,’

Reviews

[Nigel Newman]

Very exciting description, Ryan. Couple of suggestions

(1) The names sort of blurred, and I wonder if you might consider giving each rider and their bike more of a personality, e.g., say Hell On Wheels or Terminator, etc. The listing of names sounded very civilised; we had Mike, Dennis, etc - it wasn't 'the most evil rider in town, 'win by any means' Dennis. I know you get into that for him, and it's great DURING the race, but still it came across BEFORE the race as a bit like a friendly contest at the local tennis club. I might have expected more of riders trying to psych each other out; what Australian cricketers call 'sledging'.

(2) I didn't see anything much about the circuit or how many times riders went round

(3) The description of the race is very rider-focused. Once the crowd quietens before the start we then hear nothing about how the crowd is reacting during the race. I mention it because it's a bit like a stereo recording losing the left channel in some ways. I'm not totally sure what to suggest but maybe the odd roar or cheer that penetrates Scott's consciousness at key moments.

(4) If I was Scott, I would kick my bloody bike several times in anger and frustration, swear at it copiously, and only then after all of that has subsided, would I hang my head low

Hope these comments help. Your responses thus far show that you already have lots of ideas and reasons, so you may well disregard them. Anyway, I found it very gripping! On to Ch 5!

[Ryan Yates]

thanks , good feedback. i will try and add a little more character to the riders and agree Scott should flip out a little.

[Nigel Newman]

Actually you've replied before I had the chance to add another couple of thoughts. These folk obviously race each other pretty often, so it's likely the others are getting pretty fed up with Dennis winning so often - might they try and team up somehow so that, while not all of them could win, one will, and not Dennis - try some of their own sneaky tactics. The other thought is that there might be a sort of gladiatorial code of honour and mutual respect - they all know they're on the brink, and that this is much more than a fun ride, so the stakes are very high, a little like the Roman arena. In the arena they tried to kill each other but showed great respect and camaraderie outside - you have a little of this already perhaps with Scott and the girl. Just a thought. Not overly helpful because I'm suggesting options when you've already panned out where this goes; but if it's of some help, then so be it.

[Veronica Staehle]

Cool, and fast paced- I liked the energy!

Feedback I have is more it'd be nice to have more formalities with the competitors, full names or like racer names or something that distinguishes them from anybody else spoken about. I liked that you gave promos for each rider - it was a interesting way to lure curiosity and build anticipation.

Also, I wouldn't mind a bit of onomatopoeia with the bike, like in the part where Scott's bike has pieces falling off of it; what does it sound like, what types of pieces are falling off (big fat necessary pieces, or just like a whoosh, clank/ pin falling out) - I couldn't tell if I was finding out his bike will immediately stop working, or if it was just a description of the bike in the moment (I did catch it was the later after reading a little longer). Also the crash of Karla's bike could have some sounds and maybe smells, afflicting the senses. I mean its just a thought.

Of course this is a great read, I really enjoy what you're doing. Just thought i'd throw you some ideas i'd be curious to see you explore. Keep it up!

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good description of the race. I like how you made the building of the bike and the race interlace. I like the ending also. Thank you for sharing the excellent chapter.
Coyote

[Cyndy Robinson]

Good action, good characterization, but out of nowhere, thumbnail sketches of riders were there, almost to the point we assumed we knew they were, it was overcome later in the chapter. Just at the beginning of the race the problem ensued. Interesting story.

[annalysiar]

Wow it was intense. Great detail of the race I could almost see the whole thing. Great focus.
I love how close it came for a moment.