Olympic Dream (5 page)

On the way, Doug told his mother that he really was a little nervous about trying it out.

“Red seemed to think you’d do fine,” she said. “In fact, this morning before he left for work he stopped by while you were
still upstairs. He told me that he’d help you put it all together and give you some pointers if you could wait until he has
a little free time.”

“Well, I won’t be riding it until the bandage comes off,” said Doug. “That gives us a little time.”

Doug was silent for the rest of the ride. For the first time since his little spill, he thought back to everything that had
happened on Monday. In the midst of it all, he remembered the dream. He could almost hear the sound of the crowd shouting,
“Can-non! Can-non!”

Oh, sure, he thought. The van jostled over a bump and Doug felt his gut jiggle. Right, I’m going to be in the Olympics. Yeah,
tell me another!

Still, looking at his new bike, Doug let the image of his dream linger for a bit.

On Saturday morning, Red came up the driveway with a toolbox in hand. Mr. Cannon called out to him, “Okay, let’s see what
we have here. Doug, time to put all the bells and whistles on that new bike of yours.”

“Let’s go,” said Doug. He brought out the box of accessories.

“Okay, let’s start with that package of toe clips,” said Red. “Believe me, once you get used to riding with those on, you
won’t believe what a difference it makes.”

As each part was added—the clip-on pump, fancy aerobar attachments, water bottle—Red pointed out how it was all part of
cycling.

Then came something that looked a little like an old-fashioned saddlebag, only a lot smaller.

“It’s called a pannier,” said Red. “Your dad insisted that we get a good one.”

“Remember I told you that there might be errands to run on this bike?” said Mr. Cannon with a smile.
“Well, this is how you’ll do some of the carrying. In fact, I think you’ll find—no, never mind.”

“What, Dad? What were you going to say?” asked Doug.

“Just a little lecture I’m not going to deliver,” said Mr. Cannon, smiling. “Old habits die hard.”

And new ones are hard to learn, thought Doug, staring at the shiny new bike.

The bandage came off in a few more days. By that time, Doug had become familiar with all the parts of his new bike.

“Now comes the big test,” said Red one evening. “Riding it. You sure your arm doesn’t bother you?”

“Nope.”

“You’re not worried that you’re going to have another accident, are you?” Red asked.

“I thought about it,” said Doug. “I figure that accidents just happen whether you want them to or not. But if I do things
right, my chances are a lot better. So I want to learn to ride this bike right.”

“Okay, you’ve got the right attitude,” said Red. “Let’s get started. The most important thing is making sure you and the bike
fit one another. That means
making a few adjustments. We’ll start with the saddle.”

“You mean the seat?”

“On racing bikes, like this one, it’s called the saddle,” said Red with a smile. “Your cycling education is just beginning.”

It took a lot longer than Doug ever thought it would. When the saddle was the right height, the drop handlebars felt funny.
He wobbled when he tried to sit erect and hold on to them.

“Lean into them,” said Red. “About forty-five percent of your weight should be over those handlebars. That takes a lot more
stress off your lower back.”

Doug wiggled around, trying to get more comfortable. The inside of his thighs began to ache. His hands were sweating and sliding
on the handlebar grips.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you mitts,” said Red. “And I think those jeans may have to go. Too much danger of their getting caught
somewhere.”

Doug balked. Oh, no, he’s going to make me wear those skintight biker things! I’ll look like a big, colored sausage!

“Since it’s summertime, you can start off with a
simple pair of shorts,” said Red, much to Doug’s relief.

“Hey, bikers of this world, anybody care for a lemonade break?” asked Mrs. Cannon, wandering into their practice area next
to the carriage house. They had just finished pedaling around the driveway for the fifth time.

“Would I ever!” said Doug. He hopped off the bike, then carefully leaned it against the fence. “I feel like I just got down
off a mountain!”

And it’s just beginning, he realized. He hadn’t even learned to shift gears yet! For a quick moment, he -began to wonder if
having this racer was such a good idea. He was starting to see that it came with a lot of responsibility.

As they stood there sipping slowly on the cool lemonade, Red said, “You’re doing just fine. But it’ll be different when you
get out on the open road. I think we ought to knock it off for now. It’s starting to get dark and there isn’t enough time
to go over road techniques.”

