*No reproduction or use of this book is permitted without the express written permission of the author.

Copyright protected March 2008

Chapter 1

Wildwood Motocross Track was thick with excitement as throngs of spectators jostled for positions along the fencing. The morning wind whipped the flags as if stirring up excitement and anticipation. Mechanics revved race bikes to warm the engines as their riders’ donned gloves and goggles near the starting gate. The PA speakers were booming the list of riders’ names, numbers and home towns. Practice was done, the track lines were established and the race was minutes away. Photographers gathered near the giant jumps, setting the adjustments on their cameras. TV crews were perched in makeshift towers high above the crowds, while flagmen took their positions at the most dangerous points of the track.

Ike Hebert swung a leg over his Honda and placed his right hand on the throttle as he took over the revving from his mechanic. “Good luck Ike,” as he backed away and patted his shoulder. Ike nodded, but his mind was on the gate. He shook out his goggles one last time and stretched his hands. “Relax and breathe, relax and breathe,” he thought to himself.

The starter made his way out to the front with the white sign. He pointed down the line and one at a time the riders nodded that they were ready. He held up the 2 side and waited, and then he turned to the 1 side and the bikes all reached a piercing crescendo as riders leaned forward and began to let out the clutches. He turned the sign sideways and hurried out of the way. All at once 40 bikes unleashed their fury on the cement start as the gate dropped. Two riders got hung up on the gate trying to anticipate the start. As the bikes gained traction they leaped toward the feared first turn. Adrenaline had taken over now and all riders were in survival mode. Into the first turn they raced, inches apart, breaking, sliding, accelerating, bumping and pecking, looking for daylight. Ike was taken to the outside, but he saw an opening and shot through, controlling the sliding bike with his weight and found himself in 7^th place coming out of the turn.

They drag-raced down the straight and didn’t even let off over the first double-jump. He held it on a little longer than the others and stuck his front wheel into the next turn in 3^rd place. He saw a blue blur come flying into him from the corner of his eye. He braced for the impact, leaning his bike even lower in the rut. The Yamaha went down hard, taking out the rider behind him as well. Ike just smiled and thought, “I was here first knucklehead.”

He began to back off the panic pace and settle into his own race, studying the lines of the two leaders just ahead. He knew he could pass them, but wanted to see what they were doing for a couple laps. With a glance over his shoulder on the next big jump he saw that no one was catching them.

“Ike! Ike!” The voice seemed to be growing closer, then someone nudged his arm and he nearly fell out of his desk. He awakened to the laughter of the kids in his class with Mrs. Frightmeyer yelling his name. “Mr. Hebert are YOU having a nice dream?”

“Yes, I am,” he said smiling. The class roared again.

“Then maybe you’d like to tell Mrs. Molotov all about it. Get your things and get out of my room,” as she pointed angrily at the door.

“Yah Ike, the loser kite, go take another hike!” mimicked Jeff, the third string bully. The class laughed as a few more insults slipped to his ears undetected by the teacher. He dropped his books twice on the way out, ensnarling the class in more mean laughter. He could hear it all the way down the hall as the teacher tried to regain order. By the time he reached the Assistant Principal’s office he was shaking. Why was HE always the one to get sent out? As far back as he could remember he was the one blamed and laughed at for anything that went wrong. He just shook his head. He knew what was coming and he was tired of it.

The secretary motioned for him to sit down in the waiting chair. The kids called it the “ice chair” because they tried to “ice” their prey and get inside their heads before the feared showdown with the disciplinarian. He watched as kids came to the window, some with legitimate complaints, but most were there for babified whining, “my finger hurts, my foot got stepped on, I lost my backpack, I forgot my lunch,” on and on it went any little excuse to get out of class. The secretary listened to each one with the smile of a knowing mother and handing out ice, called home, called classrooms, whatever it took while answering the phone, all with a smile.” Ike thought what losers these kids were. Surely he wasn’t this bad when he was in 4^th or 5^th grade.

He began to think of his own struggles. It wasn’t until mid-way through 5^th grade that he could actually keep track of his books and notebooks. It was then that he really began to stabilize his grades in the C range. Other kids were organized since 2^nd or 3^rd grade, especially the girls. But now, at the end of the 9^th grade he was failing again and didn’t care. He was done with school and all those aggravating students. He had more important matters on his mind than school, anyway. He was going to be the next Kevin Windham, a pro motocross racer from Baton Rouge.

When his Dad was still around, he took him to see the Supercross in the dome. One time was all it took and he was hooked. Now the only thing he read were the MX magazines, both hardcopy and online. He knew if he could just get a dirt bike, he would be on his way. He’d saved up 47 dollars and 32 cents last summer from catching crawfish and frogs and selling them to “The Bayou Kitchen” up the road from his house. This fall he planned to hunt squirrel and rabbits to raise more money. Yep, this south Louisiana boy had big plans, he was goin’ places. If he could just get outta school.

“Mr. Hebert, you can go in now,” the secretary said to him. Jimmy Plaisance walked by and raised his eyebrows to him in a “you’re in trouble now,” kind of way. Ike just ignored him and concentrated on his coolest walk into her office.

