Even as I thought about Greg and felt awful, I couldn’t stop thinking about Darren and feeling so thankful it wasn’t him. That created a flicker of guilt in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t help it. He was still out there on the track, and the worry was making it hard to breathe.
17
Darren
The race felt like it was going smoothly. I was focused, zeroed in on the path I was going to take around the track. The races this season were getting harder. I pulled out a first-place win during the premiere race of the season and since then, the other teams had been coming for me. I knew it was going to happen. That’s the way it is with racers. As soon as one really starts to succeed and jumps ahead of the pack, the others start to chase him. Everyone starts trying to figure out what that rider did to improve their performance and how they can do it for themselves. Bikes get modifications, riders try everything they can to get stronger and faster.
It wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was what made the job as thrilling as it was. There wasn’t any excitement or satisfaction in winning a race when everyone else was far behind. I didn’t want to be on top of a group that performed badly. I loved the challenge when I finished a race knowing I really earned my position. Unfortunately, not everyone thought that way. Most of the other riders had the same basic mindset as I did. They wanted to be the best among the best, not just to get an accolade or come in first because everybody else failed. They put the genuine work into improving themselves and pushing for greater success. Others, however, let getting beaten and never being able to climb higher get to their heads.
Of these were the dangerous riders. They entered a race with a clouded head, not able to think about anything but getting in front of those who were outperforming them. That could prove disastrous, and that night it did.
I got a good start to the race and like I always did, briefly checked on Greg to see how he was doing. He and I were on the same team, so we truly wanted each other to do well in races. But we still wanted to be the best, so there was a good-hearted rivalry between us. He was doing well, but just as we came around the curve of the track, I caught Greg go down in my peripheral vision. I spit out a stream of profanity, and it took everything I had in me to keep going and not immediately turn my bike off the side of the track. I wanted to run to Greg and check on him, to make sure he got through the crash all right, but I knew that wasn’t an option.
There was no way I could pull out of the race. Dad would have my neck if he knew I’d let myself get distracted. According to him, I should be so focused I was keeping my bike in control and pushing myself to the front of the pack I shouldn’t notice anything else around me. It wasn’t just about winning, though that was the point of the race. Instead, it was about preventing me from becoming the next one to skid across the track. If I let myself be distracted by Greg going down, I could take my attention away for the wrong fraction of a second and lose control, hitting the bikes on either side of me or simply letting go of my balance and ending up on the ground.
I had to trust that the team was there for Greg. They would make sure the medics got him off the track and to safety and would take care of him however he needed. There was nothing I could do, anyway. I tried to focus on the track and the bikes in the pack with me. But by then I had already lost ground, and there was no way I was going to be able to pick it back up. The race ended with me shooting across the finish line in second place. At that point, I really didn’t care. All that mattered was the race was over and I didn’t have to think about it anymore. I barely paid attention to the prize ceremony and the congratulating of the racer who came in first. Running off instantly would have made me look like a poor sport, so I stayed long enough to shake his hand and get a few pictures before rushing back to the team tent as fast as I could.
Just inside the tent, Dad, Quentin, Vince, and Kelly were all gathered around the motorcycle. It lay on its side like a wounded animal, and my stomach lurched. That was a lot of damage. Far more than I would have anticipated. From what I saw of the crash, he hit the ground hard and skidded across the track, spinning out but managing to avoid being piled on by the other bikes. That in and of itself was fairly miraculous and had given me some hope as I made my way to the tent. Often crashes during races resulted in one bike smashing into others and then falling, becoming a domino effect that ended with several men hurt. Or even worse.