“Is there that much of a difference? I mean, is it always like a race?” Doug asked.

“No, it’s just—well, wait until I get a little more
time,” said Red. “Tell you what, I know a good side road that has a dead end. We’ll go over there and practice tomorrow.
Okay?”

“Okay,” said Doug. He drained his lemonade glass and looked over at Red. “Could we just give it one more trip around the carriage
house, up the driveway, and back?”

“Why not?” said the older biker. “Maybe that will tire you out so we can all get some rest!”

Mrs. Cannon smiled in agreement.

The Cannons got their rest that night. Doug hadn’t realized how much exertion he’d put into his bike training. When he hit
his bed, he barely moved until morning.

In fact, he slept a little later than usual. By the time he got up, Red had already left for work on the railbed. Doug hadn’t
been back since the accident, and he was sorry to miss the chance to ride over on his new bike. But he knew that it wouldn’t
be a smart thing to do on his own—at least until he’d had some road training.

So that afternoon, the minute Red got back, Doug was down at the carriage house waiting for him.

“So, when do we go over to that dead-end street to practice?” asked Doug.

“What kind of a monster have I created?” said Red,
shaking his head. “Okay, but first, you really have to know how to shift gears. It’s a lot different from your three-speed.”
Red spent about fifteen minutes with him going over the workings of the twelve-speed system. When he was satisfied that Doug
had it under control, he gave him a thumbs-up sign. “Now give me a second to get cleaned up,” he said.

They borrowed the Cannons’ van, loaded their bikes in it, and set off.

“I have a little surprise for you,” said Red. “Remember the tall boy who was working with us on the Rails to Trails project?”

“Billy Torrant?”

“That’s him,” said Red. “Well, his street is the dead-ender I told you about. Seems he wants to learn more about cycling,
too. We’ll meet up with him there.”

Doug wasn’t so sure he wanted someone his own age around to see him wobbling along on his new bike. But Billy seemed pretty
friendly. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

When he saw Billy and his bike, Doug immediately felt better. His bike was okay, but not half as nice as Doug’s. And Billy
seemed just as friendly as before, greeting their arrival with an enthusiastic wave.

“Hey, Billy, how’s it going?” Doug called over to him.

Billy pedaled over. Even on the bike, he seemed about a foot taller than anyone else.

“Pretty good,” said Billy. “I’m just a little worried I’m not going to be any good at this.”

“That makes two of us,” said Doug. He was glad Billy felt the same.

“Okay, you guys,” said Red. “Let’s see where the problems are. Doug, just take a ride down to the end of the road, turn, and
come back. Then Billy, when he starts his turn, you take off and do the same. I’ll talk to you both when you get back.”

For the next half hour, Red carefully pointed out what they were doing right and wrong. He showed them how to settle into
a comfortable riding position, but one that would still give them control.

“Use the toe clips to do some of the work,” he reminded Doug.

Doug nodded in agreement.

“Less tension on your grip,” he shouted at Billy.

Billy’s head bobbed up and down.

“All right, you’re both ready for a little ride around
the block,” he finally announced. “But before we hit the road, let’s do a safety check.”

He reminded Doug that this bike was a lot more responsive than his old one. There would be a temptation for both boys to try
all sorts of hotdog maneuvers. That was the absolute worst thing they could do—a sure invitation to disaster.

Thoroughly warned, Doug climbed up onto the saddle and slipped his feet into the toe clips until the toes of his shoes hit
the ends. He buckled the strap on his helmet and grabbed the handlebars.

“Comfortable?” asked Red.

“Uh-huh,” said Doug.

“Billy, you all set, too?” Red asked.

Billy looked over and said, “Yup.”

“Okay, here we go,” said Red. “Remember, stay behind me and just follow what I do as best you can. We’re only going for a
short run around the block for now. If there’s time, we’ll try a little longer distance afterward.”

It seemed to Doug that the trip took no time at all. Wow, he thought, if it’s that easy, racing must be a breeze.

“How did it feel?” asked Red, dismounting.