“You may take a seat,” Mrs. Molotov motioned to one of the two armchairs in front of her desk. Mrs. Molotov was the meanest woman in the school. Once you got this far you were already in trouble. Dressed in a business suite, she always seemed to look nervous and try as she might to keep her hair under control, it acted like she’d just stuck her finger in an electrical socket. Above her thin lips was a light moustache, bracketed by a mole on each side of her face. Her hawkish face twisted into seriousness as she pierced him through with those small eyes and peered over her glasses suspiciously. “Mr. Hebert, I don’t know what you did this time, but I don’t have time to keep calling your Mother at work. You didn’t learn your lesson from last time?”

The words had a little trouble getting out at first, “I uh… well I, no this is different. This time it wasn’t my fault.”

Before he could get another word out she slammed the ruler on the desk making him almost fall out of the chair. Before he could regain his composure she shot out, “Ike Hebert, you said that last time and the time before. You have GOT to take responsibility for yourself.” He could almost quote her word for word -and he did in his head, “The nerve, the audacity, that you think this whole school is here to serve you and play your little games. You are here for one reason and one reason only – to work. That’s how you learn, through work, hard work, hard blistering work, hard, sweaty-pencil, blistering work.” Ike had already zoned out by watching the cardinal playing in the tree outside the window. He kept glancing back to look at her every few seconds to make her think he was listening. It was a trick he learned to use on his Mom. The light was on, but no one was home. His body was here, but his mind was back home on his little BMX dirt track, making changes here & there, and then trying them out on his custom built racing bicycle.

When she was done, he had promised to do the punish work, raise his grades and take responsibility for his own actions or inactions. This time he only got a Thursday detention. He was relieved he didn’t have to come back for Saturday detention. That was his practice day, at least after he finished his chores.

When he got back to class they were reading. He slipped quietly into his seat and noticed a note on his desk. Karen had written a note with what he had missed on it. She was always trying to help him keep up. But when he got overwhelmed with schoolwork, he tended to just give up in frustration. That’s when he would hate school the most. He just hated reading, and writing. He would rather eat dirt. He couldn’t see over the other kids’ heads half the time anyway ‘cause he was the shortest kid in class – always. And the bigger kids seemed to think that gave them authority over him, until he ended it with his fists, when it came to that. He just didn’t fit in, and didn’t want to.

He nodded a reluctant thank you to Karen and opened his English notebook. He flipped past all the pages of his doodling’s and drawings and a few started stories here and there and found the next clean page. Slowly he took up his pen and read the instructions from the handout. He jotted down the title, “What makes me happiest in school,” and then stopped. He had nothing to write. Nothing to say, nothing came to mind. Maybe lunch time, or recess or PE or the final bell. That was all. He just stared at his paper.

To an outside observer he was thinking hard. Inside he was crying. Some deep wound was inside him that he could tell no one about. Nothing, no one, it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. He just thought about the past, before it happened, when he was young. That was the last time he was truly happy. Christmas as a six year old, the new bicycle under the tree, the family together. Would he ever feel that way again? He wished he could be home with a shovel in his hand making changes on his dirt track, or working on his bicycle. It was the only time he was happy. He glanced at the clock. Only 30 more minutes and well…, one more thing standing between himself and his track – the ride home.

Chapter 2

The bell rang at exactly 3:10 every day. But Ike had checked out an hour earlier, at least in his mind anyway. Sometimes after lunch he was just going through the motions. He hated school and had a serious fear of tests. Fridays were the worst because that was test day, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember answers. Many times he wondered if the teacher even gave them the right tests. If only he could quit school. He thought about it many times. His cousin Drew told him to wait at least until 8^th grade. Drew told him that he could maybe be a shrimper or oyster fisherman like his uncles, or go into the Marines like his older cousins. But Ike held his dream hard; he WOULD be a pro Motocrosser. As he walked through the halls he felt a big bump, with a push that put him on the ground. He scrambled to his feet to face Dean Goudet, the 2^nd string bully. “Hey nerd, watch where ya goin’!” he yelled loud enough for the whole school to hear. The kids headed out the doors stopped to look at Ike’s response. When he got back up, the kids stepped back and gave them room. Ike had no choice but to drop his books; this was an intentional call-out. Suddenly Dean’s smirk turned into a playful smile. “See ya tomorrow Ikey,” as he reached out, tussled Ike’s hair playfully and walked away as Mr. Dansberry, the school principle appeared out of nowhere.

“What’s going on here?” he asked eyeing Dean suspiciously as he quickly disappeared.

“Nothing,” Ike grumbled. The crowd quickly dissipated, on their way to the buses and car line.

Mr. Dansberry drew up in front of Ike, “Ike, did Dean just try to start a fight with you again?”

Ike looked down, “No, sir, we just bumped in the hall and I dropped my books.”

“Ike, look at me, do you want me to bring him in, have a talk?”

“No sir.”

“You sure? Cause I can make things hard on him if I want.”

“No, I’m good,” Ike said looking up at him with thankful eyes. “I have ways of protecting myself.”

