Chapter 1

"Where’s my helmet?" Ike snapped, with nervous panic rising in his voice.

"Where’d you leave it after practice?" answered Mr. Gonzales in a soothing tone, trying to calm him down.

"I dunno, I put it right here," he countered, slipping his chest protector on with one hand and grabbing his gloves off the chair with the other.

"125 beginners to staging," the PA speakers boomed.

"Ike, that’s your race!" Rick Abernathy announced from behind the trailer.

"I know, I know! I can’t find my helmet!" his voice betraying the fear of a first-time racer.

"Does it look like this?" Mr. Gonzales asked coolly, holding up his helmet.

"Where was it?" Ike demanded, grabbing it as he rolled his bike by.

"Did you check your air pressure?"

"Yes."

"Chain tension?"

"Yes."

"Adjust your cables?"

"Yes," voice rising.

"Fuel?"

"Yes! Do you have to ask me that every time I ride? I always do it," Ike mumbled through his helmet as he buckled it on.

"Yes I do, until you can…"

"I know, I know, until it becomes a habit. Can I go race now?" Ike asked sarcastically, frantically kicking the starter on his Honda with no results.

Mr. Gonzales walked over to the bike and turned on the gas, then choked it. Then he stepped back with a smile of a knowing father. Ike just gave him the eye, tried once more and it roared to life. In his nervousness he over-revved it. Mr. Gonzales gave him a look and started to step toward him but caught himself. Ike was busy putting on his goggles.

"Ike, hold up," Mr. Rick caught him as he started to pull out of the pits. "Take your goggles off and sling them on your wrist."

"Why?"

"Because your just gonna have to go up to the staging area and wait, and they’ll fog up."

"No they won’t," Ike quipped as he pulled out.

Mr. Rick and Mr. Gonzales just exchanged glances of frustration.

"I have never seen him this nervous," Mr. Gonzales observed.

"Don’t you remember your first race, even though it was what, about 200 years ago?" Mr. Rick chuckled.

"You’ve got a point, but I surely didn’t talk to adults that way," Mr. Gonzales replied with a little anger in it.

"Well, you’re right, but look at it this way, you’re not his Dad, and his Dad hasn’t been around since he was really young to enforce respect. Besides, he just wants to win."

"I know, but I hope he’s not racing for the wrong reasons. If he tries too hard he’ll get hurt."

"Who of us raced for pure reasons? Didn’t we all have something to prove when we were young stallions?"

"He’s looking more like a mule to me. I’m going to turn two to watch."

"The mechanic’s turn is in four."

"But they’re going too fast through there. I want him to have more time to read the pit board."

"Aren’t you going to the gate with him?" Mr. Rick asked.

"He wouldn’t let me. I think it’s the cowboy hat," he pointed to the frazzled, weather-beaten hat with a smile. He reached down and picked up the mechanic bag with the extra plugs, wrenches and essentials, then grabbed the pit-board.

"Are you sure you want to use the pit board? This isn’t a championship. It’s his first race!"

"That’s the point, it’s his first race and I want to communicate to him."

"Why not just let him ride, make his mistakes and learn that way. You know he’s only going to get hung up on the gate or fall in the first turn."

Mr. Gonzales just stared at him. Then he put the board down. "True. But I say he falls in turn nine."

"Why?"

"It’s right after the big tabletop and he won’t get stopped in time. I saw him in practice. He’s concentrating so hard on trying to time the jump that he forgets about the turn right behind it."

"Then why aren’t you going to turn nine?"

"Cause he’s got to learn to pick up his bike in a race," smiled Mr. Gonzales.

"Oooooh, you’re so mean," Mr. Rick teased.

"Tough love."

They both laughed as the PA speakers boomed again, "Open Novice on the gate, 125 Beginner is staging, Senior 45+ and women’s class get ready.

Chapter 2

Ike pulled up to the entrance of the staging area. A line had formed all the way out the gate. Other riders had their helmets and goggles hanging on the handlebars and were just leaning against their bikes. He pressed the kill button and fumbled with his helmet strap. He couldn’t feel it through his gloves. So he removed his gloves and stuffed them in front of the tank. Now he couldn’t see through the foggy goggles, so he took them off and hung them on the bars. When he finally got his helmet off the line had moved and the rider behind him bumped his rear tire.

"Hey, keep the line movin’ man," he ordered impatiently.

Ike started pushing his bike, but his boot slipped in the mud and the goggles fell off, dropping right into the muck. When he reached down to pick them up his helmet fell off the other side. As he reached back across the seat to pick up his helmet he lost his balance and fell over, bike and all, burying his throttle in the mud.

The riders behind him laughed and shook their heads as they pushed their bikes around him, leaving him to pick up the bike by himself. One rider accidently stepped on his goggles squishing them into the mud.

"Hey, you jerk! That’s my goggles!" Ike spouted as he reached out to trip him.

"What are you going to do about it you little twerp? You won’t need to see from last place!" the rider responded angrily, turning around and pushing Ike’s head with his hand.

Ike jumped up, but lost his balance and fell backwards over his bike, landing flat on his back in the mud. The riders laughed heartily, and the rider in front of him just waved to him and continued on to the gate.

When he finally got the bike back up, he nearly fell again. Now his hands, goggles, boots, helmet and throttle were all covered in the brown ooze. Gas had leaked from the carburetor and was all over the engine case.

"Oh great, I bet you won’t start, too," Ike said to Vinnie. Vinnie was a 1982 Honda Elsinore 125 that he and Mr. Gonzales had built a few months ago. It was old, but the newest they had. He had grown accustomed to it riding for hours through the back country around his house in Calais, Louisiana. He had only been practicing on the Abernathy track for two months when the opportunity came to race. Sam’s Dad, Mr. Rick, had to convince Mr. Gonzales to let Ike race. Mr. Gonzales thought Ike needed more experience, but finally gave in when Ike pestered him enough. Now here they were at the racetrack in New Iberia, just 35 minutes from Calais and Ike’s dream to become a pro motocross racer was FINALLY about to begin. He had waited all his life for this moment. He had played it out in his mind every night before he fell asleep and while daydreaming in school. Now the reality had come and he was ready – or at least thought he was.

The Open Novice class took off, sending dirt clumps all the way back to the staging area, hitting Ike in the face. Ike’s class quickly rolled their bikes up to the gate, jostling for the best spots, while Ike was trying to wipe the dirt out of his eyes. A rider down the gate saw it and announced, "Hey, look at 14, he’s starting to cry! Don’t be scared, we won’t hurt you."

Another chimed in, "Look, a red dinosaur. The antique class is over there," pointing to the port-a-potties.

"Hey get him out of our class. We don’t want him getting in the way," one rider complained to the starter.

"He’s legal, it’s been cleared. Just get yourselves ready," the starter commanded.

The riders put their helmets on, then their gloves and began to start their bikes. Ike just did what they did, but when he started kicking Vinnie, she wouldn’t start. He tried turning off the gas, then kick. Turn the gas back on – nothing. He choked it. Nothing. Mr. Gonzales suddenly appeared out of nowhere and ordered him to pull the bike off the line. Embarrassed, Ike refused.

"Pull the bike back off the gate, pronto. Just trust me!" Mr. Gonzales shouted over the noise of the other bikes. Reluctantly Ike backed it off.

"Now lets push start it, that way! Put it in second then drop down on the seat and let out the clutch when I say!" They rolled out away from the gate, then in front of the gate, center stage where everyone was watching. Ike was mortified, but tried to concentrate on starting the bike.

"Ok, drop!" Mr. Gonzales shouted, huffing and puffing as he pushed from behind, his cowboy hat falling off behind him.

Ike plopped down and let out the clutch. Nothing happened but the hum of the dead motor turning over. When they slowed to a stop, Mr. Gonzales panted, "Push it off to the side, I gotta change the plug."

"We don’t have time for that!" Ike protested.

"We’ve got 2 minutes, hold the bike." Mr. Gonzales ran over to grab his bag. The starter held up two fingers to the riders on the gate causing some of them to shake their heads in frustration. When he got back he already had the new plug out of the box and the wrench in his hand. He popped the spark plug cap off and fit the wrench in under the tank. He bumped it with the heel of his hand and clicked the ratchet at warp speed. He exchanged plugs and tightened the new one. He stuck the cap back on, and stepped back. "Start her up!"

She started on the first kick, but ran wide open.

"Let off the throttle!" shouted Mr. Gonzales.

"It’s stuck!"

Mr. Gonzales worked the throttle loose and revved it down. He reached into his bag for the WD-40 and sprayed away the mud, then wiped it with the rag. He blipped it a couple times and stepped back. Ike put her in gear and launched over to the gate, taking his position. The starter pointed down the line and the racers nodded one at a time, including Ike. He held up the two sign, then turned it around to the one, then sideways. He scurried out of the way as the gate dropped. And with that Ike launched into his dream of becoming a motocross racer.

Chapter 3

The gate dropped, but Ike let the clutch out too fast and killed the motor. He glanced up helplessly as his entire class roared away. Instinctively he reached down, pulled open the kick starter and gave it a swift kick. But it was in gear. He pulled in the clutch and kicked again, sparking the 125 to life. He tore across the gate and down to the first turn. There were two riders just getting up that had tangled in the chaos of turn one moments earlier.

‘Two down, 15 to go,’ thought Ike as he laid the bike down low and gassed around the turn. His adrenaline was flowing and now Ike was fully alive. All the problems of school, home and his own struggles with identity were pushed into the recesses of his mind; and in an instant he had changed to "Dirt Bike Ike," one with his bike, free as a bird, master of his own destiny. But he was not yet one with the track as this was the first time he had ever ridden here. The turns that were similar to Sam’s track were easy, even natural for him. But the jumps, oh my goodness, he was not used to this.

He approached the first double jump and backed way off, which caused him to come up short. He landed into the face of the second jump, springing him off the bike. His legs flew up into the air over the back of the bike, but he hung on to the bars with all he had. By sheer will power he stayed on the bike as the back end popped up like a bucking bronco. Bike and rider finally landed, nose first, off balance on the front side of the jump and veered into the fencing. Spectators fled as he barely regained control, but not before he slid into the fence, stalling the bike. After wasting a few valuable moments trying to get Vinnie restarted, she finally woke up. He darted back out onto the track. Before the next big jump the leaders had already completed their first lap and caught up behind him.

‘Aw man, I’m a lap down already!’ As he backed off the throttle again the two frontrunners held the throttle on, passing him, one on either side, sailing over his head. ‘No! This ain’t happening!’ He gassed Vinnie and tried to keep pace with them. Soon he fell into a rhythm and began to keep pace with the leaders. It was a good feeling, riding the same speed as the fast guys and he started to settle down and think. ‘Ok, I’m ok. I can do this. Vinnie is as strong as these bikes and I’m not too tired. Let’s just see what they do.’

Then came the big triple. ‘I know they’re not gonna try this. I’ll just settle for the double,’ Ike thought as they made the turn for the jump. He remembered his practice speed and backed off, standing up he cleared two of the jumps like he had learned at Sam’s track, but the two leaders went for the whole thing! The first one cleared the triple, but the second one came up a bit short and cased the crest of the third jump, popping his body into the air, just like Ike had a few minutes earlier. Ike knew the out-of-control rider would have to slow down to recover, so when he cleared the double, he sped up over the final jump and went around the wounded rider and passed. Ike could hear the crowd moan as they watched that rider crash off to the side of the track.

‘Focus on the leader,’ Ike thought as he picked up his pace to close the gap. The KTM was almost one turn ahead, but Ike shared the same straights with him. This inspired Ike to hold the throttle on a little longer into the turns like Mr. Gonzales had taught him. He was picking up a little time on the leader when they approached jump nine, the big tabletop. Ike chose the line he found at practice and hit the jump in third gear. The front end began coming up too high on him and he held his breath. Finally it started coming back down and Ike looked for the landing. The turn! He had forgotten about the turn right behind it! He locked his brakes and lost control of the bike as it started sliding onto his left side, then it hit a rut and pitched him over the right side, sending him into the fencing for the second time! Right when he tried to get up, another rider cleared the jump, but missed Ike’s head by an inch. Ike dropped back down. He turned and crawled off the track. Mr. Rick was there in an instant.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I think so." Ike tried to get up. But he felt a sharp pain in his left ankle. He dropped back down after putting weight on it.

"My ankle hurts."

"Just stay down. Wait for the medic."

The flagger was waving the yellow flag on top of the jump while the medic arrived to check him out.

"Where does it hurt?" grilled the first responder.

"My left ankle."

He examined his ankle. "Let’s take off your boot."

Mr. Rick and the medic carefully unbuckled the boot and slid it off.

"Ouuuuuch!" Ike tried to hide the pain as he leaned back.

"It’s alright, almost there."

The medic removed the long sock and began to press gently on his ankle in various places. "Tell me where it hurts."

"Right there!" Ike yelped as he sat back down again in pain.

"Right there?"

"Yes!"

"You’re gonna be ok, it’s just sprained. No broken bones, but your racing day is over." They helped Ike up and put their arms around him to help him back to the pits.

"I’m ok, give me my bike!" Ike demanded as he threw off their arms and took a step towards his bike. But his ankle couldn’t hold his weight and he collapsed in a heap.

"You’re not goin’ anywhere on that bum ankle, champ," the medic stated firmly as he reached down to help him up.

Mr. Gonzales had just arrived. "He ok?"

"Yeah, he just sprained his ankle. Can you grab the bike? I’ll help him up," Mr. Rick directed. They helped Ike up and put his arm around Mr. Rick’s shoulder as they headed back to the pits. When they arrived they sat Ike down in a chair and got some ice and put it in a towel.

"Prop it up and put this on it."

"Here, I’ll take care of that," Mr. Gonzales offered taking over. "You go watch Sam race, she’s on the gate."

Mr. Rick scurried off to take his place in the mechanic’s turn. A loud roar from the 13 motorcycles announced the dropping of the gate.

"And they’re off!" the announcer fired. "Raven Regal and Kate Sterling are out front. Where is Samantha Abernathy? She won the first moto in a vicious battle with Regal and Sterling. There she is in mid-pack, she got hung up in traffic. Samantha is the fastest girl in Louisiana and won’t like it back there. Watch the number-63 KTM cut through the pack!"

"You okay?" Mr. Gonzales asked Ike.

"Yeah, you can go watch, I’ll hold this," he moaned glumly as he grabbed the ice pack.

Mr. Gonzales shuffled off to the fence line to watch.

Chapter 4

Ike had no choice but to just sit there in pain and listen to the announcer over the PA.

"Samantha Abernathy continues to cut through the pack, picking off riders left and right; while out front it’s a dogfight – or should I say ‘catfight’? between Regal and Sterling! Regal shows a wheel to Sterling and Sterling slams the door shut with her Cycle World Yamaha. Now Regal and Sterling are drag-racing down the back straight and it’s a game of chicken into turn eight. Who’s going to let off first?"

The announcer took a breath, and then continued to describe the action.

"Sterling sticks just enough of her front tire in to claim the inside line, then takes Regal up to the top of the berm and sends her over! Man, that was a dirty move!" The announcer began shouting excitedly, "Regal goes off the track and gets stuck on a hay bale, while Sterling motors off alone! Wait, here comes Abernathy, flyin’ up into second place like a cat with her tail on fire. Last lap – can she catch Sterling?"

Ike grabbed a broom and limped over to the edge of the track to watch. Everybody was along the fencing now, watching the best race of the day. Sterling came zipping by Ike wide open on the number-33 Yamaha, railing the top of the berm to take the white flag. Sam whizzed by next on her KTM, her long blonde hair flying straight back. Meanwhile, Regal had finally gotten her Kawasaki back into the race.

The announcer continued: "Samantha Abernathy has her KTM almost within striking distance, as Sterling looks back over the tabletop. Regal is back into the race but fading in third; looks like she’s injured – bike, body or pride."

Ike watched Mr. Rick waving to his daughter furiously as she went by, pointing to the leader. Ike wondered what he should yell or signal to her. This was all so different than riding in the woods. It was 100 times more exciting, but he was clearly disoriented at his very first motocross race, at least, as a competitor.

He didn’t even notice the pain anymore, as he was mesmerized by the action. As the riders approached the number-nine tabletop and turn, Ike wondered how Sam would handle it. She was the most experienced rider in the class and had raced on many different tracks around the country on her unsuccessful run to a National Championship last year. Surely she had something up her sleeve.

The announcer was rocking now: "Sam Abernathy has Kate Sterling in her sights. The Louisiana champ pulls up behind the Oklahoma champ. Something’s about to happen! They both launch up the giant tabletop together, side by side! Sterling has the inside-line advantage into the short hairpin right behind the jump. Are they gonna stop in time?"

Sterling was half a bike - length ahead. Ike watched Sam maneuver her bike in the air. She locked the back brake, freezing her rear wheel in the air, and turned her front wheel left into Sterling’s bike. That brought her front end down and turned her bike into the inside line like a gyroscope, giving her a split-second’s advantage on braking as they landed on the downhill side of the big jump. Sterling had over-jumped slightly and lost time getting her front wheel down to start braking, while Sam had already landed smoothly on the big jump, front wheel first, and she went hard on both brakes.

The announcer was frantically translating the action: "Abernathy gets on the brakes first, hard! She just misses Sterling’s rear wheel and dives inside the hairpin. On the gas first, she uses her back wheel to nudge Sterling, knocking her boot off the peg. Now Abernathy races down the next straight with a bike - length lead while Sterling has to fish for the shifter with her left foot. Two turns to go!"

The crowd went crazy. The air was supercharged with adrenaline. Ike watched with admiration as Sam expertly negotiated the remaining obstacles and cruised to the finish line for the victory.

The announcer was bellowing into the microphone, emphasizing each word: "Samantha Abernathy takes her Calais Motorsports KTM to victory over Kate Sterling from Ponca City, Oklahoma! The 16-year-old "Bayou Cat" from Calais, Louisiana, wins both motos today to remain undefeated in the Women’s class for 2009!"

As she eased off the track, Sam looked back for Kate Sterling and offered her a thumbs-up. Sterling just passed her rudely and gave Sam a thumbs-down and rode away.

Ike hobbled back to the pits, now remembering the pain and muttering, "Ow, ow, ow!" with each limping step, and then dropped into a chair to wait. Moments later, Sam puttered up and parked her bike. She removed her goggles, helmet and gloves. Her face was dirty, with sweaty streaks, but it didn’t change the fact that she was pretty – very pretty.

"Nice ride," Ike commented without getting up.

"Thanks," she replied, playfully slapping Ike on the shoulder with her gloves and then tossing them on the table and grabbing a drink from the ice chest. She took a long draw and then assessed Ike’s situation.

"What’s wrong with you?" Sam asked, pointing to his ankle.

"It ain’t nothin’, just a bump. I’ll be okay."

Sam wiped her face with a towel and then took another long swig of water. Her dad came running up with a wide grin.

"Way to go, Sammie, you burned ’em! That’s my girl!" he boasted proudly, giving her a big bear hug.

Mr. Gonzales came up next, hooting and hollering as he ducked under the canopy, clapping his hands.

"Bravo, bravo," he celebrated. "That was some great riding!"

"Thanks," Sam responded, smiling. "I’m glad you liked it." She finally permitted herself to collapse wearily into the chair next to Ike’s.

"We should go out and celebrate on the way home – don’t you think, Ike?" Mr. Gonzales announced, turning to Ike.

"I don’t know, my ankle is hurting," Ike whined.

"How about a couple Tylenol and some pizza?" Mr. Rick coaxed.