“Great! Let’s go, I want to do a longer trip this time,” said Doug.

“Not so fast,” said Red. “Let’s talk over what you did wrong.”

“Wrong? Did we do something wrong?” asked Doug.

“What about pulling up alongside me at the first stop?” asked Red. “I told you to stay behind.”

“I don’t see what the big deal about that is,” said Doug.

“It’s not all that bad in itself,” said Red. “But if you were in a race and you didn’t follow the plan laid out by your team,
then it would be.”

“But we weren’t in a race,” said Billy.

Red paused, then nodded. “You’re right. I guess I have race discipline so firmly in my head, I judge everything by that standard.
Listen, you guys, I’ve had a long day and I’m really bushed. Why don’t we call it quits for now.” He walked off toward the
van and slid open the door.

Billy called over after him. “Hey, thanks a lot for coming over and giving me all those pointers.” He
turned to Doug. “Maybe we can get together and practice some time.”

“Sure,” said Doug. “I’d like that. But I’d better help load up the van now.” Doug watched as Red lifted his bike into the
van. Red looked as though he were lost in a dream.

Back up at his house, Doug was greeted by the sight of Kate swirling about in a cloud of white, gauzy material. Mrs. Cannon
stood by admiring her.

“It’s going to be my veil,” said Kate. “Won’t it be fabulous?”

“Sure,” he said. “Terrific,”

Doug had never realized that there was so much stuff involved in planning a wedding. He’d been to a few and he remembered
the ceremony and the reception. There was always a ton of food as far as he could tell. He figured that’s what took all the
time. But not so with Kate’s wedding. There were a million other details everyone talked about.

Even so, during the last few days he had just about put the wedding out of his mind. The only time it broke through was when
someone said, “We’ll have
to make sure you have a pair of plain black shoes, Doug,” or “Won’t be long before you have to get fitted for your tuxedo,
Doug.” Every mention brought a stab of anxiety to his stomach.

The other reminder of his wedding woes was the constant stream of wedding gifts that kept arriving. It seemed like everyone
he’d ever heard about—even crazy Aunt Sally, whom he’d never even seen—had sent something. Everyone, that is, but her
own brother. He still hadn’t figured out how he was going to come up with a gift.

All in all, he almost wished there wasn’t going to be any wedding. But Kate was so happy all the time, how could he even think
of something like that? So that night after dinner, he sat down all by himself at the kitchen table. Look, he reasoned, since
this wedding isn’t going to go away, I’ve really got to figure out what I can do about it. I’ve got to come up with something
to give her!

“Jimmy, want to move that truck a little closer to this pile?” called out Red. “Hey, look who’s finally back on the job? Doug,
you’re just in time to help us load this brush.”

There were greetings from the other guys on the work crew as Doug pitched right in with them. Less then ten days after his
little spill, he’d found himself itching for some activity.

That’s the only itching I’m going to do, he said to himself as he packed his pannier with insect repellent. He also threw
in some sunblock—no more sunburn, either—and a pair of work gloves like the older guys wore. He checked to make sure his
water bottle was full, too.

The one thing he didn’t take with him was that T-shirt he’d been given. He’d tried it on again and it still fit him like a
sausage skin. But at least he’d gotten it on this time. Maybe it would stretch, he told himself.

Doug hadn’t started out with Red first thing that morning. Instead, he’d wanted to ride over on his new bike all by himself.
He’d been practicing with Billy and out on the open road with Red several times, and he felt confident enough to go it on
his own. If all went well, he planned to talk to Red about an idea he had.

When the crew finally broke for lunch, Doug steered Red off to a quiet spot where they could sit and talk.

“I need to talk to you about something,” said Doug.

“Sure, sport,” said Red. “Anything I can do?”

“I want to find out more about cycling—and racing. I mean, more than just goofing off around the neighborhood or riding
back and forth to work,” said Doug.

“Doesn’t seem like too tall an order,” Red said. “But any particular reason why?”

“Well, you know my new bike was a real special present from my dad. I’d like to get so good at riding that he’d be proud of
me,” said Doug. He avoided looking at Red as he continued. “Maybe I could even enter some little race or something. What do
you think?”