Off the Back

1

I see you questioning yourself. You grow frustrated and tired and frustrated again. You haven’t even saddled up yet and you’re already thinking of dropping out. I watch you get into your placement. One eighty-six is printed in bold black lettering on the white tag pinned to your maroon and navy Mettle jersey. You have an intense focus, eyes ahead, helmet tightened, your left foot clipped into the pedal. I see you shift your body. You look defeated before you’ve even begun. You resolve to quit the race. Why do you look around and compare yourself? I think, at least you showed up.

Walking through the venue is galvanizing and the crowd is already roaring. “C’mon Judah!” I yell as I anxiously wait for the bell to ring. The cowbells clang loudly as do the cheers and jests of the crowd. It's a raucous one; the crowd is thriving. It’s a muddy day and most of the crowd parade around the course in their wellies and rain jackets. Some of the posers push their bikes around, no intention to race. It was raining buckets this morning. The versatile riders take advantage of the sloppy conditions; these are the conditions in which they prevail. Cam and I walk around the course to find the best cheering spots. “I really hope he doesn’t quit”, I say to Cam as we wander past a large black Saint Bernard chewing on his tail. He lies in the mud tied to the post in the ground. I stop to admire his fervor. Its as though his tail has him hypnotized and he's unaware he’s using it as a chew toy.

One of the hecklers yells, “Ride that bike real cool, Chris!” Her cowbell yells along with her and I laugh loudly. Next to you racing, this is my favorite part of the cross crusades; the hecklers. They don’t care to encourage. They’re there to cut you down each at turn, obstacle and platform while they wear their cycling caps, sweatshirts and baggy jeans rolled up slightly. They’re elitists that won’t dare enter a race. I remember the first race I came to watch. I felt so nervous, I wasn’t sure where to stand and I felt embarrassed to yell. I fidgeted throughout the race. The crowd cheering with confidence and wit; it can be intimidating. I know it’s the fear of not knowing or yelling something that doesn’t make sense. These people are educated, intense and well versed. I’m the newbie. As I leave my novice self behind, I find myself becoming more emboldened to speak up, to yell things that are witty and provoke the hecklers surrounding me.

Your hands grip the silver lizard skin wrapped handlebars. You put so much love into your Cannondale this summer. You were preparing for this. How many miles total did you put in? Seven or eight hundred? And what about the climbs? I think back to the thousand-foot climb we did together. My thighs burning with exhaustion, itching with sweat. I was not to be defeated; I kept going. I wanted to keep up with you. Isn’t that how its always been though? Me, trying to keep up with you and trying to impress you. I often question if I’m capable and I doubt myself. I wasn’t sure I would make it up the climb. You rode back down the hill to meet me and encourage me.

“You’re doing great, Maisie! Just take your time, your spinning is looking good. Keep it on the lowest gear and just spin.” You gave me what I needed to keep pushing. My heart was buzzing with excitement and love for my bike. The bike you and I built together, my sea foam green Rock Lobster.

“Stay on your bike,” I whisper, pleading quietly as if you will hear me; part of me believes you will. I always thought we had a supernatural connection; big brother, little sister. I can hear the announcer, “drinks and food pass-ups are allowed.” The cyclists cheer, “This means beer!” I had to ask one of the cyclists near me, “What are pass-ups?” He responds, “It’s your opportunity to give us food and drink as we race through the course.” I’m not coordinated enough to do that for you. I hope you don’t take offense but I can see it now, I try to hand you a pass-up and instead I cause you to crash. I think it’s best for both of us if I don’t try.

The bell pierces through my thoughts and the crowd’s chatter. You’re off! I knew you heard me. You come to the first obstacle and the way you unclip and swing your right leg over the saddle, and throw your bike over your shoulder, leaping effortlessly over the two barriers; you do it with ease. Your movement is graceful. It is an art form to me. It’s a movement that is only yours and can’t be replicated; like your fingerprint, specific to you. And then I’m brought back to reality by the cowbells and the cheering. The cyclocross crowd is a rowdy one. The competitor behind you struggles to carry on with the same ease through the obstacle and a heckler threatens to throw rotten eggs at him next go around. “Get some skills or I’m smearing rotten eggs all over you!”

This is Cam’s first race and it’s an opportunity for me to get to know her. I remind myself to not share too much. I love to talk and it’s easy for me to get going. She is your new girlfriend; I would hate to embarrass you. Instead I embarrass myself and awkwardly blurt out, “Judah’s my favorite brother. Do you have any?” She sheepishly says, “uhhh, no. Well I’m not sure. I guess I’ve never thought of it.”

“Oh!” I reply excitedly. “I think about it all the time.” Again I’m embarrassed, why am I such a dork? “With six crazy siblings running around, I have got to have my favorite. All joking aside, Judah was my protector growing up. Things weren’t easy at home to say the least and my big brother always kept me safe. I remember chasing him and doing anything I could to antagonize him. I just wanted to hang out with him. Even now I follow him around. You would think I would grow out of it by twenty-eight.”

Cam laughs, “I think it’s great you two are so close. I wish I had that with any of my sisters. You’re here for him and I know he appreciates it. I see how he jokes around with you and I’m not gonna lie, it makes me a little jealous. I always thought families should be close, but doesn’t everyone?”

“Yea, I guess so.” I say as I shake my head. “Our family hasn’t always been tight-knit. To be honest, we still have skeletons. I don’t know how much Judah has told you and I don’t want him to get pissed at me. You’re still new,” I say as I laugh nervously. It seems easier to talk to Cam. Much easier than any of Judah’s previous girlfriends.