Ike had to think about that. "Pizza?"

"At Doc’s in Morgan City."

"Doc’s Pizza? I guess I can tough it out," Ike conceded, nodding.

Suddenly, Kate Sterling came riding up on her little pit bike.

"That was a dirty move, Samantha," she accused. "I would have won that race!"

"I barely bumped you," Sam retorted defensively.

"Oh, yeah? You almost took me out!" Kate snarled angrily.

"…And what did you do to Raven Regal?" challenged Mr. Rick.

Kate just stuck her nose up in the air and motored away.

"I won’t forget that!" she threatened over her shoulder.

"I won’t either," Sam bristled back.

"Yes, you will," her dad warned.

"No, I won’t," Sam hissed angrily. "I put a clean pass on her. Didn’t you see it?"

"Yep, I saw it," he stated, holding his ground. "It was the best pass you ever made. Just good, aggressive racing, like I taught you. But you got to let the anger go."

"He’s right, Sam," Mr. Gonzales offered gently. "If you don’t let it go, it will fester inside of you until it comes out in some other unhealthy way."

"I don’t care what ya’ll say!" Sam fumed. "She’s got one coming."

"She’s got lots coming, from several riders. Don’t let her drag you down into that!" her dad scolded.

"I’m the one out there riding, and I’ll ride like I want!" she shot back, angrily turning and storming off to the camper.

"Okay, we need to start picking up," Mr. Rick moaned glumly, turning to pick up his towel. "I’m gonna go get her trophy, since she’s not in a trophy mood. I’ll be right back."

"Does this mean we’re not getting pizza?" Ike asked.

"It depends on who cools down first," Mr. Gonzales replied wisely.

Chapter 5

The ride home was long and quiet. Neither cooled down. They weren’t talking, although Mr. Rick had tried. They were all in a thoughtful mood, replaying the events of the race in their minds. Mr. Gonzales had commented on the positives of the race, but they didn’t feel like responding. Mr. Rick drove the rig all the way home while Ike and Sam surrendered to weariness and fell asleep.

The next day at school was a drag for both Ike and Sam as they were still exhausted, both mentally and physically from the race. Still, word got around that Sam had won her race and people began talking. This led to talk about how Ike fared as well. This was not good news, as far as Ike was concerned. Jimmy Plaisance, who missed the race due to a football game used Ike’s mishap against him as usual.

"Hey Ikey, gotta stop for the turns, buddy," He taunted in front of the other students at lunch.

"Yeah, he got lapped in the beginner class!" Ben announced. Normally Ben was pretty friendly with Ike, but he was desperate for some cool points, and since he was jealous about Ike’s new racing hobby he didn’t mind trying to take him down a peg.

When Ike and Sam had solved the Gaudet/Piazza crime a few months ago they were given status as town heroes, but a couple of the students felt like that status should be temporary and they began to work behind the scenes to humble them, especially the girls.

With boys, what you see is what you get. But girls can be sneakier, have hidden agendas and are prone to manipulation. When it came to Sam, it was almost a conspiracy and not just because she was pretty, and the new girl, and now a heroine, but she was stealing the boys’ attention. The text messages and e-mails about her got downright nasty.

This whole tension made Ike and Sam social outcasts in their own school and there were very few places to go in such a small community. This isolation drove Ike and Sam into a kind of "us versus them" mentality. They could not go to the teen hang-outs and fast food joints without feeling the jealousy. To the adults of Calais, they were held in higher regard as most of the parents understood and appreciated their position. They were still grateful for how they handled themselves during last year’s crime investigation that brought down the crooked chief of police and councilman who were smuggling drugs. But some parents were as insecure as their kids and would do anything to raise their kids’ status. It was almost a sickness. More and more Ike and Sam began to withdraw into training for motocross. Their interest in school faded and their grades began to drop.

One day Sam got the idea that they could reclaim their social positions at school by going to more after-school functions. She targeted the home-coming dance.

"Ike, let’s go to the homecoming," Sam suggested.

"The game?"

"All of it, the game, the pep rally, the dance…"

"Whoa! Hold it right there. I don’t do dances," Ike interrupted with conviction in his voice.

"Why not?"

"I just don’t."

"Ike, have you ever uh, danced?"

"Nope."

"Come on, Ike! It’s not that hard," Sam reasoned, as they pushed their bikes off her track after a brisk practice session. "I can teach you."

"When alligators can fly and crawfish can boil themselves."

"We’ve been frozen out for long enough. I’m sick and tired of it. I want to go have some fun with other people, uh, not that you aren’t fun, but I miss socializing. We need to bounce back into the scene."

"That’s easy for you to say, you have social skills, you’re aggressive, you’re pretty, you’ve got personality, you’re a champion."

"Are you feelin’ sorry for yourself again? You sell yourself short."

"No I don’t."

She stopped and grabbed his bike by the handlebar to get his attention, "Ike, break out of that negative thinking! You’ve got lots to offer."

"No I don’t."

"You do."

"Don’t."

"Do.

"Name one thing!" He challenged, looking fiercely into her eyes.

"Okay, you’re kind."

"Soft," Ike countered.

"Intelligent."

"Spacey," Ike shot back.

"Intense."

"Hard-headed."

"Strong."

"Dumb."

"Deep thinker."

"Withdrawn."

"Creative."

"Don’t follow the rules."

"Crafty."

"Sneaky."

"Committed to your Mother."

"She’s the only family I’ve got left."

"There’s Mr. Gonzales."

"I’m all he’s got."

"Ike Hebert, that is enough! There are people that love you. You’re being obnoxious!" her voice rising in anger.

"Do you love me?"

Sam had to stop and think.

"You see - you had to stop and think."

"Ike, I do love you."

"You do?"

"Well, not that kind of love."

"What kind do you mean?"

"Well, not the romantic kind. I think I’m too young for that."

"No you’re not, I’ve seen the way you look at Dave Remington."

"Ike, you can’t be serious," she said starting to blush.

"Look, you’re turning red. It’s Dave, isn’t it?"

"Ike, you’re trying to make something out of nothing."

"You call sitting near him in every class nothing?"

"Ike, are you… jealous?"

"No, I don’t care." He began to walk his bike over to the hose for the cleaning.

"You are, you’re jealous!" Sam said gleefully razzing him.

"Now you’re making something out of nothing."

"Sam, time for supper!" Mr. Rick called out, stepping onto the porch.

"I’ll be right in, Dad!" She turned back to Ike, "This conversation is not over."

"Yes it is."

"No it’s not," she teased, smiling.

"I’m outta here," Ike said, trying to hide his smile. He gave up on washing his bike, put his helmet on and started Vinnie. He revved it loudly and shouted, "Conversation over!"

"No it’s not!" She yelled back.

Ike just revved the bike louder and cupped his hand to his ear. "What? I can’t hear you!"

"Not over!"

"What?" Revving louder.

"Ike, are you over-revving that bike?" Mr. Rick yelled from the porch.

"No sir, I was just leaving," He replied putting Vinnie in gear and pulling away.

"See you CAN hear. Not over!" Sam yelled as he pulled away.

"Whatever!" Ike yelled over his shoulder, gassing the bike, shooting roost all over Sam.

Chapter 6

Calais high school was abuzz with the events of early January. There was Homecoming week, the big pep rally, the parties, the game and a dance, which Ike was able to talk Sam out of – barely.

A month later excitement began to grow on campus for the Valentine’s weekend activities. On the Friday before Valentine’s Day students gave cards. As usual the popular students got plenty of cards and waved them around in everyone else’s faces like trophies. Some of the girls got flowers. Sam got the most from potential boyfriends. This didn’t help her position with the girls at all. But it was good for her ego.

There was nothing to help Ike with his. He got a few cards, but reasoned they were just "pity cards" to keep him from feeling left out. His Mom could not reason with him. It was as if he wanted to be depressed, and couldn’t be talked out of it.

Ike and Sam didn’t get much practice during this time because the weather was so bad. Rain and cold, wet cold and then rain again. The motocross races that were scheduled for late January and early February were cancelled, taking away some motivation to train and practice. Sam began spending more time on the computer, taking special courses to help with the SAT. She wanted to go to LSU and get into medical school.

Ike had no allusions of college. While Sam was in gifted classes, Ike was in special Ed, with all the stigma and baggage that went with it. He could barely read and he processed information slower than the other students, so he missed so much of what the teacher said. He didn’t raise his hand to ask the teacher to repeat anything because it seemed to call attention to his slowness, thus giving the class one more excuse to laugh at him. He had stopped asking questions in the second grade. He could not wait to get out of school. He just wanted to get a job, to work with his hands. He was good at fixing things or putting mechanical stuff together.

So Ike puttered around on his BMX track, expanding it into an MX track, with little jumps he could build with his shovel. He worked after school at Mr. Gonzales’ junk yard which was being converted into a motorcycle shop. But when his grades fell, he was made to quit his job.

"Bring your grades up and you can come back to work. That’s the deal, remember?" Mr. Gonzales had instructed the last time he was there. Ike hadn’t been back in a month, choosing instead to sit around and play video games. When the last report card came his Mom took away his games. When that didn’t work she took away his bike. Ike still refused to study, but not riding his bike was starting to get to him.

Finally, when he’d had enough, he started working harder, doing some reading for English class and writing a few papers. In math he started paying closer attention, but it wasn’t enough. He finally gave in to Sam’s pestering and allowed her to tutor him after school. But it came with a price: he grudgingly agreed to take her to the Valentine’s Day dance. With a little homework he was able to bring up his grades just high enough to get his bike back. But because of the weather, he wasn’t able to ride much. He got tired of cleaning the mud off the bike.

On February 14^th a cold front had moved through south Louisiana that brought bone-chilling, wet cold, driven by a fierce north wind. It was as if the frigid air was battling with the Gulf humidity for rights to drive the residents of Calais inside. Ike hated staying inside. He was just not an "inside" person. At least school got him out of the house. But it wasn’t that much better there, because, for Ike and Sam it was almost as cold inside the school as out, as they braved the stares and comments of the popular kids of Calais High School.

Ike dreaded the dance, but he sucked it up and soldiered on. On dance night Ike and his Mom drove to the Abernathy house for pictures. Ike refused to let Tricia and Mr. Rick pose with them, because he didn’t want parent pictures. Tricia overruled Rick’s offer to drive them to the dance; but Ike forced his Mom to drop them off around the corner so no one would see that she was bringing them. This was way embarrassing for Ike since most of the coolest sophomores and almost all the upper classmen were driving, many with their own cars and trucks.

Ike felt really uncomfortable in his coat and tie. The last time he dressed up was for his father’s memorial service and he was only six years old. This night he had argued with his Tricia about what to wear. He held out for his cleanest jeans and favorite racing tee-shirt. But she would have none of it. Ike had secretly practiced dancing with Tricia, demanding she tell no one. But she told Sam anyway. Sam and Tricia were always scheming to help Ike, although he claimed they were only trying to control him. Ike had a real problem with people telling him what to do. He had a real problem controlling his need for freedom. Though he still hadn’t grown much taller, he was starting to deal with the new surge of hormones, muscles and a desire for adult freedoms; but didn’t yet have the maturity to handle it. This was becoming a deadly combination and a new sense of rebellion began to creep into his attitude. Then he made the deadly mistake of comparing himself with others. He began to cover his insecurities with disrespect – for others and himself.

With all the baggage Ike carried it’s no wonder he didn’t want to go to the dance, where the boys with more maturity, especially the older ones seemed to be on display for the girls to scheme over. It took all his confidence and self-discipline to walk into the gym that night.

Sam had cleaned up nicely, thanks to a trip to the hair salon. Her hair was pulled up in the back with some sections dangling alongside her face. A touch of make-up, along with some jewelry, especially the long earrings, turned the tomboy into a princess. She wore a red-sequined, black lace dress with a handkerchief hemline to her knees that matched her black stiletto pumps.

She was dazzling and the boys noticed. Boy, did they notice. Ike felt like he had walked into a trap and soon began to resent Sam – for dragging him here, for dressing him up like some kind of formal monkey and for creating a drama that he didn’t understand, making him play a game he wasn’t good at. But it was too late now.

Chapter 7

Ike’s nightmare began right away as the boys started elbowing their way in to speak with Sam. Ike took it too personally since he had brought her. Then when the music started Ike hesitated in asking Sam to dance, and the competition began. Boy after boy asked Sam to dance, and being the physical competitor that she was, accepted every offer and tried to out-dance the girls. She was in such good shape that she never tired.

"Come on, Ike. Let’s dance," Sam offered several times throughout the night.

"No. We’ve had this conversation." Ike was drowning in his insecurities and self-pity.

"Ike, I know you can dance, your mother taught you."

"She told you that?" Ike demanded angrily. Someone overheard and spread it around. Pretty soon the troublemakers used it to assert themselves.

"Hey babe, how bout dancing with me?" Jimmy asked in his most manly voice. When she got up from the table and took his hand he glanced over his shoulder and winked at Ike who was fuming. It was a slow song and Ike watched as Jimmy tried to put his hands in different places on Sam’s back, but she removed them twice.

‘The next time he does that I’m gonna spring outta this chair and kick his butt,’ Ike decided, sliding his chair back and repositioning his feet, not taking his eyes off of Jimmy who just smiled at him from over Sam’s shoulder. But Jimmy didn’t do it again. After the dance Jimmy tried to move Sam’s head in for a kiss, but she turned and walked out of it as if nothing happened. She walked back over to the table and sat down and looked at Ike. "Don’t even think about it," she warned with glaring eyes, knowing what Ike was thinking.

"It’s too late." Ike said, looking back at Jimmy. Jimmy just smiled at him and turned away, coolly striding back over to his big group. After saying something they all looked at Ike’s table and laughed. Ike started turning red in the face. He could feel the anger rising inside of him. He was now on a hair trigger, ready to explode.

"Come on, Ike. Let’s go get some fresh air," Sam insisted, getting up and taking his arm.

"Good idea," Ike mumbled, responding to her gentle touch. He proudly walked her to the door, with Sam’s hand under his arm. He thought they probably looked like the couple on a wedding cake, all dressed and proper. As they reached the door, Dave Remington was standing there tall and clean, in a red and black suit that seemed to match Sam’s.

"Are you leaving?" he asked Sam.

"No, just going for some fresh air," Sam responded with a coy smile.

"It’s really bad out there," he added with a look of concern.

"That’s ok, we’re athletes in top physical condition," she asserted playfully.

"I can see that," he croaked nervously. Ike noticed that Dave was turning red. Sam brought her hand up to pull a trail of hair behind her ears and blushed. Ike immediately stepped between them and glared at Dave as he walked by, pulling her along. "Excuse us, please," he ordered gruffly, as he led her outside.

They stopped just outside the door under the porch in the only spot that was still dry. The cold rain was coming down in sheets. Ike and Sam inhaled the cold air for a few long, silent, tension filled seconds, not knowing what to say.

"You alright?" Sam asked, nudging up closer trying to get warm.

"Yeah. It’s just that, well nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Come on Ike," she probed. "I’m your best friend. Talk to me."

Ike looked at her squarely in the face.

"You wouldn’t understand."

"Try me."

"This, all this…" he pointed inside the gym, "It’s… uhhh… not… cool," he complained, fumbling for words.

"Yes it is, it’s very cool."

"To you, you’re like the star attraction."

"No I’m not."

"You are. Don’t you see how the guys are looking at you?"

"No. Well yes, kind of. But they’re just being boys. Besides they’re not used to seeing me dressed up with a little make-up, that’s all."

"No, it’s more than that."

"Ike, it’s your imagination again."

"What’s wrong with my imagination?"

"What’s wrong is you work yourself up into a believing something that isn’t true."

"I don’t do that," he denied defensively.

"Yes you do." Sam changed her tone. "Now look," she moved in a little closer to straighten his tie. "You’re looking pretty sharp tonight and I have noticed that you are turning a few heads yourself."

"Those are just guys who can’t believe I’m wearing a tie."

"No, silly - the girls," with a playful slap on the shoulder.

"They can’t believe I’m wearing a tie."

"Maybe not, but they’re impressed."

"No they’re not."

"They are, they think you’re cute."

"No they don’t, and I’m not ‘cute’, don’t call me that," he argued.

"Oh yeah, you’re kind of hot."

"Hot?"

"Yeah, hot. You have this quiet strength coming from those blue eyes and a serious, intense look on your face that’s attractive," as she straightened his collar.

"I do?"

"You do," she said a little lower.

Ike couldn’t hold back any longer, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss. But she didn’t kiss him back.

"What? What’s the matter?" Ike blurted, moving back annoyed by the rejection.

"I… I’m not your girlfriend, Ike."

"You just said you’re my best friend. You’re a girl. So that means you’re my best girlfriend. You just said that seconds ago, and you gave me the look," Ike insisted, voice rising.

"No, no, no. It doesn’t work like that," Sam pleaded defensively as the look on her face changed. Suddenly she was a cross between his Mom and his schoolteacher. "Yes, I am your best friend, but not your girlfriend," she clarified. "There’s a difference."

"Ok. What is the difference. Explain to me the difference."

She pulled away, "Friend is friendly, girlfriend is… well different."

"In what way?" Ike was beginning to lose patience.

"In every way!" She countered defensively.

"Name one."

"Ok. They don’t kiss like that."

"Why not? They do in the movies." Ike pointed out.

"This is not a movie!"

"I know that. But why won’t you kiss me?"

"Because, I… don’t see you that way," Sam confessed, turning away.

"What way is that Sam? Huh. I want to know. I REALLY would like to know how you see me."

She turned to face him with fire in her eyes. "I see you as my friend, my teammate, kind of brotherly like, you know?"

"I, AM, NOT, YOUR, BROTHER!" Ike yelled each word separately, stepping back into the rain without caring.

Mr. Dansberry, the school principal stuck his head out the door, "Everything all right out here?"

"Yes, we were just coming back in, weren’t we Ike?" Sam responded, turning to look at Ike, who was getting wet.

Ike hesitated. It was too much for him to handle, going back into the dance. There was really no reason to go back in, not now.

"Ike, you coming back in?" Mr. Dansberry questioned politely.

He took a deep look into Sam’s face. He saw pity. It was not what he wanted to see. He wanted to see what she showed Dave Remington.

"No, I’m… not feeling that good. I think I have to go."

Sam looked into Ike’s face and saw hurt, pain and the sting of rejection. She tried to fix it, "Come on Ike," she teased and winked. "I’ve got something to show you." It had always worked before. This time, it didn’t.

"Why don’t you go show Dave," he spit sarcastically.

Dave stuck his head out, having listened to the whole conversation, "Did someone call me?" he inquired expectantly.

"NO!" all three retorted sharply back to him in unison, causing him to retire back into the gym.

"Come on in, Ike," Mr. Dansberry offered, "it’s warm inside; you’ve got friends inside…"

"No I don’t," Ike cut him off. "Not a single one," he charged slowly, looking directly at Sam. He turned and walked away, into the rain.

"Ike, don’t... don’t do this," Sam pleaded and went after him, starting to get wet herself. She grabbed him by the arm, he just shook it off. "Leave me alone," he demanded, and quickened his pace.

She just stood there looking at him, "You want me to uhhh..?"

"Just leave me alone!" He just waved his arm without turning around.

"Come on in, Sam," Mr. Dansberry advised, opening the door wider. "Leave him alone. He’s got to think things through."

