Gravity Check
Gravity Check
Alex Van Tol
Orca sports
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Copyright © 2011 Alex Van Tol
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Van Tol, Alex
Gravity check [electronic resource] / Alex Van Tol.
 (Orca sports)
Type of computer file: Electronic monograph in PDF format.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-55469-351-1
I. Title. II. Series: Orca sports (Online)
PS8643.A63G73 2011Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â JC813'.6 Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C2010-907999-X
First published in the United States, 2011
Library of Congress Control Number:
2010942093
Summary:
Jamie and his brother Seth stumble upon a marijuana grow-op when they go mountain biking in the backcountry.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed
this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Typesetting by Christine Toller
Cover photography by Getty Images
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For Colin, whose support has made my career
as a writer possible.
Contents
It's been rainy this year. Every time the forest trails have a chance to dry out a bit, another big dump of H
2
O comes along and turns the dirt back into slop.
I don't mind. I'm okay with slop.
I edge along a tricky section of trail, staying high to keep my wheels moving. I don't want to slip down into the mud pit below. It's fun to get muddy, but deep, sucking craters of the stuff tend to slow you down a bit. And gum up your bike.
I'm good for about ten feet. Then my rear tire hits a wet patch and starts to slide. I lean forward and mash the pedals, transferring my weight onto the front tire. I hope it's got some bite.
Yep. Uhâ¦nope. My front tire catches, then spins. I'm finished. I give up and take the slip 'n slide to the bottom.
I come to a stop and find my footing in the deep mud. I pull my bike out from under me. About a pound of black clay decorates my shorts. Another pound has crammed itself into the chain and gearshift.
Out here on the trails, there's nothing I can do about mud in my gears. Some of it will clear out when I start riding again. I'll give my bike a good hose down when we get home. Otherwise the gunk will harden into noisy little grindies that'll mess up my shifting.
I hear a laugh and look up the hill. My little brother Seth is standing at the start of the slippery section. “Nice one, Jamie,” he calls. “But let me show you how it's done.” Seth grabs his handlebars and prepares to push off.
I doubt he'll make it. Especially since I left him a nice skid track to follow. “You're not going to make it across, Seth,” I say. “Not if I came down.”
Seth laughs again. “I'm not planning on bogging out, bro.”
I feel my ears grow hot. It's not often that I flunk a section, so I'm feeling a bit choked right now. “Just wait a sec, man,” I say. “You're not going to make it, so let me get out of your way.” I carry my bike a few steps to where the mud isn't so deep and set it down. I swing my leg over the crossbar and crank on the pedals. My tires slip, but then they grab. I squint as mud flings off my front tire. It's a grunt, but a few good pushes haul me out of the hole and onto the forest floor.
Where does Seth get off being so cocky? As if he's actually going to make this section. If I crapped out, then there's a good chance he will too. He hasn't been riding as long as I have.
It burns me that he's so sure of himself. He's always like that. It's like nothing fazes him. But at the same time, I admire him for it. And I envy him for it too.
Which basically makes me hate him.
Everyone I know would be shocked to hear me say that. My teachers, my friends, my grandparents, my swim coach.
Okay, maybe my parents know how I feel. Just a little bit. It's hard to hide stuff, especially from my mom.
I'm pretty sure Mom and Dad have started to piece things together. I think that's why they decided to send us to camp for two weeks. We leave tomorrow morning.
I know what you're thinking. Camp? Sounds kinda hokey. Like we're five and six instead of fifteen and sixteen. But it's not just a camp, you know, like with sing-alongs and Capture the Flag and crafts. It's a biking camp. Mountain biking.
On the slope above me, Seth launches. I watch as his bike goes through the exact motions mine did a couple of minutes ago. Roll. Slip. Grab. Slip. Slow slide to the bottom.
Satisfied, I suppress a grin.
Seth lies in the mud for a moment, staring at the sky. Then he gets to his feet. He looks down at himself. “Wow, man,” he says. “I got, like, a mud enema back there.”