“Ok, but keep it legal.”

“Ok, thanks Mr. Dan.”

“You ridin’ your bike today?”

“Always.”

“Even if it rains?”

“That’s what raincoats are for,” smiled Ike as he turned and headed to the bicycle rack.

“See ya tomorrow,” smiled Mr. Dansberry as he shook his head and walked away.

Ike fished the key out of his pocket as he approached his bike. He unlocked the cable and secured it under the seat. This latest bike was one he had pieced together at the junk yard. It had a light-weight chrome-moly racing frame with specially machined ball bearings that were used in the steering head, sprocket gears and hubs. The hubs themselves were lightweight units robbed off of road racing bicycles, as well as the light-weight cables and controls. The handgrips were special motocross grips and well as the handlebars. He had machined the controls to fit his small hands and shave off valuable weight. He used minimum fenders he’d gotten off a small kids’ bike, and jumbo brake pads from a big cross-country bike. The tires were full-on knobbies; specially tread for racing in the dirt.

There was no bike like this in the world, in fact, this was his world. He had invested hours and hours on this bike at Mr. Gonzalez’s junkyard, piecing it together, then adjusting, testing at his track, then re-tooling it until it was just right. Then he had hours and hours of practice as this was the only time when he felt truly alive, when he was racing on his bike. If only he could get a motorcycle, he would be king of the bayou.

“Hey Ike, you ready boy?” Ben Leblanc and his pals were under the oak waiting for him.

“You don’t want a piece of this,” taunted Ike, as he began to pedal toward the dirt road.

“That is the ugliest bike in the world,” teased Larry, sitting on a big, shiny, pretty Next.

“Unlike you I don’t engage in beauty contests,” quipped Ike casting him a sidewise glance of disrespect.

“Same rules?” asked Ben, they all prepared for the ride home.

“Same rules,” nodded Ike, who sized up the group carefully. Although most of these boys had the latest BMX racing bikes, with a few mutt bikes and converted street bikes thrown in, there was a new girl on a late model BMX Mongoose with number plates that he hadn’t seen before.

“What’s that?” Ike asked pointing to her bike.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she responded sarcastically, and took off down the road, her long blond hair flying in the breeze.

“Who’s she?” asked Ike to the group.

Ben shrugged his shoulders, “I dunno, just moved in this weekend, then she showed up on that bike.”

“Looks like a real race bike to me,” observed Kevin.

“Well lets go get her!” yelled Tommy and they all took off after her, bumping into each other and pumping the petals like there was no tomorrow.

Ike got a bad start as he was still trying to process this new information, but soon he settled into his quickest pace. One by one he passed the boys until he had Ben and Tommy within earshot.

“Where’s she live?” asked Ike, slowly closing on the leaders.

“She, lives, on, Willow,” gasped the tiring Ben, who was too big to be very fast anyway.

“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” asked Ike, who had pulled even with Tommy.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” he answered with a smile.

“Ohhhhhahhhhh!” Tommy yelled as they made the turn into the ditch and jumped out just in time to squeeze between the opening in the barbed-wire fence. Now that they were in the woods Ike would have the advantage. He chose some alternate lines around some trees and stumps he knew well and kept his velocity down into the bottom. It was just a little muddy today and he was able to keep his momentum from the downhill and power his way back up the other side without putting a foot down.

“Hey, wait for us,” yelled Ben as he had to get off his bike and push up the hill. Tommy made it half-way up before he dismounted and pushed up the other side.

“See ya at the grocery!” Ike yelled victoriously over his shoulder as he crested the top and disappeared out of sight. Now he could use his secret trails and shortcuts he’d been using for years. Since it was late winter, the underbrush had not grown back and there was a layer of leaves to keep his tires from bogging in the soft dirt. He made a bee-line to the Bayou Kitchen and pulled up with no one else in sight. “If she lived where Ben said she did, she would have to come right by here,” he thought. He went inside, got a Gatorade and some peanuts and took a seat out front on the bench to catch his breath. He sucked most of the drink down and ate most of the nuts so it would look like he’d been there a long time when he saw her coming. What a delight to see her expression change as she began to recognize what had happened.

“Hey, how did you get here so fast?” she protested.

“Oh, I’m a motocross racer, not a BMX’er. I can go much faster than you guys,” he smirked as he dumped the rest of the nuts down his throat and crumbled the bag. Tommy was next to pull up with a clearly tired Ben right behind him.

“Wait a second,” the girl looked suspiciously at Tommy and Ben. “You’ve got mud on your tires.” She looked over at Ike’s bike. “So do you, you took a short cut!” she protested. “What about the rules?”

“The rules are…” began Ben.

“There are no rules. That’s the rules,” smiled Ike as the boys gloated at her awaiting her next move.

“Humph,” I should’ve known. You had to cheat to keep up with a girl,” she taunted.

“I’m goin’ in to get a coke,” said Ben as he parked his bike.

“I’ll tell you what, we’ll tell you where the shortcut is if you buy us a snack,” Tommy offered.