Ike started feeling guilty about his words, plus the cold water was getting through his clothes, shocking him into the reality about what he was doing. He began to have second thoughts, so he turned to try to salvage his position. But what he saw hit him like a bolt of lightning. Through the open door he could see bright lights, decorations, the red hearts hanging from the ceiling, the music, the warmth, the sounds of people laughing, but worst of all he saw Dave Remington take off his coat and put it around Sam as she entered the gym.

The desire to go back in, to try to break through the social blockade. to belong, to be friends - it all went away in an instant. "That’s a picture of my life, right there," he muttered to himself. He looked up and saw the rain dropping from the darkness like so many icy missiles. They stung his face in disrespect. He growled at the heavens, then yanked his coat off and tossed it aside, then pulled his tie off and crumpled it into a ball and tossed it at the garbage can. He missed and angrily kicked the can over, spilling old motor oil all over his pants. "That’s just GREAT!" he screamed to the heavens. He jammed his hands into his pockets and tore his pockets. He turned into the dark night as he began putting the dance as far behind him as he could, trudging wearily towards home.

Chapter 8

The cold rain turned into sleet about halfway to the house. Ike welcomed the pain. In a way it felt good. But the sloshing of water in his new shoes was causing his feet to slide back and forth bringing a blister. He just shivered his way home. He wondered why Sam had turned against him. He wondered why his life was always like this. Why did he have to be so short, so ugly, so dumb, so skinny, so awkward, and so shy? Why wasn’t he good with girls? Sure he had a good run last year when he and Sam had solved the crime and helped clean up the dirty cops for the town. Sure it was fun riding in the victory parade down Bayou Castine. He especially enjoyed the festival, with the music, the booths, the food and the newfound respect. He really liked seeing Mr. Gonzales on the stage that night receiving the key to the town. What had he done with that key? He had cleaned up his junk yard, turned it into a motorcycle shop and his business was thriving. Riders came from as far away as Florida to have their bikes tuned. And now that Mom was helping him start an online business he had to hire more help. He was too busy for Ike now. That’s what it was. Everybody was too busy for him. They forgot what he had done for them. They forgot about Ike Hebert day. In just a few short months he had gone from hero to zero, and nobody cared.

Ike bounded up the porch steps out of the cold rain. He took off his muddy shoes and wet socks and threw it on the rocking chair. Then he opened the door and walked in. His Mom was watching TV and when she saw him she froze in horror.

"Ike, what happened?" She asked jumping up and coming over.

"I just walked home."

"In this? Are you crazy? Son all you had to do was call and I would have picked you up!"

"I have two legs."

"You’re shivering! You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t get warm. Let me start you a bath."

Ike didn’t argue. He just stood there a minute, feeling like a drowned puppy. He was weak now and resigned to sickness. Maybe he could get some time off from school. He waddled into the bathroom where his Mom had started the bath. She turned on the bathroom heater and pulled out some more towels. When she started drying him off, Ike stopped her.

"Mom, I can do this, I’m 16 now, remember?"

"But you’ll always be my baby," starting to unbutton his wet shirt. You’re freezing," she said with alarm, feeling his face. "Oh baby why’d you do that?"

"Stop calling me ‘baby.’ I am NOT your baby!" Ike said, fending her off and pushing her out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

"Call me if you need anything," she said sweetly through the door. "Are you hungry?"

"No, just leave me alone," Ike moaned, testing the water and adjusting it. He couldn’t bring forth the energy to undress. He just stepped into the tub in his clothes. Then he listened. "Mom, are you still by the door?"

"No," she blurted apologetically, slipping quietly back into the living room.

The hot water felt good and warmed his body, but his soul was still numb. He slipped all the way up to his neck and just stared at the ceiling. Then he closed his eyes. For 20 minutes he just lay there, letting his mind wonder.

"Honey, are you alright in there?"

"Yes Mom, I’m alright," Ike droned without even opening his eyes.

He had one thing on his mind - escape. ‘If I could only get outta here, then I could start all over,’ he thought. ‘Get away from school, from Calais, from the kids, from everybody – especially Sam.’ All the insecurities of the last few years were coming back to his mind like flies being drawn to garbage. The memories came from as far back as 10 years when his father had left for the final time. It was as if he was drawing every negative thought into the deepest recesses of his mind to join the pity party. First it was the "what if’s?" then the "why me’s?" and finally the "if only’s". His fertile imagination became his torture chamber. When he was finally buried beneath a load of his own shame, he let out a painful moan, "Oh God…." Then mercifully, he fell asleep.

He dreamed he was in a boxing ring fighting a faceless opponent. A dim light was suspended from the ceiling over the center of the ring. Faces in the crowd were cheering, but not for him. Instinctively he knew he was losing the bout. He was out of strength and couldn’t defend himself. Every time he tried to block a punch it went through his defense and landed – on his face, in his stomach and when he turned he took blows to his kidneys. The pain was intense.

He was backing into a corner and his hands began to drop, then the final blow came, an icy, sharp uppercut that rocked his head back. He bounced off the ropes and fell forward. He didn’t even try to catch himself. He just let himself fall. He hit the canvas hard. What a relief to just lie there as the referee began counting…

"One," Ike had no desire to get up.

"Two," he thought about school and what the kids would say at his funeral,

"Three," he thought about his track, how he might never ride on it again,

"Four," he thought about Vinnie, the race bike he and Mr. Gonzales had pieced together from old parts. It was just sitting in the garage, waiting for him.

"Five," he thought about Mr. Dansberry, how he had helped him through tough spots at school, but Ike had avoided him when he didn’t need him.

"Six," He thought about Sam and how she had betrayed him and how much faster she was than him on a motocross bike.

"Seven," he thought about his first and only race how bad it turned out. Yet, strangely he had a deep desire to race again.

"Eight," he thought about the success he had planning and carrying out the trap they had set for the Goudet gang; but how people had already forgotten.

"Nine," he thought about his Mom and how much she worried and fretted over him, but tried to keep him ten years old.

Then he heard a voice, it was faint at first. But it got louder, "Ike, get up son! You’re needed!" It was coming from his corner. It took all his strength to lift his head off the canvas and look through his swollen eyes at his corner. It was his dad!

"Get up son! You are needed. There is something you HAVE to do! DON’T QUIT NOW! You must go there and prepare! GET UP! There’s something you must do!" He was waving his arms frantically, but in slow motion, with an intense and worried look on his face. He was willing Ike to get up. Ike turned over and faced the light. ‘I want to. God please. Help me!’

Suddenly something began to rise from deep inside of Ike. It started from his gut and began to come up his throat. It came out of his mouth. It was an eagle, a big beautiful bald eagle. It unfolded its wings and launched itself up into the air. It flew to the ceiling, looking for a way out. It was darting between the steel girders that held the roof, hunting, pecking, trying desperately to get out. Suddenly a hole began opening up in the ceiling as if a giant hand had peeled back the roof, revealing a bellowing storm outside. Claps of thunder and flashes of lightning revealed the way out into the howling night. A sudden torrent of wind and rain came flooding down through the hole. And with a shrill call the eagle launched toward the portal. Its mighty wings tore at the invisible enemy, fighting hard against the wind. The driving wind and rain pushed back against the eagle, but the eagle continued to flap. Again and again it gained ground, even though the wind sent it back. It would flap its wings again and move forward, higher, two feet forward, one foot back. With a herculean effort the eagle finally forced its way through the hole and out into the stormy night.

The hole got bigger and bigger. Ike watched the eagle. He was mesmerized by the look in the eagle’s eyes. There was fire in there, determination. The struggle went on as Ike watched. He began to will the eagle higher. The more he willed it, the higher it got. Little by little Ike became one with the eagle. His spirit lifted off the canvas, out of his bloody body and ascended into the eagle’s body. He felt the pain in the struggle and felt the wind beneath his wings. He braced himself against the cold and fought with the eagle against the wind. He noticed that the very storm he was fighting against was giving him lift under his wings, sending him higher. He gained altitude little by little. He grew tired and faint, yet he struggled on.

Then he looked down. He was higher than the trees. It was scary, but the will to climb overcame his fear. He struggled on until he was as high as the clouds. Then he noticed that he was the eagle. All of a sudden he flew into a cloud bank and he couldn’t see. He felt a pounding in his chest. His heart was beating like a big bass drum. The pounding got louder and louder.

He awoke to the pounding on the door. "Ike, time to get out. Come on son, you’ve been in there almost an hour. Are you okay?" his Mom sounded worried again.

"Ok mom, I’m getting out now." He noticed that his hands were clenched tightly into fists. His knuckles were white, his arms and hands were tired. He relaxed his hands and looked at them. Suddenly he realized that these hands would take him to his dream. Ike felt the fire inside of him. It was the fire of desire. The desire was to work, to train, to win. Ike got up out of the tub and back into the race of life.

Chapter 9

After a couple of fairly uneventful days at school, in which he kept his head down, focused intently on his work and avoided Sam, he began to feel lonely. He needed to talk to someone. The weather was still too wet for practice, so he rode his bike over to Mr. Gonzales’ shop.

What a change from the old junkyard. The old cars and trucks were gone as well as the fence. There was a new sign out front boldly proclaiming "Competition Cycles." With the help of some of the townspeople he had landscaped the ground and renovated the main garage and office into a showroom and motorcycle dealership. Business was up, he had hired a couple employees, and with lots of new help came something that Mr. Gonzales never had – organization.

Like any mad scientist Mr. Gonzales was proficient at solving problems, but had buried himself in his own junk. It took so much time to dig around and find his tools that it made him tired and frustrated. Now that the tools and parts were all organized and shelved, he was more efficient and he could keep the shop clean as well.

Ike worked his way through the showroom of shiny motorcycles, enjoying the smell of new rubber. There were vintage motocross bikes, modern dual sport bikes, touring bikes and street bikes. He walked back into the work room where three mechanic stalls were set up, complete with tools and a motorcycle platform. The work benches were clean and organized. Mr. Gonzales was working in one stall, and a new man that Ike had never met was in another. There was no one in the last stall, although it was completely stocked with tools and ready to go. He ducked his head in and saw a poster of Kevin Windham on one side of the cabinet, with a large picture of Ike on Vinnie on the other.

"Ike! It’s about time you came to visit. What have you been up to?" Mr. Gonzales trumpeted, wiping his oily hands on a shop rag. He was smiling broadly and really looked pleased to see Ike.

"Hey, I’ve been kind of busy. You know, school, training, eating, sleeping, stuff like that."

Mr. Gonzales extended his hand for a shake, then pulled Ike closer for a shoulder bump. "Come over here, I want you to meet somebody." He led Ike over to the next stall for the introduction.

"This is Ronnie Simon, an old friend. Ronnie, this is the young rider I was telling you about," Mr. Gonzales gestured proudly.

"Ike? I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Ronnie, but everybody calls me "Crip," he pointed to his right leg. He knocked on his thigh and Ike could hear the sound of wood.

"Hi uhh… Crip. I’m Ike Hebert. I live a few miles down the road." When they shook hands Ike felt the strength of an oak as Crip shook, not farmer style, up and down, but just a firm clasp in a "you can trust me forever," kind of way. Crip had dark features and high cheekbones like an Indian, but with blue eyes. He had no facial hair, but sported the longest pony tail Ike had ever seen on a man. It was held together by leather bands. He was average in size, but wiry looking, like there was hidden strength beneath the faded denim work shirt. His hands were dark and weathered with bulgy knuckles. Instead of the usual Leatherman folding knife in a pouch on his belt like most men in this area, Crip had a hunting knife with a worn animal horn handle in an old leather sheath with turquoise beads. It was not big, but not little - just intimidating.

Mr. Gonzales saw Ike eyeing his knife and explained, "Crip is half Choctaw. He used to be a Marine Scout/Sniper in Vietnam."

Ike’s eyes grew wide in amazement. "You were a Marine sniper? How many Viet Cong did you cap?"

Crip obviously didn’t like where this was going, but he handled it patiently as if he had plenty of practice, "It’s not how many lives you take son, its how many you save. I used my rifle to save American soldiers. That was my job. I just did what I was trained to do and survived. And now I’m here, helping an old friend," he said, putting a hand on Mr. Gonzales’ shoulder. "I heard you saved his life Ike," Crip offered.

Ike glanced at Mr. Gonzales who just nodded as if for Ike to tell the story. "Uhh, Mr. Gonzales has a tendency to exaggerate," Ike replied, looking into Mr. Gonzales eyes as if communicating not to put him on the spot like that.

"Well exaggeration is not bad in the hands of a man like that," Crip nodded toward his old friend. "He uses exaggeration to encourage others."

"I never thought of it that way," Ike said. "But that’s true."

"So Ike, what brings you here today?" Mr. Gonzales asked.

"Oh I dunno, just came to visit."

"When do you want to come back to work?"

"Doing what?"

"Are you willing to sweep floors, pick up tools, take out the garbage and keep the place clean like before?"

"Sure. I’m on top of that. I need some cash."

"Good. Then you’re now my new mechanic. You’ll be working with Crip. He’s a wealth of information. He’s the only one I know that has more experience with motorcycles than I do. He can teach you a lot about life, too," he said, turning to Crip with a wink and a grin.

"Wait, I thought you just wanted me to sweep floors and do the dirty work," Ike asked confused.

"No, I just wanted to know if you were willing to do that work. And since you aren’t too proud to do that, then you are ready to be promoted to mechanic. It’ll mainly be oil changes and tune-ups at first; and every job will be inspected by me or Crip before it goes out. But this is how you learn …"

"I know, I know, by doing," Ike interrupted, "You’ve told me a million times. Where do I work?"

"Come see."

Mr. Gonzales led him over to the empty stall. "This one is for you. It’s ready to go," he smiled.

Ike was astounded. He felt almost as excited as when Mr. Gonzales showed him his first dirt bike project. "I, uh, I mean… this is way cool!" Ike gasped, walking over to the bench.

"Look, in this box are your metric tools. Allen wrenches, feeler gauges, pressure gauges and small specialty tools in the top drawer. Punches, cold chisels and drift pins in the right drawer and in this one," he opened the left drawer: "micrometer, precision tools and spoke wrenches."

He opened the first big drawer, "screwdrivers, flat head and Phillips." He opened the next drawer, "wrenches, box end, open end and adjustable, but don’t get too happy with those crescents, you know what I told you about those."

"I know, last resort. They round the bolt heads."

"Good. Now here is the pliers’ drawer: channel locks, vise grips, needle nose, circlip pliers, and dikes," he explained, closing the drawer and opening the next. "And here are your sockets, ratchets, breaking bars and torque wrench. In this bottom drawer are your hammers, pry bars, tire irons, big punches and hand impact."

He walked him over to the rolling cart. "In here I’d keep my most used tools in the top so you can grab them quickly, for whatever job you’re working on. In this display stand on this side you’ll see the t-handle wrenches. If you look down on the bottom of the cart you’ll see the air impact gun and sockets. The standard tools are in the red box. Any questions?"

"Yeah, where are the lubricants?" Ike asked looking around.

"Good question, in this cabinet." He opened the cabinet and there were shelves filled with brand new cans. "Up here your cleaners and solvents. Next are your spray lubricants. Then your oils, pre-mix, fork oil, crankcase oil, etc. And finally down here your spray paints."

"Where are the rags? I can’t work without rags. Gotta keep the nails clean, ya know?" Ike teased holding up his hands.

"Are you being smart with me?"

"I’m always smart." They both laughed.

"That you are. That you are," Mr. Gonzales smiled, pointing to the rag bin. "Put your dirty rags over there when you’re done.

Just then the intercom buzzed and the receptionist came on, "call for Mr. Gonzales on line two." Mr. Gonzales just smiled and answered the phone on the shop wall. "Competition Cycles, Victor speaking."

Ike tuned out and began exploring the rest of the shop. There was a bench with the acid for filling and charging batteries. He saw a parts washer, a sand blaster, a tire machine and a wall full of small drawers. He began opening the drawers and discovered the best collection of nuts, bolts, screws and washers he had ever seen.

Mr. Gonzales had just hung up the phone. "How you like them apples? I’m tired of digging all over the shop, then robbing another bike to get a bolt."

"Man, you’ve got it ‘goin’ on.’ When do I start?"

"You’re already 15 minutes late. Can you get those clothes dirty?"

"Sure, I don’t care," Ike shrugged.

"No, I mean does your mom want you working on greasy motorcycles in those clothes?"

"Oh… yea…. I better go home and change."

"Here I have something that should fit you. That should tide you over until the uniforms come in next week."

"Uniforms! Uniforms! Victor Gonzales is issuing uniforms? Now I’ve seen everything!" Crip shouted, ending it with the deepest laugh Ike had ever heard, but then he started coughing, and coughing and coughing. He slipped into the bathroom, coughing up congestion. Ike could hear him hacking and spitting.

"He’s smoked too long. Between that and the Agent Orange from the war his lungs are in bad shape," Mr. Gonzales whispered under his breath.

"What do the doctors say?"

"He refuses to go to doctors. He always goes to his friend, a corpsman."

"What’s a corpsman?"

"It’s a Navy medic assigned to the Marine Corps. He’s the only doctor Crip trusts. But if you ask me I think he’s just scared of what the doctors will say."

"Ain’t skeered," Crip said with a raspy voice, having snuck up behind them.

"Hey, how’d you get there so quietly?" Ike blurted with surprise.

"You know that’s the thing about training. Once you get it. You always got it. Get it?"

"Got it," Ike reacted, looking at Mr. Gonzales with a look of apprehension.

Chapter 10

Ike began to feel much better about himself since he started his new job. His long talks with his two mentors had straightened out some of his wrong thinking. Mr. Gonzales had made a sign and put it up in Ike’s stall which read, "Fall down six times get up seven!"

Ike began to feel a new self – respect as he hung out with these wise and experienced men. He felt valued by them. He looked forward to going to work after school and in a couple of weeks had saved some money. Eventually Sam and Ike starting talking again and were able to patch over the problem they had at the dance. They started practicing together about twice a week. He trained at home on his work-out bench and chin-up bar in his doorway to his room. He rode his bicycle to school. When he was teased about it, he would reply, "Gotta train."

When he was with Sam they just talked motocross and school, but never the dance or relationships. Ike had put up an emotional wall between them, and from Sam’s side, she just didn’t want to hurt him again, either. There were almost becoming friends again, but in a guarded way. Still, Ike didn’t trust her.

"Are you coming with us to the race up in Kentwood this weekend?" Sam asked one evening after a brisk ride on the test track.

"Nope, I’m gonna ride up with Mr. Gonzales. I’m kind of riding for his team now."

"You’re still riding for Calais Motorsports, aren’t you?"

"Sure, I wear the gear and still have the decals, but I added Competition Cycles to my sponsor list, too."

"I see. When are you guys goin’ up to the track?"

"Sunday morning. What about you?"

"We’re taking the camper up Saturday. I want to get some seat time in on that track. It’s big, fast and rough. You sure you don’t want to come up with us and get a good look at the track?"

"No. Gotta work. I got three jobs I have to finish before we close on Saturday."

"Okay. Well, I’ll see you up there. Are you gonna pit with us?"

"I don’t know. We’ll see," Ike grunted non-committal.

"Ike."

"Yes."

"Why are you being this way?"

"What way?"

"This, you know, distant to me."

"I’m not distant."

"Yes you are. You’ve withdrawn from me."

"No. I’m standing right next to you."

"You know what I mean."

"We’re friends. Isn’t this what you wanted?"

"Yes, but we could be closer than that. You act like I have the Swine Flu or something."

"You don’t have the Swine Flu, you have germs. They’re worse! You’re a girl!" he teased.