I can't help it. I laugh.
“I warned you,” I say. “But you never listen to me anymore.”
“I can make my own decisions, thanks,” he snaps. “You don't always have to play big brother.” He picks his bike up and carries it out of the mud pit.
His words make me angry, but I decide to let it go. I'd rather keep riding than get into an argument.
I shoulder my bike, and we hoof it back up through the trees to the main trail. Mom's going to love seeing our mud-caked clothes today. Knowing her, she'll make us strip down to our boxers before even letting us inside the house.
We blaze along the path, bumping over roots, catching air on little lifts and slogging through more muddy pitches. Neither of us talks. We just enjoy the feeling of spooling along the trail, soaking up everything in our path.
I love mountain biking. I got into it a couple of years ago, with a cheap hardtail on the dirt track at the park near our place. Naturally, Seth wanted in on the action, so he got a bike too.
I spend a lot of my free time checking out the trails around the fringes of the city. It's a big city. There are a lot of trails, and a lot of them are forested, like this one. Sometimes Seth comes with me. When we're getting along, that is.
And when he's not too busy.
Seth's got a lot of friends. He's Mr. Popularity. He talks so much in class that he doesn't get his work done. So he spends a lot of time playing catch-up at home. Except lately, he's been having more trouble catching up.
I think my parents are hoping this camp is going to be some kind of bonding experience for me and my brother. Something that'll bring us back together. Like we used to be.
Although we're in different grades at school, Seth and I have always done everything together. When we were little, we ate together, napped together, played together. Threw tantrums together. We shared the same room until last year, when our family moved closer to the university and added an extra bedroom to our world.
Seth and I have a lot of the same interests. Mountain biking being one. Basketball, Big Gulps and girls being others. Whenever people see one of us, they always ask where the other one is.
For a long time, I never cared that people talked about me and Seth in the same breath. It's like mac and cheese. You don't think of one without the other.
But latelyâ¦I don't know. Seth's been driving me crazy. If I'm honest with myself, it's because I'm jealous of Seth. I'm not as popular. Not as good-looking. Not as funny. Somehow over this past year, when I wasn't paying attention, my little brother became Mr. Big.
On one level, I hate him for it.
But on another, he's still my kid brother. It's a messed-up feeling. I mean, Seth hasn't really done anything to deserve my resentment. It's not like he woke up one morning and said,
Gee, I think I'll
be more popular than Jamie today.
But I can't stand him just the same. How he always knows the right thing to say. How everyone loves him, including teachers.
It's sick.
And not in a good way.
“You guys hungry?” our camp counselor asks from the head of our table. He cranes his head toward the kitchen. “I think it's pizza for lunch.”
“Sounds good to me, Chase,” says the skinny kid with glasses. I can't remember his name right now. He sat in the first seat on the bus on the way up. Talked to the driver the entire time. That would make me nuts if I was driving. To have a know-it-all kid squawking in my ear for an hour and a half? No thanks. The driver didn't seem to mind though.
The bus dropped us off with our bags and bikes about an hour ago. You should have heard everyone grumbling about leaving our iPods and cell phones at home for two whole weeks.
You have to admit, it
is
a bit of a drag.
For me, though, it's a worthwhile exchange. I want to be here. I'm looking forward to two straight weeks of bumps, jumps and awesome downhills.
I look around the lodge. It's busy, noisy, full of people moving around. And it smells great. My stomach rumbles, and I realize how hungry I am.
I look back at Chase. He seems like a laid-back kind of guy. Big and muscular, like he could bulldoze you in a heartbeat. He's sunburned, and his hair is a wild tangle of curls, but he's got a nice face. Friendly. Early twenties. He told us this is his sixth year of being a counselor at Camp Edgelow. Six, man! He must have started when he was my age or something. I wonder if maybe he goes to the university where my dad teaches.