“Buy you a …… I will not!” she said in a huff.

“Ok, guess you’ll get beat tomorrow, too,” Tommy said.

“Uhh, Tommy, how you gonna keep her from seeing one of us take the shortcut?” Ike reasoned.

“Well…. I uhhh, we won’t use it unless she’s not around,” he chirped up confidently holding up a finger to drive the point home.

“Oh, I’ll find it,” she said. “You can be sure of that!”

Ike tossed his empty bottle and bag into the trash and picked up his bike. “Gotta go,” he said as he swung a leg over.

“Going to do homework?” asked the girl.

“Something like that,” waved Ike smiling to himself as he rode toward the house.

Chapter 3

Ike dumped his book bag on the floor of the carport and ran inside. When he came back out he had 3 paper plates and some electrical tape. He propped his bike up on the stand and went to work. First he neatly cut the numbers and stuck them on. Then he sprayed the plates with clear seal and let them dry in the sun, both sides. While he was waiting he lubed the cables and the chain. Before long he stepped back to admire his work. “Wait till she she’s this,” he said to himself, “Kevin Windham in Calais, LA!” He looked up at his poster of Windham and his Honda doing a pancake whip in an ad torn from a magazine he had stapled to the wall. Even though the numbers where the only resemblance, to Ike that was enough.

With a little more clipping he fashioned the #14 for both sides of his helmet. He held it up with pride, and then strapped his helmet on. He took the bike out for a few hot laps around his track and then for 20 minutes Ike Hebert was alive and there was no pain, no fear, and no worries.

Monday was a special day at school - show and tell. As part of an English project, students could bring anything from home and talk about it to start their paper. Of course Ike brought his bike, all detailed and shined. He even rubbed the tires down when he got to school before he locked it up.

He noticed an excitement in the air and looking around saw a crowd of students near the parking lot. By the time he got there the new girl and her Dad were unloading the sweetest looking Motocrosser he had ever seen. It was a KTM with racing decals and the number 63 on it. It was about the size of a 250, but with a different looking pipe. Ike had never seen this model. It was obviously a racer, not a trailer queen, as there were already battle scars on the plastic and rub marks on the side covers from her boots.

“Where do you want it honey?” asked her Dad.

“Oh, let’s bring it straight to the classroom and leave it outside the door,” she answered, shouldering her giant gear bag all by herself.

The kids were just standing there, mouths open, in shock by the coolness of it all. Then the questions started, “What is it? How fast does it go? Where’d you get it? Is it yours? Do you race?” All the way to the classroom the curios onlookers followed with each question dumber than the last.

Ben and Tommy appeared behind Ike, “Wow, she’s a goddess,” commented Ben with stars in his eyes.

“A Motocross diva,” added Tommy.

“Close your mouths,” scolded Ike. “Before the bugs fly in.” He tried his best not to look impressed. But soon he was swept away with the crowd, eyes glued to the bike.

After introducing himself to the teacher, the Dad reached down and kissed his Daughter good-bye.

“I’ll come pick you up today at about 3:15. Love ya.”

“Love you too Daddy.” He was an average size man with a weather-worn face and a high and tight haircut with a receding blond hairline. Though a little on the heavy side, he was obviously in great shape with muscles trying to pop out everywhere. Yet there was an obvious limp to his athletic frame. He had an intense face, but a kind look, especially for the school kids as he waved them good-bye.

“Who’s that?” asked Tommy.

“I heard he’s a pro racer,” one of the kids nearby offered.

“We’ll find out soon,” Ike said abruptly as he turned and walked to his locker.

English just couldn’t roll around fast enough for the kids. The bike drew so much attention in the hallway that Mrs. Frightmeyer brought the bike into the class. When it was time for English the teacher decided to let the new girl go first since that’s all the kids could think about anyway. The bike was moved to the front of the class while she disappeared into the bathroom with the gear bag to change.

When she returned the class fell silent. She looked like a colorful gladiator from outer space. Her jersey was black, with white and black stripes and a yellow fox designs on the shoulders. Black pants with bulging thigh and knee pads underneath and a bigger yellow fox head rounded out the scheme, while big, white black race boots with a star on the front and side buckles completed the outfit. She wore matching gloves and carried her brightly colored black and white full face helmet in her hand. Her long blond hair fell softly over the small black shoulder pads on her clear and black chest protector and neck brace. The word Abernathy was printed across the top of her chest protector with her number underneath. The girls in the class seemed shocked that she could even walk in all that. The boys nodded in approval. Ike tried to look unimpressed having seen racers in the magazines and in person before.

“Hi, my name’s Samantha Abernathy, but you can call me Sam. We just moved here from El Cajon’, California. I have been racing motocross since I was five years old and this is my fourth bike. It is a 2008 KTM 250f four stroke that I ride in the Schoolboy, Ladies’ and Super mini classes. My Dad is Rick Abernathy; you might have heard of him, he used to be a Professional Motocrosser and Supercrosser number 72 until he broke his legs, collarbone, ribs, wrist and feet.”