"Yeah, well then I’m gonna get them on you," she began to wipe her hands on his jersey. He took her hands off. She put them back on. He grabbed her wrists to keep them off of him. She rotated her hands into his and suddenly, they were holding hands, face to face. For a brief moment they just looked into each other’s eyes. Invisible sparks flew, but both pretended it didn’t happen.

Ike let her hands go and walked away. "Gotta go."

"What, homework?"

"Something like that."

"Ike?"

"What?" he barked, turning around.

"That was the first question I ever asked you and you answered the exact same way. Remember, at the Bayou Kitchen when we raced home from school?" She explained in a sweet voice.

"So what’s your point?" Ike just waited emotionless. He wasn’t about to go there.

Sam was stunned. She just stood there thinking what to do with that.

"So I’ll see you Sunday." He turned and walked away. This time Sam let him go.

Chapter 11

Ike felt a little guilty about the way he treated Sam the day before. Then he thought, ‘she had it comin’ and he felt much better, thinking no more about it. Today was Friday and he tried to concentrate on his weakest point – taking tests. He tried pulling out his notes and studying, but his mind drifted to racing again and again. He was excited about the weekend’s race and thought about going up a day early with the Abernathy’s for practice. It is true he needed time on that track. He had never even seen it before. It was the roughest and most feared track in the state. They said the jumps were bigger than houses that sent you as high as the trees. He heard there were 5^th gear straight-a-ways and serious elevation changes unusual for Louisiana. It was known as a Pro-style championship track.

He turned his attention back to school, trying to keep his mind off the distractions so he could finish the tests. He had one in every class, but he had studied for them. He was doing fine until third period. That’s when he saw it. Sam walked into the room holding hands with Dave. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He had heard the rumors and had been able to deal with it, but seeing it flaunted right before him was a different matter. And she looked right at him when she walked in! ‘Now she’s playing hardball!’ He thought.

He looked down and continued to study his notes, pretending that he didn’t see. But out of the corner of his eye he saw Dave linger at her desk holding her hand until he took a seat behind her. Ike’s hand started shaking, and he had no earthly idea why.

The teacher walked in drawing Ike’s attention back to the task at hand. Then he heard the most dreaded words a student can ever hear: "Ok students, clear your desks and take out a pen and a cover sheet."

Ike broke out into a cold sweat. ‘What am I doing? I studied – kind of... I can do this.’

He had thought about making a cheat sheet like some students did, but Mr. Gonzales had warned him, "If I ever hear of you cheating, on the job or at school, you’ll be fired, immediately. Do you understand?"

Ike cleared his desk and put his head down to think. But all he could think about was Sam. He snuck a sideways glance at her and caught her sneaking one at him. They both looked back down at their work.

After school Ike tried to slip away quickly before Sam could flaunt her new boyfriend before him. As he was unlocking his bike he heard Dave’s voice, "Bye Ike, have a good weekend," as he drove by in his shiny, powder blue Mustang convertible with Sam sitting right next to him. Then Jimmy Plaisance and his friends drove by right behind them in his big 4-wheel drive wannabe monster truck and stopped. "Hey Ike, need a hand with that lock? Hey, wasn’t that your girlfriend I saw in the Mustang with Dave Remington?"

"Shut up," Ike blasted as he pulled the chain through the bike stand. But his bike just fell over on his foot, causing him to let out a yelp of pain. Jimmy and his buddies just laughed from the truck as they sped away, rap music blaring.

Ike kicked his bike in frustration. Then he picked it up and threw it down again. Mr. Dansberry drove by in his Jeep and stopped to check on him, "Hey, kinda rough on your bike today, huh Ike?"

Ike just looked at him. "Girls. I just don’t get it."

"And you never will. That’s part of the fun, the mystery. Just buckle up and enjoy the ride."

"I think I’ll stick to motorcycles."

"Do that for as long as you can. Are you racing this weekend?"

"Yes, in Kentwood."

"You keep it up on two wheels!"

"Thanks Mr. Dan, you too. I mean four wheels, uh, for you I mean," he stammered sheepishly.

"I know what you meant. Have fun."

"Oh, that I will, that I will."

When Ike got to the shop he went right to work. He had to change the oil and service two street bikes and a four wheeler. He knocked the jobs out quickly then began to gather his things.

"Are you coming in tomorrow, Ike?" Mr. Gonzales asked.

"I was thinking about going to Kentwood to practice."

"Well that’s a good idea, but I’ll pay you overtime to take on a special job."

"What is it?"

"Come see."

Ike followed him into the showroom. There was a modern Honda with a for sale tag on it. "Ohhhh… Ahhhhh… tight! Ike proclaimed with wide eyes.

"It’s a 2006 Honda CRF 250 4 stroke. A guy traded it in this morning. Want to ride it?"

"Sure. I’ve only ridden Sam’s 250f twice. But it’s a KTM."

"It’s not as peaky as your 2 stroke. It’s got a wider powerband and the best part is, it has much more suspension. Go ahead. Take it out."

He didn’t have to ask twice and in 15 minutes Ike had his gear on and had motored out to the field behind the shop where they had cut a little track. He went through the gears a couple times and was amazed at its power. And the ride was so plush.

Mr. Gonzales and Crip came out to watch. He rode over to them and killed the motor.

"Well, what do you think?" Mr. Gonzales asked.

"It’s way stronger than Vinnie, and the brakes almost put me over the bars."

"It should be better; it represents 25 years of improved technology," Crip explained. "And, it has more stability."

"Ike, I’ll make you a killer deal on this bike, if you want it," Mr. Gonzales proclaimed.

"Like what?"

"$500.00, plus A’s on your report card," Mr. Gonzales proposed.

"I don’t have that," Ike whined.

"He’ll give you more overtime and side jobs and we’ll take it out of your pay. If you work hard, you’ll have it paid off in two or three months," Crip reasoned.

"So by Spring it’ll be mine?" Ike guessed.

"Yep, if you play your cards right," Mr. Gonzales answered with a nod and a smile that was contagious.

"I’ve got 127 dollars saved already!" Ike proclaimed, lifting his arms in victory.

Crip stepped up and grabbed his handlebars to get his attention, "You’ll have to get used to two main differences - starting and jumping."

Ike’s heart sank when he heard jumping. It was his Achilles heel. "What do you mean, ‘jumping?" Ike pried, folding his arms defensively.

"Listen carefully. NEVER, I mean NEVER chop the throttle going up a jump," Crip cautioned, pointing a finger in his face. "If you do, the back pressure from the 4 stroke motor will grab the jump and send the front wheel down. You might not recover."

"Ok. Sounds simple. Don’t chop the throttle on a jump," Ike acknowledged.

"…and don’t grab the front brake in the air," Crip continued, touching the front brake. "Keep your fingers off it, otherwise you’ll end up with your face stuck in the dirt."

"Got it, don’t chop the throttle or grab the front brake in the air."

"Easier said than done. Now you have to practice on it to get used to the different ergonomics. I recommend you don’t go race tomorrow," Mr. Gonzales added firmly.

"What? You know I’ve been waiting for this race since January," Ike groaned.

"I have two words for you: NEW - BIKE."

Crip chimed in, "… and NEW - TRACK. Deadly combination. One is bad enough. But trying to race with a new bike on a new track is like going to a gunfight armed with a knife."

"I can handle it," Ike protested.

"I know you can handle it," Mr. Gonzales replied. "What I’m worried about is your fierce competitive nature getting you in trouble."

"I thought that was good," Ike contended, with palms upraised.

"It is, when it’s controlled, but you’re still a beginner," Mr. Gonzales warned.

"I’m not a beginner!" Ike crowed. "I’ve been riding for almost 6 months."

Both men tried hard not to laugh. "How many times have you raced?" Mr. Gonzales challenged.

"You know the answer to that."

"There’s your answer. Now if you want to ride the modern bike, you need to change the oil, tires and clean the filters. But you can’t bring it up to Kentwood tomorrow," Mr. Gonzales explained.

"That an order?"

"That’s an order." Mr. Gonzales stated with finality.

"Can I race Vinnie?"

Mr. Gonzales looked at Crip and he nodded.

"I don’t see why not. But remember, you don’t have near the suspension that the modern bikes have. It hasn’t been a problem so far, but now you’re gonna race on a real track with giant jumps. You can’t jump with the modern bikes."

"Whatever you say, chief," Ike mumbled, beginning to roll the modern bike inside.

"Was that a yes or a no?" Mr. Gonzales asked, turning to Crip.

"I think that was a ‘whatever.’"

"That’s what I thought," Mr. Gonzales conceded. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"About Ike."

Crip paused, and then began to walk toward the shop. "He’s just like we were when we were younger."

"Oh no, "Mr. Gonzales sighed. "We’re in for a bumpy ride."

"I wouldn’t have it any other way." They laughed all the way back inside.

Chapter 12

Ike was totally intimidated by the Kentwood track. They were right. The jumps were huge. The track was fast and rough. There were two serious injuries at practice. He had followed a few riders around at practice just to get a look at the track, but still didn’t have it memorized. To make matters worse, half the Sophomore & Junior class and some of the Seniors from Calais High School had shown up to watch Sam race. Now they would see what a goon he was. He wanted to crawl under a rock. But there weren’t any rocks around.

"What’s wrong Ike?" Mr. Gonzales probed, sensing trouble brewing.

"I don’t like the track," he sighed.

"It’s not a beginner track."

"I’m not a beginner I told you!" Ike’s voice rising.

"Okay, which jumps are you not clearing?"

"All of them!" Ike reacted with a frantic tone, as he tossed his goggles down and dropped into a chair.

"Alright, wrong attitude to race with," Mr. Gonzales observed.

"Well give me another one," Ike retorted sarcastically.

"Okay. First and foremost I’ll be praying for your safety."

"What else?"

"I’ll give you a strategy I used when I was out-classed or uncomfortable, but you’re not gonna like it."

"What is it?"

"Will you follow it?"

"You tell me what it is and I’ll tell you if I’ll follow it."

Mr. Gonzales paused, read his eyes, then answered, "let everybody take off from the gate."

"What!"

"You heard me. Just let them go. Wait a split second for them to clear, then you take off in last place."

"Thanks a lot ‘Mr. Wisdom’. Got anything else in your bag of tricks?"

"Hear me out. If you don’t think you belong in the front, then you wouldn’t last long in the front even if you got a great start. If you start in the pack they’ll push you faster than you want to go over the jumps. So let them go. Then go after the guy in front of you. When you catch him, you go after the next one, and on down the line until you find where you belong in the pack. You can then ride your own race at your own pace and hit the jumps like you want. No pressure. You’ll gain confidence that way without riding over your head."

"Wait a minute, I think you’ve got something there. I can come from behind to win," his tone changing as an idea formed in his mind.

"Theoretically, if you go fast enough."

"What? Don’t you believe in me?" Ike challenged.

"Oh, I believe in you. But you’re just not ready to go full out yet - not on this track, anyway."

"I hate it when you say that."

"Say what?"

"Not ready yet."

"Hey, we’re all a work in progress. Don’t rush it. You’ll win. Believe me. You will win and soon. Just do me a favor."

"What’s that?"

"Don’t show off today." Mr. Gonzales held his eyes firm, waiting for an answer.

"Is that an order?"

"No, that’s a request, from a friend."

"I’ll think about it."

"Good. Now get dressed."

Ike took the advice and let everyone take off. He pretended to have motor problems because the kids from school were watching him. Then he tore off the gate like a jet taking off from an aircraft carrier. He caught the first rider in turn two; and caught three more in the next turn. ‘This isn’t so bad, and all I have to do is just ride my race.’

He caught four more by the end of the first lap. On lap two he passed three more and lap three he passed four as they began to tire. But now they were getting harder to catch. He had no idea what place he was in until he saw Crip standing in a turn holding up three fingers. ‘What? I’m in third place? Can’t be!’

He was going faster approaching the jumps and becoming more comfortable with his lines. On the next big jump he looked ahead on the track and saw the two leaders. He put his head down and went to work. He tuned out the crowd, the photographers, the flaggers - everything. He hyper-focused on the track. He loved escaping into this mental zone of bike/track. He didn’t have to think about Vinnie much, because he was already one with her. He was glad he didn’t try to race the new bike today.

At the white flag he had caught up with the second place rider. He found even more speed and soon was right on his rear fender. The pass came easy, because when the rider heard him, he over-shot a turn and Ike went by. ‘Use both brakes knucklehead,’ he lectured to the rider who hadn’t even touched his front brake.

By the last turn Ike was within sight of the leader and was bearing down fast. But time ran out and he had to settle for second. "Now that’s what I’m talkin’ bout!" he shouted through his helmet, oozing with newfound confidence.

When he arrived in his pit, Sam and her dad, Mr. Gonzales and Crip were all waiting for him. They all applauded. Sam handed him a towel and water as soon as he took off his helmet.

"Now you got it! That was Magnifico!" Mr. Gonzales shouted proudly.

"Yeah, you didn’t even look like it was your first ride on this track," Sam declared.

"I just can’t wait for the second moto. I’m gonna race him straight up this time!" Ike predicted.

"Now you feel like you belong in front. So now if you get a good start, you can hold the lead - unless you make a mistake, of course." Mr. Gonzales warned.

"Not gonna happen; no mistakes. The race is mine to win." Ike boasted.

"I believe you," Mr. Gonzales seconded. "I predict a win."

"I’ll go a step farther. I’ll guarantee a win," Ike proclaimed.

They all looked at each other wondering if Ike had gone too far.

Ike read the worry on their faces and added, "Don’t worry. I don’t have to push it. I’m only gonna go out for a Sunday ride, and I’ll probably end up at the finish line first."

They all breathed a sigh of relief.

Ike watched Sam win her race easily. Sam knew this track well. She had just secured the holeshot and checked out, in both motos, thrilling the students of Calais High School with a wheelie at the finish line. Kate Sterling had crashed trying to keep up with Sam in both motos and had tried to start trouble after in the pits, but Sam kept her cool. Raven Regal was at a race in California.

Now it was Ike’s turn. His classmates were gathered along the fence and invigorated after Sam’s big win. Now they were expecting the same thing from him and he wasn’t about to let them down.

When the gate dropped Ike was off in a flash, but he missed a gear allowing three riders to beat him to turn one. So he settled into fourth place and went to work. He had the track dialed in, or so he thought. He was faster than the other riders, having learned to enter the turns and get back on the gas faster than these beginners.

By the second lap he had passed the two riders in front of him and began to watch the leader. It was a Suzuki RMZ with a wild rider on it. The Suzuki rider was riding the ragged edge and was out of control on the rough straight-a-ways. But he managed to stay in front of Ike by out-jumping him.

By the last lap Ike was tired of getting the Suzuki’s roost in his face and was determined to take the lead. He planned to change his line on the big ski jump which, up until now, he had been letting off and rolling it, then jumping the second jump. On the last lap Ike pushed hard to the outside and cut back to the inside approaching the ski jump. He pulled alongside the Suzuki as they hit the launch, which sent them high into the air, higher than Ike had ever been. It was exhilarating and Ike braced for the landing. But Vinnie was not built for this type of jump and when she landed, she revolted, bottoming out the suspension and bouncing him back up into the air, sending him flying off the bike and into the woods. As if in slow motion Ike began to realize that he was going to crash and he started yelling, "Ahhhhhhhhh!" and that was the last thing he remembered.

Chapter 13

Ike was awakened by the voices of nurses as they fussed over his IV. His head felt like a tank was sitting on it. He looked at the IV pole that held the clear bag of drip and followed it down to where it entered his left arm through the needle taped to his skin. Then he made the mistake of moving and a sharp pain shot through his right side.

"Ahhhhgggg," he winced as he tried to settle back to a comfortable position.

"Settle down flyboy," one of the nurses smiled as she stepped closer to the bed. "Let me check that bandage."

"Bandage?"

"Yes, the one on your head," she said softly as she gently adjusted something on his head. "I hear you took a nasty spill."

"I remember having to step off my bike and then go into the trees," Ike recalled.

"You hit your head pretty hard, so you need to stay as still as you can for a while. My name is Linda and I’ll be your nurse. The doctor will be in to look you over in a little while."

"How long have I been here?"

"You were brought up from the ER last night."

"What’s wrong with me?"

"Well, you’ve got a laceration on your right side and some serious bruising there, possibly broken ribs and a concussion. You’re scheduled for a CT scan and X-Rays this afternoon."

"Can I sit up?"

"The doctor has ordered you to lie still and rest."

"Why can’t I sit up if I’m still?" Ike pressed.

The nurse just put her hand on her hip and looked at him and shook her head, "So you’re going to be one of those kinds of patients, huh?" She scolded with a smile. "Alright, if you don’t mind the pain."

"Oh I can handle pain." Ike bragged.

"Okay, here’s the control for the bed," she replied, digging it out from under the sheets and handing it to him. She started to show him how to use it and Ike stopped her.

"I know how to use a remote." Ike took the remote from her hand and pressed a button. The TV came on. He pressed another and the channel changed. He finally found the one that rotated the bed up and he heard the hum of a little motor under the bed and he began to rise. Suddenly the pain increased with the height of the bed and he had to stop. "Uh, I think this is high enough," he said through clenched teeth.

Nurse Linda just smiled that knowing smile with her hands on her hips. "There are a couple people here to see you, so let’s get your blood pressure and take your temperature." After the nurse was done she stepped outside the room and after some mumbled conversations, in walked his mother, Mr. Gonzales, Sam and Mr. Rick. They had concerned looks on their faces, especially Mom, who made her way to his bedside first.

"Ike, honey, how are feeling?" She asked as she touched his hand.

"I’m ok. Just a little… dizzy." The others nodded to him as they kept their distance at the foot of the bed.

"The Doctor says you hit your head pretty hard and might have broken ribs," Tricia said, looking at the bandage on his head.

"So they say," he grimaced as he tried to unsuccessfully reposition himself.

"Do you want to sit up?" Tricia asked with a nervous glance looking for the nurse.

"Just a little bit, right here, my butt is tired of being in this position," he complained, trying to move it, but being stopped by the pain.

"I’ll help," Sam volunteered as she stepped to the other side of the bed. Between Sam and Tricia they got him re-positioned with a minimum of moans from Ike as he again tried to hide the pain. When he was finally situated he looked at Sam.

"Have you ever been in the hospital?" he asked her.

"Once or twice," she replied. "One time was for a broken arm and the other was a broken femur."

Tricia looked at her with horror on her face and then cast a glance of accusation at her dad. Mr. Rick just raised his hands and shrugged, "Hey, I can’t talk her out of racing. It’s what she wants to do and it teaches her about the consequences of her decisions."

"I’d say. So it’s the old ‘tough love’ huh?" Tricia shot at him with disbelief. "Ike, I think you’ve done enough racing on those motorcycles."

"Aw Mom, I’m just getting started. It’s what I love, it’s who I am," he pleaded.

She stepped back and pointed to the hospital bed and around the room, "and this is what you love and who you are?" She accused in annoyance.

"No, this is the consequences of not listening," Ike admitted, looking at Mr. Gonzales. Mr. Gonzales just raised one eyebrow and looked out the window casually.

"What? What did you not listen about?" Tricia demanded, digging deeper into the issue.

"You want to tell her or should I?" Ike questioned Mr. Gonzales, trying to shift the pressure onto him.

"Oh, you’re doing fine," he gestured back for Ike to continue.

"He warned me that I should not jump Vinnie on those big jumps," Ike explained, trying to cover the pain of the throbbing in his head.

"Did you?" Tricia probed.

"Yep," Ike shrugged guiltily. "But I needed to make a pass." Mr. Gonzales and Mr. Rick exchanged knowing glances.