Amie was a bitch to Judah. She brought her friend to Portland for a visit, used us for a place to stay and then ended it with Judah. I wasn’t disappointed. Cara acted childish. She had elfish features, short boy hair, stubby feet and she cheated on him. Laurie and Bo were great, but they didn’t work out for different reasons. Laurie had too much money and Judah would call himself a dirt bag. Bo wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. In the long run, they wouldn’t have worked. I know I sound judgmental. I’m a protective little sister. Judah may have protected me when we were younger but I feel like the roles switched the morning I secretly took him to the train station because our dad was threatening to have him arrested. Our family still doesn’t know who took him.

Cam assured me she wouldn’t repeat what I told her. I still decided it wasn’t a great time to bare all of our secrets. Judah could tell her what he wanted when it was time. He always says “Maisie, stop projecting your shit on me. Just because you feel the way you do doesn’t mean I do too.” I never believe him though. I just think he hasn’t dealt with it all. Dad was pretty controlling and when Judah tried to move away, he couldn’t handle it. Dad was foaming at the mouth, waiting for Judah to mess up. As soon Dad knew he was trying to leave, he threatened Judah that he would turn him into the cops for vandalizing the old tavern earlier that summer. Dad was holding it over his head. Judah kept kicking himself for calling Dad to help get him out of the mess. The cops were still looking for the kids who had too much time on their hands, enough time to cause some serious damage to the tavern. The rumor was they were going to be charged with felonies if the police could ever figure out who was responsible. He says he was just trying to have a little fun before college. Judah has always been a straight-laced overachiever. I think the pressure just got to him.

2

I could hear her cheering for me. I tell her often, “Maisie, you’re such a dork. My dorky big little sister.” I bet she’s hoping I don’t drop out. I think it disappoints her but sometimes I don’t like who I become when I’m racing. It’s too much pressure and I’ve always been driven to win. I’m sure Maisie will tell you all about it if she gets the chance. I can’t think of all that at the moment. I need to focus. My race is about to start and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to show up today. Maisie was so excited though and Cam had been curious so I felt a little pressure to perform.

It’s a pain in the ass and some of these motherfuckers can’t stay on their line or keep a cadence. I’ve been run off the course before because some dumbass Clydesdale behind me doesn’t know how to handle his bike. The Clydesdales are two hundred plus pound men mashing it up on the pedals. Many have broken the carbon bike frames and squeezed their way through tight obstacles. “Control your rear-end!” I hear a heckler yell as I’m coming to the first obstacle. I see the cyclist in front of me running across the platform and he yells, “fuck!” He struggles to remount his bike. It’s these guys I have to look out for. The dumb fucks that don’t know how to hop back onto the saddle. I refocus, I’ve got to unclip, swing my leg over and throw my black and yellow Cannondale over my shoulder in swift movements. Maisie always tells me it looks so effortless but my thirty-year old body doesn’t feel that way. I hop back onto the saddle and pick up my pace. I’m coming up to the first steep climb. Hecklers will throw shit your way if you hop off and run it. I switch into granny gear and pray that I’ve got enough momentum to ride it all the way up. I’m still thinking about quitting. God, why do I do this to myself?

3

The cyclists had the option to dress up in costumes for the race. This should make for some fun banter. I see a guy dressed as a loofah coming up the straight away and this guy in the crowd yells “loofah me!” I yell “looking good in that dress,” as this guy in a pink fitted dress comes speeding my way. The best yet is the guy dressed as a Toblerone candy bar. Without thinking I yell, “I could use a big ‘ol piece of chocolate right now!” I immediately feel my cheeks flush and I’m sure I’m bright red because I realize how that sounds.

Cam and I decide to make our way to a concrete platform, hoping to catch Judah. She is laughing while I show off my mad dance skills. It was some combination of the robot and me looking as though I’m having a seizure. I should probably work on that. I’ve forgotten that Judah might quit and now I’m engrossed in the race. The events are exciting and keep you wondering what’s going to happen, who’s going to yell what and who’s going to fall off their bike, break a chain or rip off a derailleur.

I know Judah doesn't care for the Clydesdales but I love them. They’re the largest guys on the track and not whom you would really expect to see racing. That’s the great thing about cyclocross though. Anyone can race, the playing field is level. It’s not the same as the crit races where everyone looks malnourished and just speeding around a circular track. This takes a different kind of skill. I’ve been begging Judah to help get me ready for next season. I would be in the Athena group. The Athenas are the women version of Clydesdales. I’m over six feet tall and not the thinnest woman. Someone called Judah an oak tree recently. Strong and sturdy, I think that’s a great description. I’ve been called Sasquatch. Not sure it’s got the same ring to it. Athena sounds much more promising.

I see Judah come to the final obstacle of the race. It’s a run-up. I yell, “Do a wheelie!” Cam has gotten into the spirit of things and yells to one of the riders running his bike, “this is a bike race, not a triathlon! Get on your bike!” It sounds so funny coming from her. She’s a tiny little thing and pretty quiet. Her long black hair is swinging in her face as she throws her arms into the air. I hope Judah keeps this one.

With that, I hear the final bell ring and the race is closing out; he’s finished. I wait in anticipation for Judah. I tell Cam, “I guarantee you the first thing we’re going to hear is how everyone around him sucked.” Judah comes walking towards us. He’s covered in mud and he says, “This fucking asshole wouldn’t stay on his line. I wanted to quit so many times” I look at Cam, roll my eyes and laugh.

“Oh well,” I say, “I’m proud of you big bub. Now let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving and I need to find me a Clydesdale.”