The class let out a moan, and Mrs. Frightmeyer looked frightened for the first time anyone could remember. “That was worth the price of admission right there,” thought Ike, smiling at the look of weakness on his teacher’s face.

“My Dad is building a track at our house that should be ready this weekend. We plan on racing in Baton Rouge, Hammond, New Iberia, Breaux Bridge and Kentwood and will try to win a National Championship.”

Now she really had Ike’s attention. It’s as if a breaker tripped in his head. “She’s living my life,” he thought wistfully. Suddenly Ike felt sick. His mind began to wonder to all the things that had gone wrong in his life, all the things that were against him, and the thought of his Dad… well it was just too much. He bolted out the door and headed for the bathroom. He slammed the door to the stall and sat there with his head in his hands fighting the urge to throw up. Soon he started to sniffle, and then the tears began to flow. Suddenly the door opened.

“Ike, you in here?” It was Ben. Quickly Ike pulled his pants down around his ankles and sat back down.

“Uh, privacy?” he said acting as if nothing were wrong.

“Come on out, teacher says your next.”

“Ok, I’ll be out in a minute.” He spun the toilet paper roll a couple times, and then wiped his eyes. When he heard the door close, he walked up to the mirror to clean himself up. Staring into his face he saw the brown hair, brown eyes and freckles. His face looked sad, almost empty.

“How am I gonna do this? How am I gonna follow her?” He looked up, thought for a few seconds, then regained his composure.

He went straight out to get his bike, which suddenly didn’t look so cool anymore. He unlocked it, wiped a few dirt spots off and rolled it into the room. Everyone was still staring in fascination at Sam’s bike and gear. He quietly put the kickstand down and took a seat.

When it was his turn he introduced himself, and then said, “I am a motocross racer, too,” looking over at Sam. But I haven’t raced yet, don’t have a bike yet, don’t have any gear, don’t even play it on video. I train on my BMX bike at a track I have at my house. One day I WILL race in Baton Rouge, Hammond, New Iberia, Breaux Bridge and Kentwood, and one day I WILL be the National Champion.”

The class started snickering. “You can’t even walk to your locker without falling down,” yelled Dean laughing. “Yeah, that’s hilarious, you can’t even catch a football,” added another boy. Mrs. Frightmeyer tried to regain control but the damage was done. Ike answered a few questions, but couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It took all the dignity he could gather to walk his bike out of class and back to the rack. He couldn’t stand the thought of going back into that class, or the school for that matter. Before he knew it he was pedaling home. Faster and faster he went trying to put the school as far behind him as he could.

A lot of thoughts went through his mind on that ride home. Not the least of which was getting a dirt bike. But right now he felt as far away from his dream as he had ever felt. Soon he was home, and in his bed with the covers pulled over his head. And that was the last thing he remembered.

Chapter 4

Ike dreamed he was climbing a mountain. He came to a fork in the trail. One trail looked easier and continued almost straight up. It was well-worn and wide and seemed the right path to take. Obviously many others used this trail judging by the footprints and lack of vegetation on the trail. He looked at the trail on the left. It looked unused and was overgrown with underbrush. The ground was littered with rocks and limbs. Even though it was hard to see very far he could tell that it took a turn back down the mountain for a ways.

Everything in him told him to take the right trail, the easy one, the way others were going; everything except for one thing. Something his father had told him years ago when he was learning to jump his bike, “Ike, if it were easy, everyone could do it.” But he shook off the voice and turned to the right and started up the trail; still something checked him deep in his spirit. It was as if he was missing something important on the other trail. He paused and then the thought of the kids laughing at him came upon him like a heavy weight. He suddenly grew tired. He sat down on a rock to think. Then he couldn’t get up. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get up. Then a voice spoke. He recognized it as his dad’s.

“Ike, what do YOU want?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You used to know.”

“Yea, but now I don’t.”

“What has changed?”

Ike had to think about that.

He started shaking and then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Ike, Ike, wake up. Honey, are you alright?” His mother asked with a worried look on her face.

“Yea Mom I’m fine.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was dark outside. He must have slept a long time.

“Why are you sleeping? You never go to bed this early.”

“I…uhhh, well; I didn’t feel good and came home early from school.”

“Yes, I know. I got a call from your teacher, she seemed concerned about you. So I came home early from work.”

Mom was the hardest working person Ike knew. She never left work early, unless it was something serious. The smell of the fish processing plant was still on her.

“Yes I know I smell,” she said smiling. I haven’t cleaned up yet. Are you hungry?”

“Not right now. I just want to rest a while.”

“When do you want to start your homework?”

“I don’t think I have any.”

“Oh yes you do. Mrs. Frightmeyer gave it to me over the phone. You are to write your paper.”

Ike moaned and fell back down on the bed, covering his head. “I hate writing.”

“Oh come on, it’s easy. It’s just talking on paper.”

“That’s easy for you to say Mom, you’re out of school,” he whined.

She sat down next to him and leaned on her hand.

“Did I ever tell you my secret to writing?”

“No, and I don’t want to know,” Ike moaned painfully.

“I used to hate writing, too. But then I discovered why I couldn’t write.” She looked at him for a response. Then she kept going.