"What? You can tell me." She said when she noticed them.

"Well, Ike is, uh, how should we say…" when Mr. Gonzales paused, Tricia interrupted.

"Too wild? I can see that!" she quipped angrily.

"No, not wild, just competitive. He wants to win. All champions have that drive to succeed. That’s what drives him to train, to practice and to do his school work," Mr. Gonzales explained.

"Well, he hasn’t been succeeding in that area too well lately," Tricia complained.

Just then there was a knock on the door and Dr. Denton came in. He was a short, African-American with a rounded face and sparkling, lively eyes.

"How is Evil Kneival doing?" He asked with a smile as the others stepped back from the bed.

"I’m ok, I guess. Just tired of this same position," Ike answered, uncomfortably moving his lower body on the bed.

"Well, that is the hard part, staying in one position all day. But you can turn over as much as you need to, as much as your ribs allow. May I check that bandage?" he asked, setting his clipboard down on the table.

"Sure," Ike mumbled, as he sat up a little.

Dr. Denton peeled back the bandage over his left ear revealing a cut with sutures. Part of his hair was shaved off where the bandage was taped. It was leaking a little blood which caused his Mom to cringe.

"Well, we’re doingokayhere. Nothing that a little bed rest can’t cure," Dr. Denton explained, putting the bandage back. "How are the ribs?"

"They hurt," Ike breathed, patting his side softly.

"They’re supposed to. That’s your body telling you to slow down so it can heal," Dr. Denton explained matter-of-factly. "Good thing you were wearing a helmet."

"How’d he get the cut on his head?" Tricia asked.

"The helmet broke," Mr. Rick replied. "He landed against a big pine tree."

"What was a Pine tree doing on the track?" his Mom squawked.

"It wasn’t near the track," Mr. Rick paused and glanced at Mr. Gonzales. "He came off the jump and went off the track."

"So if he wouldn’t have been wearing a helmet…" his mother stopped.

"He’d be dead," Dr. Denton announced with finality. "You should find a safer sport," he suggested as he picked up his clipboard and left the room.

"He is," Tricia replied looking at Ike.

"No I’m not," Ike argued.

"Yes, you are," Tricia countered.

"Mom, I am a motocross racer. Dad would approve and you know it!" his voice rising.

"But he’s not here, now is he?" her voice and anger ramping up another notch. The others excused themselves from the room. "Ike, can’t you see what you’re doing to yourself?"

"It’s my body and I want to race," he argued, trying to hide the pain as he moved too sharply.

"See? That’s my point. You are hurt Ike. HURT!"

"Not that bad."

"Not that…? not that bad? Ike, do you hear yourself?"

The nurse came back in and got between them, shuffling the sheets. "How are you feeling?"

"I’m ok," he glared at his Mom.

"You need to rest now. Ok, visiting time is over." She turned to pull the curtain around him. Tricia got the hint. "Bye honey, I love you. I’ll talk to you later." Tricia turned and left the room.

When they were alone, nurse Linda spoke up as she handed him a little cup with a pill, "Take this and wash it down with water. Sounds like you’re in trouble."

"No trouble. She’s not taking motocross racing from me," he stated in a firm steady tone.

"But she’s your mother."

"But I’m superman."

"Superman doesn’t have to go to the hospital and take medicine."

"Spiderman?" Nurse Linda just nodded no.

"George of the Jungle?"

Nurse Linda just stared at him, unconvinced.

"Wolverine?"

"Uh, no."

"Drew Brees?"

"You’re not quite as… tall."

"Sponge Bob Square Pants?"

She nodded and they both started laughing. That’s when Ike really, really hurt.

"OUUUUUU!" He grimaced and grabbed his side.

"No more laughing for you. Now let’s put the bed back down and get some rest."

"Yes… Ma’ am," Ike sounded out the words slowly between gasps.

Chapter 14

Tricia Hebert brought her son home later that week and she gave him an earful in the car. They went at it back and forth. Forth and back they went all the way into the house. Tricia had all the arguments one would expect a mom to make, "You’ll get hurt worse, we can’t afford the doctor bills, what about your future?"

Ike countered with the typical teenage rebellion, "You can’t make me, Dad would have let me, it’s safer than football, it’s just a freak accident." And then it turned ugly. "You don’t care about my dream, you’re trying to take my life away, you’re just scared and don’t want to have to worry!"

Tricia and Ike began to drift apart. It seemed that almost every time they talked it ended in an argument. Ike’s desire for independence, combined with his raging hormones was sometimes more than he could handle. He wasn’t used to being a man/boy and Tricia wasn’t used to dealing with teenagers. The climate in the Hebert house grew icy, almost as cold as the climate at school, at least for Ike, who now hated being at school AND being at home. His last two refuges were on the motocross track and at Mr. Gonzales’ shop. But Mom had hinted that she might make him quit working there so he would stop racing. ‘If she tries that I will definitely run away,’ Ike thought. The only two that seemed to understand him was Mr. Gonzales and Crip, and he got to see them every afternoon. It was as if they were his real family.

The next Monday afternoon when Ike came in to work he walked right up to Crip’s stall and announced, "I’m quitting school."

Crip just kept working as if he didn’t hear. "Hand me that pry bar please," Crip asked, with his usual deep, raspy voice.

Ike turned to look on the bench. "Where is it?"

Crip just asked again, "Just hand me the pry bar." His tone was getting more intense.

Ike whirled around and looked in the tool box.

"Hurry up, I can’t hold this engine up much longer," Crip’s voice rising with impatience.

"Where is it?" Ike pleaded, opening and closing drawers all the way down the tool box.

"Ike, I need it now!"

"I can’t find it!" By now Ike was into the other box, opening and closing drawers, starting to slam them.

"Hey, easy on my boxes! Just get me the bar!"

"How about a breaker bar?"

"Did I ask for a breaker bar? Don’t make me drop this motor!"

"What about a big screwdriver?"

"That’s how you ruin a good screwdriver. If you don’t hand me that pry bar in 10 seconds I’m gonna kick your butt!"

"But I can’t find it!" Ike’s voice got louder as he started digging through boxes and tossing shop rags out of the way.

"Five Seconds!"

"I’m trying!"

"Okay, that’s it. Get out the way!" Crip dropped the motor on the stand and came around the bike. He brushed past Ike and opened the bottom drawer. He reached in, pulled out the pry bar and shook it in Ike’s face. "What good are you if can’t even find a tool?" Crip challenged furiously.

"I didn’t know where it was," Ike defended, still in fear.

"You didn’t know? You didn’t know? So you don’t know everything, do you?" Crip reached up for the rope he had hanging on the wall behind his tool box. "Turn around," he ordered to Ike.

"What are you gonna do?" Ike protested. Before he could utter another word, Crip had tied his hands behind his back, run the rope around his waist and between his legs.

"Crip, stop!" Ike started trying to get away, but was no match for the strength and speed of Crip’s hands. In five seconds Crip had tossed the rope over a rafter and hoisted Ike 6 feet off the ground. Then Crip tied it off, picked up the bar and raised it back as if to beat Ike.

"Crip, no!" Ike was near tears. "What are you doin?"

"What’s 9 times 7?"

"What?" Ike cackled in shock.

"You heard me. What’s 9 times 7? How about 7 times 8?"

"I, uh, 56? No I mean 63! I think. Get me down, this hurts!"

"You think? You don’t know? How about a noun, what’s a noun? How about a verb?" Crip demanded.

"A noun? Uhhh a person? Wait, it can be a thing, too. Can’t it?"

"You don’t know? How about the capital of Florida? Where does the Mississippi start? What are the time zones in America? Who makes the laws in our country? Who are our representatives? What’s the difference in an appellate court judge and a supreme court judge? Huh? You think you’re ready to be a man in this country? Do You?

How old do you have to be to sign a contract, vote, drink? Do you know how to write a check, balance your checkbook, where to pay your bills? Do you know how much it costs to run a household, to pay property taxes, sales taxes? Huh? You think you’re ready to be a man? Can you write a simple business letter? Huh? ANSWER… NOW!"

"I, uhhh, I can write," Ike answered with confusion in his voice. He knew he was beat.

"Do you know the differences between Democrats and Republicans, North America and South America, carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide?"

"I know that one," Ike offered quickly.

"How about the difference between a warm front and a cold front, the North Star and Venus, a hurricane and a typhoon, a balance sheet and an income statement, AC and DC current, Shakespeare and Thoreau, Hitler and Stalin, a city councilman and a mayor, where our taxes go? Well, I’M WAITING!"

Ike was fighting back tears, and he was hurting. Mr. Gonzales walked in and looked up at Ike. "Crip, what are you doin? You cut that boy down!"

Crip whipped out the knife so fast Ike didn’t even see the motion. He just stared at the big blade. Ike tried to use humor to disarm him, "Is that thing sharp?"

Crip just stared at Ike, then looked at the knife. He slowly moved it to his arm and shaved off a patch of hair. Then he looked at Ike, and in one swift motion slashed the rope, which severed like a thread, dropping Ike like a bag of potatoes to the floor.

"Oh, all right, I guess he’s got the point." Crip said, sheathing his knife.

"What’s the point?" Mr. Gonzales asked Crip as Ike struggled to sit up.

"He wants to quit school," Crip spat out.

"String him back up," Mr. Gonzales ordered angrily. Then he looked at Ike sadly, shook his head, then turned on his heels and walked out.

Crip smiled and retied him, hoisting him back up.

"No! Don’t do it Crip!" Ike protested with all he had.

"You gonna quit school?"

"No, I said I was thinking of quitting school."

"No, you said you were quitting school. I know what I heard," as Crip continued to raise him higher.

"Okay, okay, I meant to say, I was thinking of quitting. I was just thinking of it," Ike defended.

"Well you let me know when you finish thinking of quitting school."

"I’m not quitting, honest. I won’t quit school."

Crip started lowering him down. When Ike’s feet touched the floor and he started untangling the rope he added, "At least not until next year."

Crip took a wrap around his leg and hoisted him back up. This time Ike was dangling upside down, swinging his arms, trying to pull himself upright, to no avail.

"Okay, okay, I won’t quit until I’m a senior!"

"No, you won’t quit until you graduate from high school. That’s what you need to be a responsible man in our country today."

"Alright! No quitting. Just get me down."

"You’re gonna graduate?"

"Yes, I’ll graduate!"

"You sure?"

"I promise. I promise!"

Crip started letting Ike back down. Right before he touched the floor Crip started tickling him.

"No, quit! Not that! Crip! Help! Mr. Gonzales!" He yelled hysterically between his squeals of laughter.

Mr. Gonzales came back in and saw what was going on. "Crip, let me help you with that," he said then pulled off Ike’s shoes and started on his feet. Ike went wild. He started squirming like a he was being electrocuted. They all were laughing so hard they were crying. They finally let him down into an exhausted puddle on the floor. Crip went into a coughing fit and had to go to the bathroom and spit up his congestion.

Mr. Gonzales sat down on the floor next to Ike and looked at him. "Do you understand why you can’t quit school?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"How much do you have left in this school year?"

"Oh, about two months."

"I’ll tell you what, if you give 110% effort for the next four weeks and bring up your grades, I’ll send you on a vacation."

"Where to?"

"It’s a surprise."

"With who?"

"It’s a surprise."

"For what? Wait, I know. Let me guess. It’s a surprise?"

Mr. Gonzales just nodded with that "I know something you don’t know," look.

"Can you give me a hint?"

"I’ll say this, it will do you good, the place will do you good, the person you’re going with will do you good, you need them. You need this experience."

"But… what? I mean where…," Ike stammered.

Mr. Gonzales just put his finger to his lips and shook his head, no. "It’s a surprise."

Chapter 15

Ike had never been so focused in his life. He rose out of bed at 6:00am to jog a mile. Then he showered, ate a healthy breakfast and packed his schoolbag with the completed homework from the night before. He rode his bicycle to school and got to every class on time, with all his books and papers ready to go. The only thing sharper than his attitude was his pencil. For the first time school became more than a dreaded prison. Now it was a mission to be accomplished. He asked to be moved to the front of the class where he could pay better attention. He even began asking questions. Some of the classes even became interesting as he focused on the subject matter instead of what was going on in the back of class.

After school he rode the long way home, even using some trails through the woods to simulate motocross racing. After doing two hours of homework, he went to work at the shop. There he worked with focus and intensity, finding he did less daydreaming. After work he practiced on his modern dirt bike, riding two 20 minute motos on the shop test track. There was only one thing that wouldn’t come together for him - jumping. After the crash he had a fear of launching off a big jump. He had lost an edge in speed as well. Every evening Mr. Gonzales and Crip would come out and watch him practice after the shop closed.

"What do you think?" Mr. Gonzales asked Crip.

"Something’s wrong," Crip replied, with his hand resting on his chin as he studied Ike’s riding.

"You mean his fear of jumping?"

"Well that’s obvious, but there is something deeper. You can see it in his entry speed into the turns."

"He’s lost ‘the edge’ hasn’t he?"

"Yep, but it’s even deeper than that."

"Have you tried to talk to him about it?"

"Yep, but he just doesn’t seem to understand. It’s like an unseen enemy. I’ve seen it in battle many times."

"Can you name it?" Mr. Gonzales turned and looked at his old friend.

"Yes. But it won’t change a thing until he names it," nodding towards Ike.

"How can you get him to name it?"

"The only way to get him to name it is to have him confront it, head on. For that I’ll have to put him in a position to discover it for himself. Then he has to be motivated enough to conquer it."

"How do you make him motivated enough?"

"He has to be so angry or sick and tired of it that he is willing to put his pride away and ask for help."

"How do you do that?"

"Put him in a position of desperation. Let him use up his own strength and see his weakness, his need for help. Usually life has to do that over a period of years, or through trials, for men to see their need, before they are willing to look up for help, depending on how prideful they are."

"But we don’t have years."

"Then I’ll have to put him in a situation to break him."

"You’re not gonna crush his spirit are you?" Mr. Gonzales gasped with alarm.

"No. I already made that mistake before with someone." Crip paused as if a distant memory had captured his thoughts. He gazed up at the purple and pink streaks from the setting sun. "It’s like breaking a bronco. You’ve got to break his strength without putting the fire completely out. Then when he has given over control, the fire can be re-built and his passion can be sent in the proper direction. After that, success will motivate him to keep going in the right direction – his direction."

"You learn that in boot camp?"

"That was my first exposure to it, but Marine boot camp was kinda extreme. They would crush your individuality so they could rebuild you into a team that thinks together. Ike isn’t quite ready for that. He needs a softer version that doesn’t go so far."

Just then Ike crashed. They went running over to him. He was lying on the ground trying to catch his breath. He held up his hand to hold on a minute, since he couldn’t talk. The men stooped down to examine him.

"Are you alright?" Mr. Gonzales panted.

"I… uhhh…. Wait." Ike tried to catch his breath.

Mr. Gonzales and Crip just looked at each other and back down at Ike and waited. After a few moments Ike’s breath came back and he could talk.

"I …, got the wind knocked out…." He sat up and unstrapped his helmet.

"What happened?" Mr. Gonzales asked.

"I tried to hit that jump right there and I guess I let off near the top of the face, then the front end dove down and sent me over the bars."

"You chopped the throttle on the jump face?" blasted Crip.

"Not chop, but well, kinda backed off." He just looked at them. They looked at each other then back at him.

"What?" he cast a questioning look at them. "You said not to chop the throttle in the air."

"Ike, you can’t jump that way," Crip warned.

"What way?"

"Half-hearted. You have to commit to the jump, first with your heart, then with your head," he explained.

"What? What are you talking about?" Ike looked confused.

"You throw your heart over first and the rest will follow."

Confusion appeared on Ike’s face.

"Let me put it another way; you have to have the will, then apply the proper knowledge."

"How do I, uh… get that?"

"By learning to jump the little ones first. Then step by step you take on the bigger ones as you grow in confidence, that’s your heart, and knowledge, that’s in your head."

Ike just looked at him with a puzzled look on his face.

"Come on, let’s go put the bike away. I think you’ve had enough for one day." Mr. Gonzales stated, as he helped Ike to his feet. Crip went over to pick up the bike.

"Bent your bars," Crip called out. "Broke your clutch perch, too."

"You can fix it tomorrow. Did you finish your homework?" Mr. Gonzales questioned.

"No, I have to write a book report."

"Do you have the book picked out yet?"

"No."

"Can it be any book?"

"Within reason, she said."

"Mrs. Fisk?"

"Yeah."

"I’ve got a book for you to use. I’ll clear it with her myself," Mr. Gonzales offered confidently.

"What if she won’t allow it?"

"She will."

"What is it?"

"Against All Odds."

"Who wrote it?"

"Chuck Norris," Crip interjected. "Good read."

"You mean ‘Walker, Texas Ranger?’ Isn’t he an actor?"

"He was in the Air Force in Korea where he learned Karate from the masters - old School. Then taught himself more, not just about Karate, but life. He was the undefeated six time World Professional Middleweight Karate Champion. I used to train with him in the ‘70’s. He’s a champion, and not just in Karate, a real straight-up dude," Crip explained.

"So this book report is a…, kind of a set-up, huh?" Ike guessed slyly.

"That’s right. We’re setting you up for success. Got a problem with that?" Crip challenged.

"No, just asking." Ike conceded in a cooperative tone. They looked the bike over carefully until they were convinced nothing else was broken.

"I’ll get right on that book." Ike announced.

"Tonight!" both men echoed.

"Tonight," Ike agreed. They all started walking back to the shop as the sun was setting.

"Who’s the champ?" Mr. Gonzales challenged, ducking down into his fighting stance.

"I am?" Ike guessed, giving the bike to Crip and hanging his helmet on the handlebar. They stopped walking as Ike sparred with Mr. Gonzales. They boxed around a little as Ike probed his defenses with darting jabs and crosses. Mr. Gonzales just bobbed and weaved while casting smiles to Crip.

"Who’s the champ?" Mr. Gonzales snorted again.

"I am!" Ike responded, sending an overhand right that clipped Mr. Gonzales ear. He just turned and blocked.

"Hey, You’re just letting me win!" Ike protested.

Suddenly Mr. Gonzales let loose a volley of left jabs to the gut that brought down Ike’s arms and then planted a knuckle thump on his forehead.

It was a little too hard and put Ike on the ground. He immediately grabbed his head, "Hey, that hurt!"

"Sorry, I meant to pull it, but you moved your head right into it." Mr. Gonzales clarified apologetically as he reached down to help Ike up.

Ike clasped his hand but sent out a ground kick to his knee and with a tug put Mr. Gonzales flat on his face!

"What?" he spat out as he went down.

"What!" Ike shouted back at him, with arms raised in victory.

"What!" Crip shouted. "Nice move Ike. Now who’s the champ Victor?" he howled at Mr. Gonzales who took his time getting up.

"Uh, he just hit my bad knee that’s all." They laughed as Ike helped Mr. Gonzales back to his feet.

"Who’s the champ?" Ike challenged smugly to Mr. Gonzales.

"You are!" Mr. Gonzales conceded with a grin, first at Ike then at Crip.

"Only one little problem now," Crip cautioned.

"What’s that?" Ike asked, proudly taking the bike.

"Payback!" Mr. Gonzales hooted loudly. "And it’s comin’ from the boss!"

They all laughed again as they continued back to the shop.