“I used to hate writing in school, but in the summer I wrote stories just for fun. Then one day I had an idea. ‘Why can I write at home, yet can’t write at school?’ Then it dawned on me. I was too afraid of what the other kids would think of my stories.”

Ike pulled the pillow back, beginning to follow with interest.

“When at school I was trying to please the whole class, so no one would laugh at me or make fun of me. But at home I only had one audience, pleasing myself.”

Ike thought about that. The words, “please the whole class” reverberated all though his mind. That was him in a nutshell!

“Listen son, it’s impossible to please everybody. It just can’t be done. So, you just please yourself and let their opinions fall where they may. I know it’s easier said than done, but if you can master that, you will have a whole new confidence and outlook on life. Decisions will come easier. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes Ma’m, I think so.”

“It’s not important what Ben or Thomas or Sally or Susan thinks of you. It’s important what Ike thinks of you. And you already know what Mom thinks of you,” she said pulling him up and giving him a hug.

Ike started to resist, but something inside him needed the hug. It was as if he was 5 years old again.

“You do know what Mom thinks of you, right?” She asked looking him in the eyes.

“Yea, she thinks I’m hungry so she can fix me some dinner,” he said teasingly.

Mrs. Hebert sighed as she knew she lost her 5 year old and the teenager was back.

“Ok, what will it be? Fish or burgers?”

“You know the answer to that,” Ike said with a raised eye brow.

“Burgers,” she said in a resigned tone. She picked up the pillow as she walked out. Right as she left the room she turned and slung the pillow back at Ike’s head. But he had already slipped to the other side of the doorway and slammed another pillow in her face.

“Hey, this ain’t my first rodeo,” Ike said laughing.

“Yea, but I’m the one that brought you to your first rodeo!” she said with a smile and quickly picked up the pillow and chased him around the room until he made his last stand in the corner of the room. They pummeled each other until the giggles turned to laughter and they collapsed onto the bed. When the pillow fight was over the room was a mess and they tried to catch their breath, sprawled out in exhaustion.

“All right you clean this up and I’ll cook. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“And don’t forget to…”

“I know, I know. Start the paper - The one written by Ike for Ike.”

“That’s the one.” She said, obviously pleased with her son.

“I love you,” she said with one last hug.

“I love you, too Mom.” He answered as he hugged her back.

When she left he went right to work. There was so much to do and so little time. And after school there was an important person he needed to see.

Chapter 5

The next day at school was pretty average and non-eventful. Ike did his work, kept a low profile and applied the new advice, to just please himself and not worry what the other kids thought. Whether it was his imagination or his new attitude, something seemed to affect the way the kids saw him; he thought he might have noticed a little more respect, from a couple kids anyway. That was medicine to his soul and he could feel himself relax. He only heard a few giggles behind his back and got one glare from Dean from across the hall, but overall a manageable day. When the bell rang, he was one of the first out to his bike. When the others came out he waved to them and yelled,

“I’ve gotta go somewhere today. See ya tomorrow.” He headed straight for the junkyard. It was a mile and a half past his house, out towards the woods down a long gravel road. When he pulled up the dogs started barking.

“Shhhh!!! It’ ok boys. It’ me. Down. Down. Here Piston, one for you, too, Ring.” He got off his bike and walked to the gate. He stuck his hand through and let the Rottweiler’s smell him and then began to pet them. He gave them each a piece of beef jerky. They took their pieces and went to find a place to lie down and eat. Ike walked his bike through the gate, carefully closing it behind him.

“That you Ike?” A short, dark, stocky Hispanic man stepped outside the main garage wiping his oily hands on a shop rag.

“Yes, it’s me. How are you Mr. Gonzalez?”

“Fine Ike, fine. It’s good to see you. You haven’t been here in a while.”

“Yea, I know. I missed being here.” He looked around and saw the used cars and trucks out front with the for sale signs on them. Behind the fence was the vehicle graveyard. There was the section of trucks all in lines, then cars, then compact cars, and on and on it went. There was a flatbed truck with a trailer attached loaded to the top with flattened vehicles, on it’s way out no doubt. When Mr. Gonzales saw him eyeing the load he said,

“I’m still trying to get this mess cleaned up. Inch by inch, it’s a cinch, just inch by inch,” he stated with a smile. He repeated it again, just in case Ike hadn’t heard the first time. He was at that age where he repeated things, not remembering things he’d told you five minutes ago, it seemed. Mr. Gonzales immigrated from Mexico 35 years ago and set up shop here. He made his living, raised three boys and outlived his wife. He went through a tough time a couple years ago after his wife died when he didn’t feel like doing anything. He lost his help, his customers and his desire to work. That was the time Ike used to come by and hang out, helping him with the business, playing with the tools and cars. Ike learned how to use all the tools in the boxes including hydraulic tools, lifts and cutters, pneumatic tools, grinders, wrenches, jacks and hammers. He even became proficient with the acetylene torch and welding machine, making all kinds of projects.

It was here that Ike had pieced together his bicycle. He also learned a lot about life from Mr. Gonzalez who was a man of faith. His well worn, greasy Bible was near his cluttered desk all the time and many times Ike watched him through the window as he sat with his glasses on, reading, then praying, then falling asleep.

Mr. Gonzalez was a master mechanic. He could fix anything. In rare cases he had to refer to a shop manual, or sometimes call his brother in Mexico, but always, always he fixed it. He used to say, “Don’t let the machine win. It is just metal and parts. God gave you a brain to overcome problems. Every problem has a solution. Most people quit before they find the solution, or pay someone else to do it.” His old eyes and stooped shoulders had seen a lot of problems in his lifetime, but he never gave up on a project.

“So what’s up with you Ike?” He asked, eyeing Ike up and down peering over his bi-focals. He was wearing his straw cowboy hat, oil-covered shorts, tennis shoes and a machinist’s apron.

“I’m good,” Ike smiled, making himself at home in his favorite old chair.

“How’s school?”

“It’s goin’, I’m trying to write a paper right now, but I’m having trouble getting started.”

“What’s the topic?”

“What makes me happy at school? But I’m doing it on my bike.”

“Oh the bike. How is it doin’?”

“Fantastic. I’ve made a few adjustments since I left here.”

“We always make adjustments. It’s an ongoing project.” Mr. Gonzales looked deep into Ike’s eyes. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Ike fidgeted, thought, and then poured his heart out to his old friend. Starting with the bicycle races and the new girl in town and her motocross bike all the way to the kids’ laughing at him at show and tell. He concluded with his recent dream. Somehow the dream made him think of Mr. Gonzales, which was why Ike was there.

Mr. Gonzales just nodded as if he understood with his hands clasped together in front of his face as if in prayer.

“I see. Come, I want to show you something.” He led Ike out past the engines, transmissions, body parts and toward the back corner. There was an old shed Ike had never really noticed before. He pulled a few fuel cans and wheels out of the way and unlocked the door. It creaked in complaint, but finally gave way to the old man’s strong arms. He flipped on a light and walked toward the middle of the room. There were old, dusty tarps covering piles of who knew what all over the room. Mr. Gonzales peeked under a tarp and then with a tug pulled the old tarp off revealing the treasure underneath.

Ike’s eyes grew wide with surprise as he looked into a stack of about 15 dirt bikes, leaning against each other. Upon closer inspection they were mostly race bikes but some had headlights and taillights, from years ago. Most of the tires were flat or dry-rotted, the seats were torn and the bars were rusty. But they were there.

“Wow. How long have you had these?”

“My son Arturo collected these. When he moved away he lost interest. I didn’t really know what to do with them, but I just kept them in case he wanted them.”

“How come you didn’t tell me about them before?” Ike asked with a trace of hurt feelings.

“You weren’t ready.” He went around pulling off tarps and examining the bikes. There were some street bikes and dirt bikes. The ones Ike was interested in were the motocross racers. He felt like he had discovered gold, but the only problem was – they were old. The newest one was an 82 Honda Elsinore. Not the type of bike you could win with on modern tracks.

“Look Ike, I know they are old. But they were good bikes at one time. Arturo did well on some of these. I would be willing to let you have one or two of these in return for work around the shop.”

Ike was stunned. It was an answer to prayer. “I don’t know what to say… I uhhh, yes! I’ll do it. Whatever you want.”

“There is one condition,” Mr. Gonzales said solemnly.

“Anything,” Ike answered without taking his eyes off the dirt bikes. He couldn’t imagine anything he would be unwilling to do for this.

“You must keep your grades up at school.”

Ike looked down. “Anything but that,” he thought. He was already planning to quit school.

Mr. Gonzales always seemed to read his mind. “Listen Ike, I know it doesn’t seem important now, the math, social studies, reading and writing. But these days a man MUST be equipped to succeed. Going into life without an education is like going to war without bullets. No one wants to look stupid, and no one wants to be stupid. But that’s exactly what you’d be if you quit school now. Ignorance is like darkness. You can’t go anywhere because you can’t see anything. Education brings light. You must have the light to see where to go, to avoid the pitfalls and traps to choose the best path.”

“Choose the best path?” Ike remembered his dream. He turned and looked at Mr. Gonzales. “What do you mean, choose the best path?”

Mr. Gonzales dusted off a chair and sat down. “You see Ike, life is about making decisions, choosing the best path. The ability to choose well is based on two things: One is knowledge, or having the facts, knowing the truth. You get that in school, from a teacher or from books. The other is using that knowledge to make the right choices, knowing what to do with the truth. That is called wisdom. That comes from trial and error, listening to people who have gone before you, or directly from God. They can help guide you.

But not everybody is a good guide. Some have gone down the wrong path and just want company in their misery to make them feel ok, like those kids that want you to do drugs with them. That’s the blind leading the blind. But others, like your teachers or parents, want you to succeed and so they try to give you knowledge. You can either learn the easy way or the hard way. But the most important thing is, well, how should I say this?” He looked Ike in the eyes. “You can’t do it with your own strength. You need divine help. Does this make sense?”