Chapter 16

Ike had a good week in school, making A’s and B’s on his quizzes and tests. He was just starting to feel good about himself and his schoolwork but he couldn’t get used to seeing Sam and Dave together. Holding hands in the hallway, talking closely near the lockers, sitting together in the courtyard during lunch; he was beginning to feel like a man without a home. His closest friend was his dream of racing and sometimes he wondered if that was really enough.

On Wednesday he was exchanging books out of his locker when he noticed in his peripheral vision some of the older guys gathering around behind him. The girl next to him had her locker open and he checked the mirror she had hanging on the inside of the door. He could see the face of Jimmy Plaisance nodding and smiling that cocky grin to the other guys as he drew up behind him. At least he had a split second warning before he turned to face him.

"Hey rookie," Jimmy taunted as he turned around.

"Me?" Ike asked.

"Yeah you. Do you see any other rookies around?" Jimmy cackled as he turned and smiled to his friends.

"Well, the reason I asked is because I’m not a ‘rookie.’" Ike responded confidently.

"Sure you are," Jimmy badgered. "You think you’re a motocross racer, but you’re just a little beginner poser." The crowd was getting bigger; the bad boys chuckling and nodding in agreement.

"I’m not a beginner," Ike disputed. "Anyway, everybody had to start somewhere. You were a beginner once."

"Nope. I was never a beginner," Jimmy disputed. "I was born to roll in the expert class, after a very, very small learning curve," Jimmy boasted with a prideful nod to his freinds.

"So, what’s your point?" Ike challenged impatiently. "I’m late for class." Ike turned to grab another book out of his locker.

"Point?" Jimmy mocked. "He wants to know what the point is." Jimmy turned to the crowd of onlookers, buying time to think up something else.

"My point is that not only are you a beginner rookie, now you’re turning into a nerd," he taunted and knocked the books out of Ike’s hand, glaring at him and waiting for a fight.

Ike resisted the temptation to take a swing at him. The first thing that went through his mind was the vacation Mr. Gonzales and Crip promised him. He was already in trouble and a fight would probably get him kicked out of school. He coolly reached down and picked up his books.

Jimmy put his foot down on his math book before Ike could pick it up. The tardy bell rang and some of the students turned and rushed into the classrooms.

"Get your foot off my book," Ike demanded.

"You get it off," Jimmy threatened.

Ike snatched it out from under his foot then sidestepped the push he knew was coming. Jimmy was slightly off balance, but attempted the push anyway. When Ike’s body wasn’t there to catch his push Jimmy fell against the locker. Unfortunately for him his fingers were curled around the opening of Ike’s locker right as Ike slammed it shut.

"Ahhhhhgggggg!" Jimmy wailed, causing heads to peek back through open doorways.

"What’s the matter?" The closest teacher demanded from two doors down.

"Nothing," Jimmy growled painfully, holding his hand and glaring at Ike.

"Jimmy keeps putting his appendages where they don’t belong," Ike announced. The kids laughed; even a couple of Jimmy’s buddies couldn’t help but chuckle. Jimmy stepped in front of Ike’s escape.

"I’ll see you after school," he swore under his breath, just low enough so the teachers couldn’t hear.

"I have more important things to do than wrestle around with you on the playground," Ike quipped, turning and walking away.

After school, as Ike approached his bicycle, he noticed a crowd of students waiting; Jimmy’s little gang right in the middle. Jimmy had his feet up on Ike’s bike.

"Why am I not surprised?" Ike groaned, walking up and unlocking his bike as if they weren’t there.

"You’re not surprised because you know you have this coming," Jimmy warned, as took off his letter jacket and handed it to one of his boys.

"Oh, and what is it that I’ve got coming?" Ike replied, turning around with his backpack on his shoulder.

"This!" Jimmy snorted as he threw a punch at Ike’s face.

Ike turned just enough for Jimmy’s fist to glance off Ike’s backpack. His fist landed with a thud on the corner of one of the books. Jimmy shook his fist in pain.

"It pays to bring your books home to study," Ike stated coolly. "I’m going to work, you finish your fight without me."

"What? You don’t want to fight? Scared? You are scared. Everybody knows you’re afraid!" Jimmy blurted out, turning to face him.

"I’m not scared!" Ike countered.

"Yes you are, you’re afraid, a chicken!" Jimmy accused with a mocking attitude.

"Name something I’m afraid of!" Ike challenged.

"You’re afraid to jump! You’re afraid of me. You’re afraid of Sam’s boyfriend. You’re afraid to go out for football…"

"I’m not afraid of anybody!" Ike interrupted, voice rising.

"All right, that’s enough!" Mr. Dansberry commanded, walking up to the scene. The crowd began to dissipate as Mr. Dansberry confronted Ike and Jimmy.

"What is going on here?" He demanded.

"Ike hit me with his backpack." Jimmy accused.

"In the hand?" Ike blasted with a glare.

Mr. Dan looked at Jimmy’s right knuckle and it was bleeding. "Who started this?"

They both pointed at each other.

"Let me remind you boys that there is a camera right over there," he cautioned, turning and pointing to the top of the light.

"Now, you wanna tell me what really happened?" He repeated, this time looking squarely at Jimmy.

"Ike smashed my hands in his locker today," Jimmy complained.

"I already know about that. Saw it on tape as a matter of fact. I think after what you’ve been doing to Ike you owe him an apology," He advised, looking Jimmy in the eyes expectantly.

Jimmy knew he was cornered. He was a lot of things but dumb wasn’t one of them. "I’m sorry Ike," he offered half-heartedly.

Ike just looked Jimmy in the eye and studied him. Then he extended his hand. "Apology accepted," Ike responded cautiously. Jimmy looked at Mr. Dan who was watching him closely. So Jimmy shook, but Ike noticed a sharpness in the shake and a fierceness in his eyes that communicated Jimmy was only sorry about being caught and the trouble was not over.

"Ok, now don’t you boys have some homework to do or something?" Mr. Dan hinted.

The rest of the crowd dispersed, although Ike and Jimmy ventured one more peek at each other and then back at the principal.

Ike straddled his bike and turned for home. His mind was in high gear. ‘Man that was close. He’s comin back for more from another angle, though. Maybe I am scared. How can I get rid of this fear? Can people see it that clearly? I’ll show em’. No, they’ll discover for themselves. Wait, I don’t have to prove anything to them. But I want to. Why does it always have to be something? Why can’t they just leave me alone? I just want to race. Maybe he’s just jealous. Of what? He’s a star on the football team and is an expert Motocrosser. He has a nice truck, friends and girl friends. I’ve got none of that. Why would he be jealous of me? Oh well, can’t let that distract me. I’ve got more important things to do’.

The next day at school Ike heard about Jimmy being suspended for three days. This confirmed to Ike what he already knew. He had done the right thing by not being lured into a fight. Jimmy’s friends were mad at him, though. One even pushed Ike into the locker with his shoulder, but Ike just rolled his eyes and let it go. One good thing came out of it, though. His old friend Ben came over to sit with him at lunch.

"Hey Ike, mind if I join you?" Ben inquired, as he put his lunch tray down next to Ike’s.

"If you can elbow your way through the crowd," Ike responded sarcastically, making fun of his isolation.

"Uh, Ike, I’ve been meaning to say something to you," Ben confessed.

"Shoot," Ike replied, opening his milk.

"I’m sorry for what you’ve been going through. I think most kids are just jealous of the attention you and Sam got when ya’ll solved the crime."

"Maybe so," Ike muttered while chewing on a roll.

"Think I could come practice with you sometime?" Ben proposed, with turkey hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Sure, anytime," Ike agreed with a smile. "Well, anytime after five, that’s when I get off work."

"Hey, you gonna eat that?" Ben pried, eyeing his brownie.

"Nah, you can have it. I’m in training anyway," he explained, picking it up and tossing it on Ben’s tray.

"Training? For what?"

"Racing. I’m trying to get myself ready to move to the novice class."

"You’re not going to Loretta’s this year?"

"Didn’t qualify."

"Oh yeah, the crash," Ben remembered.

"Yeah, but I’ll be ready for next year. I’ve got to work on my jumping."

"I know the feeling." They both stared ahead and chewed.

Suddenly Sam and Dave came walking up.

"Is this seat taken?" Sam chirped cheerfully.

Ike looked up at her, then at Dave. "No, help yourself," he replied, moving his milk and napkins.

"Hi Ike," Dave mumbled cautiously.

"Hi Dave, Sam," Ike returned the greeting courteously.

"Ike, I like the way you handled yourself with Jimmy yesterday," Sam offered cheerily. Ben and Dave both nodded. "Yeah, you were so cool about it," Dave conceded.

Sam went on. "You didn’t get all caught up in the male ego trap."

"What exactly is the ‘male ego’ trap?" Ben needled.

"That’s when a guy’s scared somebody’s gonna think he’s a wimp, so he kinda goes off and does stupid stuff, so nobody will think he’s scared," Sam gabbed. "Then sometimes when it starts working for him he turns into a bully. Then he goes after guys he thinks are scared so he can get easy ‘cool points’ to impress others, so people will think he’s tough." She looked around and then continued, "but, he’s the scardest one, because he goes to the greatest length to establish himself in a position of power over others." She waited for their response.

The boys just sat there trying to process that. Ike broke the silence, "So, where’d you read that? In one of those teen magazines?" he mocked.

"Simple observation," Sam stated, matter-of-factly.

"Can you, uhhh, run that by me again?" Ben gulped, clearly confused.

"Please, I’m tryin’ to let food digest here," Ike choked gruffly, while chewing a mouthful of meat.

"Sam, you are so smart," Dave cooed, clearly kissing up.

Ike turned and mimicked Dave’s words to Ben sarcastically. Then he turned back to the food on his plate. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Then Ike looked up from his plate and decreed, "There will be a test on the male ego tomorrow." Ben snickered. Sam narrowed her eyes at Ike. Dave looked tried to hide his chuckle with a cough.

"Read chapter 12 in your ‘Girls are so much smarter than boys’ textbook," Ike razzed, with a smile as he got up while gathering his milk carton and fork. "I’ll see you ya’ll tomorrow," Ike stated, as he finished off his milk and wiped his mouth. "I gotta go hit the books," Ike mumbled as he got up to leave.

"Sorry Sam," Ike kidded, "I couldn’t resist." Sam just sat there fuming.

"You done with that?" Ike asked, reaching for Ben’s lunch tray.

"Sure," Ben answered with a surprised look, leaning back out of the way. Ike reached for Sam’s trash, too.

"I’ll get that," she objected curtly.

"No I got it, I’m on my way to the trash anyway," he insisted, picking it up.

"You done?" Ike inquired about the crumbled up paper bag in front of Dave, as Ike reached for it.

"Uh, yeah," he reacted in a confused tone, "but I’ll get it," Dave objected, picking it up before Ike could reach it.

"No, really, allow me," Ike bantered good-naturedly, making a quick stab for it, catching a piece of it.

"No, no, I got that," Dave quarreled, pulling it back, causing a tug-of-war over the trash. They smiled at each other momentarily; while Sam and Ben looked back and forth, their heads nodding back and forth as if watching a tennis match.

Finally Ike tore off a piece, causing the recoil to make Dave pop himself in the mouth with his own fist. Sam and Ben flinched, echoing the look on Dave’s face.

"Sorry Dave," Ike lied. "I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow," Ike jested over his shoulder with a smile as he headed to the trash cans.

From that moment on, with the exception of Dave, Ike had friends. Not just acquaintances, or people with hidden agendas that wanted something from him - but real friends he could rely on; all for just putting away pride, being himself and being friendly.

Chapter 17

The next week Ike crashed again, this time breaking his wrist. At least it was his left wrist, which did not affect his writing hand. This sparked a major argument with his mom. She had given him a new rule. No more motocross racing. Not now, not ever. He had countered with his usual arguments, but to no avail. She was not going to budge. She was like that. Once she got an idea, nothing on earth could make her change her mind. So Ike tried something different. He stopped arguing with her and began to think about it as he got back into his routine. He prayed about it. He searched for the answer – hard. He decided to ask advice from Mr. Gonzales and Crip.

"What do you think I should do?" Ike inquired one day after they locked up the shop.

"She’s your mother and so she has responsibility for you. In her mind, motocross racing is bad for you. You have to respect her authority, even if you disagree." Mr. Gonzales advised.

"True, so you’re not gonna ‘argue’ her out of it, no matter how passionately you make your case. She’s gonna have to change her mind about racing, when she sees how it benefits you," Crip added.

"How do I do that?" Ike pleaded.

"You’re gonna need help. We’ll have to go talk to her," Mr. Gonzales answered.

"Whoa! I’m not good at talking to women," Crip protested.

"Not ‘you and me’ we, but ‘Rick and me’ we," Mr. Gonzales clarified. "Rick is a single parent too, and uses racing to help parent Sam and keep her out of trouble. He’s a great example for how motocross can be used to help kids grow up."

"I think you’ve got something there, Victor," Crip smiled.

"Totally. Let Mr. Rick and Sam talk to her. She loves Sam," Ike added.

"It’s settled then, we’ll go do something with her that she likes to do, like uhhhh…,"

"Eat," Ike interrupted. "She loves to eat. Seafood - let’s have a crab boil!"

"A crab boil, with a bar-b-que. I’ll grill some of my famous chicken," Crip declared.

"Oh, you guys have never experienced pure nirvana until you’ve had Crip’s bar-b-qued chicken," Mr. Gonzales smiled, licking his chops.

"That’s slow roasted, hickory smoked, secret recipe bar-b-qued chicken. The generals used to fly me in to Saigon just to grill on my custom-built 55-gallon drum pit. They said the war would stop when it was time for Crip’s smoked chicken," he boasted.

"Ask him to tell you the story of how he used his grilling prowess to escape from a Hanoi prison camp," Mr. Gonzales suggested.

"Uh, that’s classified. I can’t discuss that," Crip stated flatly.

"Aw come on, Crip, I won’t tell anyone," Ike pleaded.

"You don’t need to know everything that happens in war. Let’s just say I softened em’ up with the food, then zigged when they thought I would zag."

"Okay, so it’s settled then," Mr. Gonzales interrupted. "How about this weekend?"

"Fine with me," Crip agreed.

"We’ll be there. Just need to check with Sam and Mr. Rick," Ike reasoned.

"I’ll give him a heads’ up call and let him know the lay of the land," Mr. Gonzales concluded.

"But what if she still won’t let me?" Ike whined.

"Ike, there are no rewards without risks. She is your Mom and you’ll have to obey her until you move out of the house," Mr. Gonzales instructed.

"Until I move out of the house? So that means if…,"

"Don’t even think about movin’ out until after you graduate. You don’t run from problems you solve them," Crip ordered.

"Yes, captain," Ike stood and saluted briskly.

Instantly Crip was on Ike before he could blink his eyes. Crip took advantage of his arm being up on his forehead and whipped Ike around and pinned the other arm up into a full nelson. He just held him there while Ike struggled.

"Crip, let me out," gargled Ike in pain.

"Speak up, I can’t hear you!"

"Let me go!"

"I won’t let you go until you learn your lesson."

"What lesson?"

"What lesson do you think?"

"I don’t, ouch, I don’t know!"

Crip tightened his hold, "You better come up with something!"

"I, uhh, I need to quit saluting?"

"Try again."

"I need to listen to my Mom?"

"Close."

"I need to show respect to adults?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure!"

"What about your teachers?"

"Yes, even my teachers?"

"What about us?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Of course what?"

"Of course I need to show respect to you guys!"

"Do you know what you’ll get back?"

"No, what?"

"It starts with an R."

"I don’t know… uh rain, rings, rest, ravioli?" Ike chortled.

Crip tightened again.

"Owwwww! Ok, respect!"

Crip loosened his grip and let him go. Ike dropped his arms and started rubbing his neck. "That hurt!"

"Pain is the best teacher in the world. As you get wiser you can learn the easier ways. But with that immature foolishness you got right now, pain is the quickest teacher," Crip scolded.

"Maybe I don’t want to learn that much," Ike quibbled.

"When you stop learning, you start dying," Mr. Gonzales added. "Now you better go home and pray that God softens your mom’s attitude and we’ll do what we can."

"I don’t know if I can even lift my arms to pray," Ike whined.

"It’s not the position of your body, it’s the position of your heart that counts. Now go do your homework and we’ll take care of the rest," Crip ordered.

"But what if she doesn’t go for it?" Ike pleaded.

"You must learn to walk in faith, not fear," Mr. Gonzales replied. "You are focusing on your fears and will bring them down upon you if you believe the worst. Now instead of looking at what bad might happen, look at what good could come of it, expect it, act on it. Let go of fear and think in faith. Here, I’ll show you."

Mr. Gonzales disappeared into the back room and came out with a box. He handed it to Ike.

"Go ahead, open it," he said.

Ike just looked at him, then at Crip, then at the box. He popped the cardboard lids off and pulled away the packing. He smiled as he pulled out a brand new full-face Shoei helmet. "What’s this for?" Ike asked.

"That’s for you to wear," Mr. Gonzales answered. "You are starting to go faster and need more protection."

Ike just stared at it with disbelief.

"Well, put it on," Crip suggested.

Ike looked the colorful paint job over carefully checking the little vents in the front and sides. Then he pulled the helmet on over his head.

"Looks good," Mr. Gonzales observed.

"It will look better when he’s going fast," Crip answered.

"I like the cool designs on it," Ike mumbled with a muffled voice from under the helmet.

"I like that it’s the best helmet made and will protect that great mind of yours," Mr. Gonzales said.

"Great mind? Yesterday you said he was hard-headed," Crip joked as he turned and looked at Mr. Gonzales quizzically.

"That’s why God gave him a hard head, to protect that great mind," Mr. Gonzales clarified.

"Can I take it home tonight?" Ike pleaded excitedly.

"Uh, no. I don’t think your Mom is quite ready to see that just yet, Mr. Gonzales remarked. "We’ve got to give prayer a little time to work on her. We don’t want to jump out in front of God. It’s a mistake I’ve made way too many times," Mr. Gonzales lamented.

"Me, too," Crip agreed. "How about you leave that in your stall for a few days and just look at it to keep you focused on what can be," taking the helmet from Ike.

"And I’ve got something for you," Ike announced.

Crip and Mr. Gonzales just looked at each other and shrugged.

Ike pulled a folder out of his book bag. Then he pulled a report out with red ink markings on the top. He proudly presented it to Mr. Gonzales.

Mr. Gonzales looked it over and flipped the pages. Then he showed it to Crip. Crip took the paper and read the teacher’s note on the top:

‘Very good work, Ike. I’ve noticed a vast improvement in your attitude and work the last few months. I hope you stop by and tell me about it. I always thought you were capable of work like this. Good choice of book, too. Take Chuck Norris’ advice and you’ll see more success come your way. Good luck with the racing. I think it’s done you good.’

Mr. Gonzales and Crip just stood up and high-fived. "Well now, I think your mom is ready for this!" Mr. Gonzales exclaimed excitedly.

"That’s just what we needed," Crip echoed with a grin, "An ace in the hole."

Chapter 18

The bar-b-que went well except for one thing. Ike’s Mom refused to agree to let Ike race, despite the best efforts of all involved. Mr. Rick and Mr. Gonzales had reasoned with her about how it was good for Ike and showed her the teacher’s notes and even had the teacher call her while Crip boiled crabs and grilled his magical chicken. But she was dead-set against it. It was as if there was an unseen enemy lurking deep inside her that they couldn’t get to.

Ike got into another argument with her and then stormed out of the house. All the guests picked up and left. Now there was only one person left that might talk some sense into her – Sam. She had missed the event due to a track meet.

Everyone fell into their routine again as the weather begin to warm with the coming of spring. A dark cloud of depression began to hover over Ike again as the thought of not being allowed to race began to sink in. She still allowed him to ride, though. So he practiced on his modern bike and Vinnie every chance he got. It seemed to help his mood. But as he tried to keep his grades up, he had trouble concentrating.

The arguments in the Hebert household became more frequent and more volatile. At best it was an uneasy truce between them. At worse it was like two enemies trying to live in the same house. There was no end in sight except one – the end of the school year.

Sam had been busy with school and racing. She made the honor role at school, won some gold at the track meets and continued to win every motocross race. But all was not well with her after someone had started rumors about her and Ben, her and Dave and her and Ike - even her and Jimmy Plaisance! If that weren’t enough, Kate Sterling had bad-mouthed her in a magazine interview that became the talk on motocross message boards around the nation. Kate had accused her of using performance enhancing drugs and cutting the track during races.

Sam soon become discouraged and began to make excuses not to go to the races or go to school. At the last big race someone put sugar in her bike’s fuel tank and it stalled on an approach to a jump and sent her over the bars, crashing on her right shoulder, dislocating it and breaking two fingers.

After two days in the hospital she made a decision. When Mr. Rick came to visit she just came right out and said it.

"Dad, I’m quitting motocross."

"But why?"

"Because it’s not fun anymore. You told me yourself, when it’s not fun anymore I should quit."

"Yes, but that meant if you wanted to pursue something else or burn out; not quit when it gets hard. What you’re doing is quitting because it’s getting tougher, and that’s just wrong."

"But it’s my body, my career and I’m tired of you pushing me. I’m tired of training. I’m tired of having to eat the right foods and sacrifice other things. I just wanna be a regular teenager like everybody else."

"Honey, listen, when you start comparing yourself to others you are making a mistake. Because that’s a game you’ll always lose. It’s human nature to compare your worst side with their best side, or your best side with their worst side. And even if you do come out on top it will only lead to conceit and arrogance."

"But I just want to be normal," she whimpered, as she tried to turn into a more comfortable position.

"What is normal? Do you mean average? Because most people settle for just being average out of laziness. They don’t want to pay the price it takes to be great. They want to do just enough to get by or get what they want. You can be average if you want. We’ll sell the bikes and trailer and gear and you can just concentrate on the little stuff that other teenagers concentrate on, getting people to like them, going out to party on the weekends, staring at themselves in the mirror and worrying about blemishes, gossiping, fighting with parents…,"

"Okay Dad," she interrupted. "I get the picture, but aren’t we fighting now?"

"No we’re discussing."

"Arguing."

"Okay, arguing. But arguing is healthy if we don’t attack each other personally and stay on the topic."

"All right, back to the topic. I’m quitting racing."

"No you’re not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, I’ve got too much invested in you to quit now," his voice rising. "Besides you are only two races away from a national championship."

"I don’t care about that anymore," she whined.

"Yes, you do. You’re just tired of the sacrifice and now you want to quit right before the finish line."

"Dad I’m tired. I’m just so tired!" she cried.

She couldn’t hold back any longer and began to sob. Mr. Rick reached over to grab the box of tissues. He pulled a couple from the box and kneeled next to the bed, getting level with her tear-stained face.

"I know honey," he consoled tenderly. "Just promise me one thing."

"What’s that?" she sniveled, as she took a tissue to wipe her eyes.

"That you won’t make an important life-changing decision while you are tired and hurting, ok?"

"Okay."

"Those are some nice flowers you got here. Who sent them?"

"Ike."

She wiped her eyes and began to regain her composure.

"Ike? What about Dave Remington?"

"Oh, he’s a jerk," she blurted. "We broke up when he heard the rumors. He just wanted some of my popularity anyway. So when it was gone, so was he."

"So he wouldn’t believe you?"

"No one would, at least not if they wanted to kiss up to the ‘cool kids.’ Ike was the only one."

"I think you’ve got a good friend there. But he’s having struggles, too."

He got up and went back to his seat.

Sam thought for a moment and then asked, "Dad, why won’t his mom let him race?"

"Because she loves him and wants to protect him," Mrs. Hebert interrupted as she entered the room just in time to hear the question.

"I can’t stand to see him get hurt."

She cast a concerned look at Sam. "Are you all right?"

"I’m just tired, tired of everything; tired of school, tired of racing, tired of being me."

"Are you really thinking of quitting racing?" Tricia prodded, with a shocked look on her face.

"Yes, I’ve had enough. It’s a rough sport anyway. I might try something like painting or cheerleading."

There was a long silence as Tricia and Rick just looked at her and glanced at each other, trying to hide their chuckles. Everyone in the room knew the obvious, but no one wanted to say it. So it went unsaid.

Chapter 19

Things went downhill for Ike since he had to quit racing. The weeks dragged on and he began to isolate himself. The walls he put up caused the destructive thinking to come back. By May he was in a full blown depression.

Ike just stared at his mashed potatoes. He knew he should eat them and the banana, but since he wasn’t in training anymore he just picked up the cookie and stuck it in his pocket. He got up, took his tray to the window and dropped it off. He trudged out of the cafeteria alone, as usual.

With Sam out of school and his depression, he didn’t care to pursue friendships. It took too much energy, which he didn’t have. He had to concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other in his now pointless routine. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of getting his own truck. It made work seem worthwhile. He needed to have some wheels under him and he had outgrown the bicycle. This summer he would have freedom: freedom to go where he wanted, when he wanted with no one telling him what to do. He wanted to get away; away from school, away from home, away from Jimmy Pleasance and his bullying goons and away from Calais. Maybe he could start all over in New Orleans or Lafayette.

When school was over Ike got the job of telling his mother he had failed 10^th grade. She had known, but wanted him to tell her. They didn’t fight about it; they were too tired of fighting. Tricia was weary of being a parent of a teenager and Ike was ready for a change. But there was no way out and they were both at an impasse. That’s when Ike quietly packed his backpack and walked out. He didn’t really intend on coming back. He left a note that simply read: ‘Sorry about being a bother to you. I love you, Ike.’

Ike hitch-hiked to New Orleans. When he got to town he walked into the French Quarter and began the darkest two weeks of his life. It only took three days to run out of money. Then he got beat up by another homeless man who stole everything, even his backpack and wallet. He resorted to digging in trash bins behind restaurants for his food. He learned to panhandle the tourists for pocket change and began to hang with a lower level street gang that seemed to like him. His mood began to improve as he finally felt a sense of belonging, camaraderie, like the family he always wanted.

But the fun didn’t last long. One dark, rainy night the gang was arrested when they set off a car alarm trying to jack a stereo. Ike went to jail. For the first time in his life he had lost his freedom. With his one phone call he contacted Mr. Gonzales.

"Mr. Gonzales?" Ike asked as the call went through.

"Yes? This is Victor Gonzales."

"Hi, this is…"

"Ike? Is that you? Where are you?" Mr. Gonzales grilled frantically.

"I’m in the juvenile detention center."

"For what?"

"Burglary."

"What? You?"

"Yes sir."

"Why"

"I gotta eat."

"But not that way. I’ll be right over."

In two hours Mr. Gonzales was there, talking to Ike. "Now what happened?"

"I uhh, don’t really know. I guess I was just tryin’ to grow up."

"Are you done with your experiment, or should I leave you in there to see if you’re hypothesis is correct?"

"My hypothesis was wrong. This was not the way to live. Maybe there’s a better way."

"You know there is. What do you want to do now?"

"Well, I don’t really want to go back to Calais, but I don’t want to stay here."

"What do you suggest?"

"I don’t know," Ike paused. "Can I stay at your place until I figure something out?"

"You’ll have to apologize to the judge and work off your bail and fines. But I think we can work something out."

"Can I go home tonight?"

"No, you’ll have to spend a night or two, but I think I can have you out by Tuesday."

"Tuesday?" Ike groaned.

"Yes."

"But…, why not tonight?" Ike stammered.

"Because sometimes the wheels of justice take time to roll. Just sit tight. You’ll be ok."

"I guess I don’t have a choice," Ike sighed.

"I guess you’ve put yourself into a position where your choices are very limited," Mr. Gonzales scolded. "I’ll see you tomorrow, one way or the other."

It took two days for Mr. Gonzales to get Ike out and it took meeting with the judge and agreeing to have Ike released into his custody. By the time Ike was able to walk out into the street and look up into the daylight he felt like a new person. The feeling of freedom was like none he had ever had in his life. His Mom, Crip and Mr. Gonzales took him to a restaurant to discuss his future.

"Ike, we’ve been talking and have decided it’s time for you to take your trip," Mr. Gonzales began.

"My vacation?"

"It’s not going to be a vacation. It’s going to be an "attitude adjustment" trip," his Mom corrected.

"I don’t mind what you call it, I like going on trips with Mr. Gonzales," Ike pressed, excitedly.

"I’m not going with you," Mr. Gonzales stated with a steady voice, looking into Ike’s eyes with sadness.

"Then who am I going with?" Ike questioned with a perplexed look on his face.

They all looked at Crip who was looking Ike dead in the eyes. Suddenly Ike realized who he would be traveling with. "Oh no, not Crip," Ike objected.

"Why not Crip, he loves you," Tricia countered.

"You mean like lions love rabbits?" Ike snorted.

"Crip has something planned that you’re gonna love," Mr. Gonzales declared.

"Like getting beat up or hung upside down?" Ike debated fearfully.

"No, like a visit to his people in Springfield, to get a fresh perspective," Mr. Gonzales replied matter-of-factly.

"Louisiana?" Ike groaned.

"Yes," Mr. Gonzales replied.

"For what?"

"To help you grow up," Crip spoke up finally. "Son, you need to grow up and I’m gonna help you."

"You mean like, ‘Marine-corps’ grown up or ‘Indian’ grow up?" Ike challenged sarcastically.

"Both." Crip stated crisply. "Now lets get goin’ we’re burning daylight."

"But what if I don’t want to?" Ike debated, folding his arms defensively.

"Oh you’ll want to. We’ll make sure of that," Crip barked with authority.

"Who’s we?" Ike disputed.

"Me, Crip, your Mom and the judge," Mr. Gonzales responded firmly.

Ike just looked from face to face. He knew he was cornered and out of options. The trip was better than jail, and better than going back to Calais.

"I’ll agree on one condition," Ike negotiated.

"No conditions, you just go," Crip ordered.

"Wait, what’s your condition?" Tricia asked Ike.

"That I can bring my modern bike. I want to ride while I’m there."

The adults looked at each other, then at Crip who nodded.

"Ok, we’ll agree on one condition," Crip counter-offered.

"What’s that?" Ike retorted with distrust.

"You’ll do everything, I mean everything I say, when I say it without whining or complaining," Crip proposed.

Ike thought for a moment, looked at each of their faces, measuring their will, then agreed. "Ok," Ike conceded, trying to hide the reservations he felt.

"Wait, I’m not done. If you don’t, you’ll face consequences. If you step out of line, you’ll face consequences. I’ll be legally responsible for you and your butt will be mine for one month," Crip added, looking over at Tricia.

Tricia looked at Mr. Gonzales with alarm. Mr. Gonzales slowly began to nod.

"That’s the ticket that will take you to the next level Ike. Tricia, I know you’re not completely comfortable with this, but I would trust Crip with my life, even my own son’s life. His techniques are sometimes a bit…, barbaric, but his heart is true and his mind is sharp. He’s helped me out many times, and he’ll help Ike, too," Mr. Gonzales explained.

Tricia just looked from one to the other, but saw no signs of backing down. "Ok, do what you need to do," She consented reluctantly.

"One more thing. I’ll need power of attorney. Just a precautionary measure in case he needs medical care or anything," Crip explained.

"What do you mean, if he needs medical care!" Tricia exploded indignantly.

"What he means, Tricia, is that it’s time to cut the apron strings," Mr. Gonzales clarified, staring her down.

She stared at Mr. Gonzales in disbelief, then at Crip who nodded, finally at Ike who just shrugged. "I see," she bristled defensively.

"It’s okay, Mom, I can take anything he wants to dish out," Ike pledged, patting her arm. "I’ll be alright."

Tricia gazed at Ike, then Mr. Gonzales, then Crip, then back at Ike.

"You’ll bring my boy back to me?" she pleaded to Crip.

"No."

"What?" she exclaimed.

"I’ll bring a man back to you. We’ll leave the boy somewhere in the swamp," Crip vowed with a smirk.

A smile began to form on Mr. Gonzales’ face, then it spread to Ike’s face, then it turned into laughter. The laughter finally rubbed off on Tricia who just shook her head. "Men," she groaned, rolling her eyes.

Chapter 20

Ike stared out of the window of Crip’s Pick-up truck as they ambled north on Highway 1, past the docks and boathouses along Bayou Lafourche. The morning sun was cresting the trees and most of the shrimp trawlers and crabbers were out in the marshes and the Gulf of Mexico by now.

Ike’s mind began to wonder. ‘Some of my cousins and uncles are already offshore workin’ in the sun. What are Crip’s relatives like? What kind of work do they do? What kind of work would Crip be doing if he hadn’t gone to war? Why had he chosen to make a life from fixing other peoples’ motorcycles?’ Ike leaned his head against the window drifted back to sleep.

Two hours later Ike was awakened by the slowing of the truck. They pulled up to a little country convenience store just off the asphalt road at a clearing in the woods.

"Gotta get some gas, you want anything?"

"No, I’m good," Ike mumbled then repositioned his head on the door and closed his eyes.

"Crip! Long time no see, cuz," A tall, muscular Indian-looking man greeted Crip with arms extended.

"Too long, dog, too long," as they embraced then finished with a forearm shake and broad smiles. "How’s everybody?" Crip bantered with a wide grin.

"Same ole’, same ole’, hangin’ in there. They all been askin’ about ya’, especially Zip-Tie."

"Funny you should mention him. I’m on my way to see him now. Where is he?"

"Where he always is, at his dirt pit. He’ll be happy to see ya’. Hey, who’s the young buck?"

"Oh, that’s Ike. I think he’s bein’ a little shy."

"You takin’ him in there, too?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Don’t you remember what happened last time you brought a stranger in?"

"Hey, how was I supposed to know he was a low down mule for that drug lord? There’s still hope for this one. He isn’t spoiled yet."

"How do you know this one will be any different?"

"You gotta try." Crip finished pumping gas and replaced the pump nozzle, then screwed the gas cap back on. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of bills, counted out the 24 dollars and handed it to the attendant.

"This one is different. I know him, and it’s a personal favor for a friend."

"Oh boy, here we go again. Crip tryin’ to save the world. Good luck with that."

"It’s not luck I need, it’s Him," he smiled pointing up.

"Always. Semper Fi!"

"Ooh-Rah!" Crip added as they shook forearms again.

Crip limped around to the door and opened it. He had to drag his wooden leg in behind him and physically place it on the clutch. He carefully closed the well-oiled door and started the motor. It hummed the tune of a big V-8 with headers and glass packs.

"Man I love that sound," Crip uttered, closing his eyes and relaxing his head against the headrest.

Ike opened his eyes and looked over. "What sound?"

"If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand," Crip chuckled with a sly grin.

"Oh that sound. It’s pretty cool," Ike nodded. "But not as cool as a Yamaha R6 at 10,000 rpm’s in 6^th gear."

Ike turned to look at Crip for his reaction.

"Son, you’d be going 130 miles per hour, and you’d better be on a race track." Crip turned to look at Ike. "Does Mr. Gonzales know you did that with one of his bikes?"

"Not yet, and he doesn’t have to, does he?"

"That depends on how you act the next few weeks. Yep, it depends on you."

Crip put his glasses on and stuck a piece of gum in his mouth. Then he started snickering.

"What?" Ike prodded.

"An R6 at 10,000. You’re lucky you didn’t blow the motor."

"Hey, to each his own. I like fast and you like old… what is this truck again?"

"A 1967 Ford F-100," he said proudly.

"I bet it doesn’t even have a hemi, does it?" Ike teased.

"Buckle up."

"What?"

"Buckle up."

"Why?"

"It’s the law."

Reluctantly Ike buckled his belt. Immediately Crip downshifted and punched it. The tires spun loose on the asphalt and burned rubber for five long seconds, fish-tailing down the old road. Crip shifted into 3rd gear pressing Ike’s head deep into the headrest.

Ike ventured a peek at the speedometer, but he kept a tight, white-knuckled hold on the door handle. "How fast are we goin?" he gasped in fright.

"Take a look," Crip calmly replied as he shifted into fourth and let the tach wind up to redline.

Ike leaned over and looked at the speedometer that was topped out at 110, "I don’t think so," he shot at Crip with unbelief. "Looks like 130," he announced as he saw the trees blur past his window.

"Closer to 150." He looked at Ike.

"Don’t take your eyes off the road, Crip! And slow down for God’s sake!"

"For who’s sake?" Crip looked at the road, then back at Ike with a mean look.

"Okay, for Pete’s sake. You’re gonna get a ticket!"

"Might - Might not."

He started slowing down bringing a sigh of relief from Ike.

"If you like speed so much why were you so afraid?"

"I wasn’t afraid."

"Sure you were. But why weren’t you afraid when you had that R-6 up at 130?"

"Cause I… I don’t know," Ike shrugged.

"Well I’ll tell ya since you don’t know. It’s the same reason your Mom wouldn’t let you race. It’s all about control. You were afraid because you weren’t in control of the wheel, and you don’t trust me yet. You’re gonna have to trust me, with your life, if need be."

"If need be?"

"If need be."

"Is ‘be’ gonna be ‘needed’?" Ike looked questioningly at Crip.

"Might," Crip cautioned with finality.

"Might?" Ike questioned, studying his face wondering what he meant.

"Might."

There was a long silence.

"What do you mean, ‘might’?" Ike pressed.

"Well, I got this here big, modern motor in this old truck for a reason."

"Oh, if ‘need be?’"

"Hey, you’re a fast learner."

Crip eased the speed back down to the limit.

"So does this thing have a hemi?"

Crip laughed.

"Don’t need no hemi when you got lots of supercharged ponies who are trained to fly!"

"Well, here we are," Crip announced, pointing to the sign on the right. It read, "You are now entering Choctaw tribal lands."

Suddenly a police car pulled out from a little side road and turned on its lights. It came upon them in seconds.

"Who’s that?" Ike asked in alarm, sitting up.

"My brother. Well, my half-brother," Crip answered as he pulled the truck over onto the gravel shoulder. He took off his sunglasses and looked in the rear view mirror to watch the cop get out.

The uniformed patrolman stepped out of his car and approached the truck. He took off his sunglasses and peered through the window. Crip rolled the window down and asked, "What can I do for you, officer?"

A look of recognition began to dawn on his face and a smile began to crease his lips.

"Well, you can start by following me to the station and getting fingerprinted."

"Fingerprinted?"

"Yeah, get those greasy fingerprints on my Harley. It’s hard to start and runnin’ rough."

"Uh, officer, may I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why didn’t you fix it yourself?"

"I’m too busy."

"Too busy? On a reservation with less than a thousand people, mostly family, and you can’t find time to fix your bike?"

"Well, that and I don’t have the touch like you."

"True." Crip stepped out of the truck and embraced the officer the same we he did the other Indian at the gas station.

"What’s up, bro’? It’s been way too long," Crip announced with a broad grin.

"Way, way, you been keepin’ yourself lean and mean?"

"Less and less as I get older."

"Been keepin’ yourself clean?"

"Yep. Finally figured out the secret," Crip answered.

"What’s that?"

"The company you keep. And I’ve settled down into a steady job."

"I’ve been telling you that for years."

"Hey Ike, I want you to meet somebody," Crip called, turning and peering into the car. "This is my brother, Doug."

Ike jumped out of the truck and came around to face the tall officer.

"Doug, this is Ike, a friend of mine. He’s a Motocrosser."

Doug looked at Ike intently, measuring him as he extended his hand, "So you’re the one," he smiled as he grasped Ike’s hand firmly.

"I’m the one?"

"The one that’s coming here to train."

"To train? Yeah, I guess so. I mean, Crip hasn’t exactly explained everything to me, yet."

"He’s like that. Everything’s on a ‘need to know’ basis," he chided, casting a wink in Crip’s direction. "It’s one of his leftover bad habits from the war."

"Hey, I’ve cleaned up pretty good. Better than most," Crip defended with a push to Doug’s shoulder that sent him off balance.

Doug just gave him the eye. "At least you came back," Doug responded.

"Well most of me came back," Crip smiled at Ike, while tapping his wooden leg.

Doug walked over to the bed of the truck and studied Ike’s bike, "What year is this 250?"

"2005. It runs good, but we gotta tune the suspension," Ike quipped.

Doug looked at Crip. "Did Crip tell you what you’d be doin’?" Doug looked back and forth from Ike to Crip as if he knew something Ike didn’t.

"Uh, no, I haven’t told him yet. Look Doug, we’ll see ya at the house this evening. Is the camper ready?" Crip reacted, trying to change the subject. He reached back into the bed of the truck and unzipped Ike’s gear bag. He pulled his race boots out.

Doug took the hint and put his sunglasses back on. "Yeah, it’s ready. Got the stuff you asked for all laid out in there. Well I guess I gotta get back to work. You’re havin’ dinner with us tonight. Lacey is cooking your favorite meal."

"Seafood gumbo?"

"No, peanut butter and mustard," Doug stated, trying to keep a straight face.

"Oh, now you talkin’!" Crip high-fived Doug, while Ike just stared at the two in disbelief.

"What, you never tasted peanut butter and mustard? You have got to get out more, Ike," Crip bantered with faking shock.

"Especially when you put tuna fish on it," Doug seconded.

"… and lima beans," Crip nodded.

"and don’t forget the jalapeno peppers and anchovies," Doug called over his shoulder as he walked back to his car.

"… and don’t forget the stale bread pudding for desert!" Crip cackled.

"Your feast should be ready at about sunset, but you can come hang out earlier. I should be in by 5:30," Doug declared as he paused at his door.

"We’ll be there. Hey, is the peanut butter old?" Crip asked, raising his hands in question.

"Oh yeah, probably over a year. It’s been sitting under the house with the lid off. Probably raised 25 families of flies in there." Doug countered.

"Then we’ll definitely be there," Crip celebrated with a jubilant fish in the air and excitement in his voice. "Won’t we Ike?" turning to Ike for an answer.

"Uh, yeah, sure. I can’t wait to eat that," Ike mimicked slowly and sarcastically.

The men laughed and waved to each other as the car pulled away.

"You guys are weird," Ike noted flatly, shaking his head.

"Son, you’ll learn that humor is the spice of life. Without it we’d all go crazy. Now here," he tossed his racing boots to Ike. "Put these on."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"Why?"

"The next time you ask me that question you’re gonna do 30 push-ups," Crip warned, his tone changing. "Do you or do you not want to train?"

"But, not the… this is not… the Marines." Ike offered weakly.

"Don’t knock the Corps. They have the best program in the world. Why do you think a recruit doesn’t have to go back through basic when he transfers to another branch of the service from the Marines?"

"I dunno."

"Because we do it right the first time! Now you got two minutes to get your socks and boots on."

Ike sat down and pulled off his tennis shoes. He reached into his boots and grabbed his long racing socks.

"Do you want me to put my race pants and other stuff on, too?"

"Nope. Just your boots."

"Why, uhh I mean what will I be doin’, ridin’?"

"Nope. Running."

"Running?"

"Running. You’ve got 20 seconds left."

Crip turned and got into the truck. He started it up and looked behind him out of the window.

"Throw your shoes in the truck. You got it easy today."

"Easy?"

"Yeah, it’s not dusty." Crip began to pull away.

"Wait, I’m not…" Ike slapped the last buckle closed and jumped up, while grabbing his shoes and socks. He took off after the truck and tossed them into the bed of the truck. Crip increased the speed and opened a distance of 50 feet between them. And with that Ike began a new training program that would take him to the next level of racing.

After two slow miles of jogging, Crip turned down a gravel road under a sign that read, "Lejeune Dirt and Gravel." Ike was sucking wind and slowing to a snail’s pace as the boots began to feel like big chunks of concrete on his feet. Then he caught the sound of motocross bikes ahead, which gave him just the boost he needed to follow the truck through the gate and up the driveway. Crip stopped the truck under a shade tree in front of a little mobile home overlooking a big dirt pit. He stepped out of the truck to wait for Ike to cover the last 200 yards to a much-deserved rest. Crip reached into the ice chest and drew out two waters. He opened one and surveyed the scene before him.

There were two dump trucks, a giant front end loader, a back hoe and a bulldozer down in the pit. Off to the right were various older pieces of heavy equipment dying a slow, rusty death. To the left was an oval dirt track. But Crip’s gaze stopped on the field directly behind the pit where a half-dozen motocross bikes were flying high into the sky like bouncing balls.

Ike trotted and tripped his way up to the back of the truck and collapsed on the tailgate. Gasping for air he turned his sweat-streaked, sun-scorched face up to Crip, but words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

"Save your breath. Here," Crip handed him the water and looked back at the bikes. After Ike had twisted off the cap and sucked down half the bottle he drug himself up onto the tailgate and leaned against the inner side of the bed.

Suddenly the door to the office opened and a tall, thin man with a black cowboy hat stepped out onto the porch. He looked the truck over, noticed the bike in the back, then gazed at Crip.

"Well, well. Look what the dog drug in," he drawled with a western twang in his voice. "Crip, you ole’ chunk of rawhide, why didn’t you call ahead? I would’ve iced the beer and fired the grill," he proclaimed as he made his way down the steps and up to the truck.

Crip turned and held his arms open with a smile, "And you thought you was rid of me, didn’t you?"

"Nah, you’re like an old turtle. The only way to keep you outta the pond is to shoot you." They embraced like long lost brothers.

"That’s been tried, many times and it don’t work," Crip joshed, as he stepped back to look at his old friend. "You haven’t changed a bit."

"You neither, just frozen in time," Zip-Tie noted, stepping back to look him over.

"Yep, except I’m gettin’ old and tired."

"I hear ya’ brother."

They looked at each other for a few seconds, then Crip spoke.

"Come over here, there’s somebody I want you to meet." The tall cowboy followed him around the back of the truck where Ike was following them with his eyes, but his body was still slumped over in exhaustion.

"This is Ike Hebert, a friend of mine. He’s come to train for motocross. Ike this is Zip-Tie. He’s the owner of this outfit."

"Ike drug his tired body off the tailgate to shake his hand. They looked into each other’s eyes for a split second as if looking to see what was really inside.

"Glad to meet ya, Ike."

"You, too, uhh, Mr. Zip-Tie."

"You can just call me Zip-Tie. So you like racing or freestyle?"

"I race, but I like to watch freestyle on TV."

"Well you can see it live here," Zip-Tie nodded over to the back of the pit.

"Zip-Tie owns three race teams, a flat track, motocross and free-style jumping team," Crip explained.

"Cool. So that’s your free-style team out there?" Ike assumed, pointing to the jumpers.

"No, that’s just some of the boys playin’ around. Some are on one or other of the teams and they just like to play out there."

"It keeps their skills sharp to ride every day with each other, just like iron sharpens iron," Crip remarked with a steady gaze at the riders.

"They’ll go from the jumps, to the flat track, to the MX course like a flock of birds, until they get tired or run out of gas." Zip-Tie pointed at Ike’s boots. "You been runnin’ in those?"

"Not my idea," Ike gave an angry nod over to Crip.

"It’s a good one, I taught it to him," Zip-Tie bragged proudly, taking off his bandana and wiping the sweat off his forehead. "It builds the muscles in your legs so they become used to the boots - and gets your feet used to feeling the ground through the boots. Plus you get more of a workout. Follow me, I want to show you something."

Zip-Tie led them around the left side of the pit past the flat track. As they got beyond it they began to see the motocross track. Ike’s eyes were drawn to the huge tabletops and triple jumps. He started to feel sick at his stomach. Crip noticed.

"Before we leave here you’ll be able to clear those jumps at high speed without even thinking about it. You’ll also be able to run a 40 minute moto full speed."

"40 minute motos? Are you crazy?" Ike protested.

"Run 40 minute motos in practice so that when you’re in a race you can handle twenty minutes. You tighten up in a race which saps more strength and pumps up your arms." Crip clarified.

"They used to run 40 minute motos in my day," Zip-Tie drawled. "That would separate the men from the boys, especially on the old machines that had only six inches of travel on front and four in back."

"I’ve raced the old bikes, too," Ike offered.

"Not the real old ones, just the Post-Vintage, 82’ model," Crip corrected. "He’s ridden the 74’, but not the real old BSA’s and Triumphs," Crip added. "You’ve changed the track since the last time I was here," Crip percieved.

"Yep, we copied some of the Texas, Florida and California tracks as best we can on flat ground. But we keep the latest developments in for the guys to practice on. Sand sweepers and rythmn sections are real hot right now, as well as step-ons and step-offs. Supercross keeps making things more technical and the younger riders love air time."

"Not me," Ike complained.

"That’s just cause’ you haven’t been taught yet on a modern bike. It’s all about confidence," Crip asserted, grabbing Ike’s shoulder and shaking him playfully.

"Careful, my legs are still wobbly," Ike whined.

"We gonna fix that, too," Crip forecasted, winking at Zip-Tie.

"You gonna have to force-feed him to get him ready in a few weeks," Zip-Tie cautioned.

"We’ll just get his confidence up and his technique in. This will be like training camp. He’ll have to come back for more practices later.

"Okay, Sean Payton, let’s get those Saints to the Super Bowl!" Zip-Tie crowed with excitement.

"Hey, I got the talent standing right here," he boasted, putting a hand on Ike’s shoulder.

The sound of the bikes got louder, prompting them to look over at the jumps. Seven dirt bikes began to make their way over to the office.

"Come on," Zip-Tie urged. "Let’s go meet ‘em."

The riders pulled up under the shade of the moss-draped live oak. They took off their helmets and headed for the artesian well. One by one they soaked their heads and drank their fill, then collapsed on the ground. They were stripping off their boots when Zip-Tie, Crip and Ike walked up.

"Hey guys! You have a good ride?" Zip-Tie queried to no one in particular and then announced, "I’ve got someone I want you to meet. You know Crip," he pointed smiling. They all greeted Crip warmly with respect, seeming to know him already. "And this here’s Ike. He’s come to train with us for a couple weeks." They sat up and looked him over cautiously.

Ike nodded coolly. They stared coldly and nodded without getting up. Ike cast a sidewise glance at Crip who looked back at him with a "this is gonna be a tough crowd" raised eyebrow.

Zip-Tie broke the uncomfortable silence, "How’s your bikes runnin’?"

"Mine’s good. Skeeter threw a chain though," the biggest one explained.

"Ya’ll fix it?" Zip-Tie responded.

"Yeah, he found a 520 ‘O’ ring chain in the tool shed and put it on," another remarked.

"How’d the sprockets look?" continued Zip-Tie.

"They were okay. I think I got a rock in there or something. The chain was old, anyway," Skeeter answered coolly

Zip-Tie rubbed his hands together and proclaimed, "Who wants some watermelon?"

That brought a raucous roar. "Joshua, go get a big one from the patch," he ordered. Immediately a boy got up and went out to fetch the melon while the others stripped down to their riding pants and bare feet. When he returned he dropped it on the ground, breaking it open to reveal the sweet red meat. There was a fight for the heart and then the latecomers settled on the rest. Soon everyone was shoving pieces in their mouths, the red juice dripping down their chests.

"So Ike, how long you been racin’?" Skeeter quizzed.

"Oh, about two months," Ike mumbled between the spitting of seeds.

"You a beginner?" Another boy probed.

"No, I’m a novice."

"So you’ve raced more than a year?"

"One month."

"But, how many times have you raced?" another asked with a perplexed tone.

"Twice." Ike stated matter-of-factly.

The racers just looked at each other and slowed their eating.

"And how’d you do?" Another grilled.

"Crashed twice." Ike responded coolly, continuing to eat. This brought out a laugh from the boys with a few nods of appreciation.

"I heard that," one boy chuckled. "That’s how I started, too. You get hurt?"

"Sprained ankle the first time, broken shoulder and ribs the second." Ike continued.

"Then why are you still racing?" a boy needled.

"Cause’ I’m a racer," Ike asserted.

Crip chuckled. Zip-Tie dropped his piece of melon and the boys stopped talking and just stared at him. When Ike noticed everyone was staring at him he felt compelled to explain. "It is what it is. I’m a motocross racer, that’s who I am. I’m going to work hard and one day I’ll be National Champion." Everyone burst out laughing, that is everyone except Zip-Tie, Crip and Skeeter.

"Well Crip, looks like you got your work cut out for you," Zip-Tie jested, smiling at Ike.

"So I have," Crip agreed, looking proudly at Ike. "So I have."

They began to clean up at the well and get dressed in their gear.

"Come on guys, let’s hit the flat track," the biggest one suggested. Ike looked at Crip, who shook his head no. Ike looked down, then got up and washed his hands. One by one the boys remounted, started their bikes, and rode away.

"Why can’t I go ride with them?" Ike pleaded to Crip.

"You’re not ready."

"When will I be ready?"

"In a couple days, depending."

"On what?"

"On how you respond to the program."

"What program?"

"Your program. You ask too many questions. Let’s go get settled in at the camper."

"So you’re gonna be a champion?" Zip-Tie drawled with a thick cowboy accent, while wiping his brow with his handkerchief. "I gotta hand it to you. You talk big. Can you back it up?"

"Sure. Just watch me."

"I will." Zip-Tie tipped his hat to Crip. "See ya guys tomorrow?"

"Maybe," Crip answered. "We have a few wrinkles to work out."

They got back into the truck and began to pull up the driveway, stopping at the rim to watch the rider’s flat-tracking below them. One of the riders peeled away from the group and rode up to the truck, pulling up on the passenger side. He took off his goggles and looked at Ike.

"Ike, I like what you said back there. If you need anything jus’ ask for ‘Skeeter.’ I live just down that road."

He reached out his gloved hand and Ike shook it.

"Thanks, I will," Ike returned.

"Gotta go."

"See ya," Ike waved as Skeeter pulled away.

"Looks like ya got a friend," Crip noted.

"Yep."

"You’re gonna need him," Crip forecasted ominously.

Later that evening, they sat down with Doug and his wife for a meal. "Wow, that was some good meal," Crip remarked, as he pushed back his chair and rubbed his belly.

"Yeah, that was the best Cajun Spaghetti I ever had," echoed Ike, who was already finishing his dessert, scraping his bowl with his spoon while trying to get every last bit of ice cream he could. "What was in it again?"

"Venison sausage and squirrel meat, with gator sauce picaunte," described Doug’s wife Lacey. "Ya’ll made short work of that batch. Next time we’ll have to clean out a whole corner of the swamp to feed you," she teased.

"So word is ya’ll been havin’ some trouble with some swampers," Crip observed. "They’re raidin’ the outlyin’ settlements?"

"I’m not so sure it’s swampers," Doug began. "This just started about three months ago. It was about the time there was a big escape from Angola prison. If my hunch is correct it’s either those escapees or some of those foreigners that jump off the ships comin’ up the Mississippi."

"What are they takin’?" Ike asked, pushing away his bowl.

"Tools, electronics, jewelry, the usual. Anything they can sell or pawn. But they’ve been getting more brazen and even mean. Besides stealin’ stuff, they’ve even started killing dogs, cows, sheep, even cats.

"Have you tried to track em’?" Crip quizzed.

Doug finished chewing, then wiped his face with his napkin.

"Yep, but we always lose their trail in one of the pull ditches."

"What’s a pull ditch?" Ike asked, hoping he wouldn’t look dumb. When they looked at him and each other he added, "Well I don’t know."

"Little canals were dug all through the swamp at the turn of the century to get the cypress timber out," described Doug. "They all connect to main lines. There are thousands of them out there. They’ve been leavin’ hardly any sign and dogs can’t track in the water."

"If you know what to look for, you can track in shallow canals," Crip corrected.

"The conditions have to be just right," Doug argued.

"How did all those canals get there?" Ike pressed, grabbing another roll and the butter.

"You see the Manchac swamp was purchased by northern speculators after the Civil War," Crip detailed. "Folks were in dire need of money and sold out pennies on the dollar. These businessmen and investors wanted the timber out of here. There were thousands of square miles of huge Cypress trees back here."

Doug picked up the story. "Yea, but the problem was getting it out to lake Pontchartrain to transport it to market. Then the Illinois Central extended its railroad around the north side of the lake, to pass Manchac. That brought people and supplies in and made a way to get the lumber out. Then a new invention made a way to get the trees out of the swamp. It was a steam-powered skidder. All they had to do was dig canals through the swamp and they could bring in those skidders on barges to drag the trees out and into the ditches."

"So the logs were then floated out?" Ike guessed.

"Right," Crip replied. The timber was brought to loading docks where they were stacked for transport to lumber yards. This virtually destroyed the swamp causing lots of things to get out of balance, which then killed most of the rest of the cypress trees. So much of the swamp is now open marsh, especially closer to the lake. Then when the nutria came in, they started eating all the vegetation, which started causing the marsh to disappear. But one thing it left was all those canals over many square miles. Anyone with a boat can disappear back there."

"Don’t get us wrong," Doug clarified. "There are lots of good people living back there, living off the swamp. They just don’t want to live in civilization for whatever reasons. Think of the mountain men who lived off the land hunting and trapping, then coming out once in a while to trade for stuff they need. These ‘swampers’ are like that, only instead of the mountains they live in the swamp."

"They love freedom. Ain’t nuthin’ wrong with that," Crip added, reaching for more milk.

"How do you guys know all this?" Ike responded, clearly impressed.

"Many of them are related to us," Crip explained. "Our fathers and grandfathers worked in the swamps, logging, fixing machines, fishing, trapping and hunting, anything to make a living."

"Sounds like a hard way to live," Ike commented.

"Not if you know what to do, and it’s all you know." Doug countered.

"Not if it’s in your blood," Crip seconded. "Like you love motocross racing and that’s your calling? Same with people who live in the swamp. They love the swamp, they know the swamp and they take pride in it. They are just part of it."

"They’re survivors," Doug stated.

"Like that song from uhhh, Hank Williams, Jr.?" Ike joshed, "Something about a country boy?"

"A Country Boy Can Survive," Crip chuckled. "I guess it’s one of the descriptions of my people. But every region of the country has em’, except for the overcrowded areas in the big cities."

"So, how close have these perps gotten to you?" Crip grilled Doug, getting back to the subject.

"Actually they hit me last week," Doug bristled. "They stole my 4-wheeler, a couple chain saws and some other tools outta my shed, along with fishing poles and traps. But worst of all they killed my best hound. Cut his head off and hung it in the tree. They’re gonna pay for that!"

Crip looked at Doug, then at Ike.

"They made a big mistake. Now they’ve sealed their fate," he predicted, as he rose from the table and tossed his napkin down onto his plate.