“But I keep screwing up. It seems like everything I do is wrong.”

“Well, some things we do ARE wrong. But… we need direction and a purpose to go in that direction. Think of a ship sailing on the ocean at night before the time of modern navigational helps like GPS, radio and radar. What did they use to guide them in a straight line?”

“A compass?”

“Yes, or the stars before that. Something that was true and unchanging. If they set their course according to what ‘felt good’ or ‘other lost ships’ they would be pulled off course and never reach their destination.”

“But how can I know for sure that I am going in the right direction?”

“We rarely know for sure at the time of the decision, but as we go along that path it will begin to become apparent if we are going in the right direction as doors open and close for us. Your creator is also your guide, either directly or indirectly, through people or circumstances.”

Mr. Gonzales saw the lost look on his face. “I’m getting too deep, huh?”

“Yea, well, no - kinda. I’m just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid of screwing up again.”

“Don’t be afraid of honest mistakes. Be afraid when you move away from honesty. That will lead you to bad people and bad decisions. Do what you already know is right, then the light that guides you will get brighter.” Mr. Gonzales could tell he was losing Ike again.

“I’m sorry, I’m speaking in riddles again, enough talk. We have a lot of work to do. When do you want to start?”

“Right now, of course,” Ike said impatiently, looking back at the bikes.

“That’s what I thought. But work comes before play. Come with me.” He led Ike back to the main garage and straight to the broom closet. “I want you to clean up the garage. Sweep the floors, especially the oily spots. You know how to use the dust on the oil. Then wipe the tools and put them away. I’ll have a list hanging right over there. When you finish everything on the list, you’ll be free to work on the bikes.”

Ike just stared at him blinking. “I thought I’d be working on bikes.”

“You will, but that is earned. You have to work toward a goal. You want to put yourself above 90% of the teenagers in America? Just show up to work on time and do your job. That makes you successful right there. The rest will come. Here,” He handed him the broom. “You have started a good job and you have a worthy goal. Just concentrate on doing your best and the rest will come. If you put your mind and heart into your dream, you can achieve it.”

And with that Ike began a journey that would take him to his dream. But he had no idea the hardships and challenges that awaited him.

Chapter 6

At first Ike had trouble balancing school and work. Many times he found himself too tired to do his homework and daydreaming while leaning on a tool at work. He wasn’t able to make any extra time to work on his bike. All he had gotten done was a frame sanded and painted and a motor pulled apart on the bench. It was probably the most discouraging stage of the project, almost nothing to look at, but a bunch of parts in different piles.

At school he was just getting papers in on time and still unable to bring his grades up. When he brought his next report card to Mr. Gonzales, he was shocked to hear his response.

“Ike, you know the deal. You MUST bring your grades up. Just getting a new job will not automatically help you do better in school, in fact, it will drain your energy, both mentally and physically. What have you changed to improve your grades?”

Ike had to think about that. He hadn’t really changed anything in his study habits. “I tried to work harder and pay better attention,” he offered weakly.

Mr. Gonzales just shook his head. “Do you know what the definition of insanity is?”

Ike just shook his head, wondering where he was going with this.

“I heard someone once say that insanity is doing the same thing, in the same way, over and over and expecting different results.” He paused to let that sink in.

“Ike, what can I do to help you?”

“Give me a bike?” Ike asked hoping he’d bite.

“Nope. That would make you more dependent on others and less likely to learn to work.”

“Raise my pay?”

“Nope. I’m not gonna reward inferior work.”

“I don’t know, then.”

“Let’s try this, how about a meeting with your Mom and the teacher? I’d like to be there too. We’ll come up with a plan.”

Ike wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, but it seemed to be his only option. He agreed to it, and the meeting happened on Friday. Apparently they were more willing to meet than Ike thought. He remembered sitting outside while they were meeting, Mrs. Frightmeyer, his Mom, Mr. Gonzales and even Mr. Dansberry. When they called him in they were smiling at him as if they knew something he didn’t. Mrs. Frightmeyer was first to speak. “Ike we’ve come up with something we think will help you finish the school year strong.” They took turns explaining their positions, all except Mr. Gonzales who just watched him quietly.

Basically it boiled down to more contact between these adults and Ike. There was also consequences when he didn’t study or turn in work. The reward was getting to go back to work at the junkyard and time to work on his bike. But for now he had to quit, at least for a week, until he showed some improvement at school. He felt like his heart had been ripped out. He had complained, but they wouldn’t give in. He finally agreed.

As they left the meeting Mr. Gonzales caught him before he got into the car. He said, “Ike, the only one who controls whether this succeeds or fails is YOU. YOU are the key to your success. YOU decide which way this thing is going to go. I believe you’ll make it work.” He put a hand on his shoulder, then walked away.

Ike had the sinking feeling that he was well on his way down the harder left path and was so busy getting past obstacles that he was making no progress toward his dream. It was as if those adults closest to him had forced him to go down that path. But for now, if he wanted to pursue his dream, it was the only option, and anything that brought him closer to his dream was the right direction. He was willing to endure anything, for as long as it took to get there. This thought gave him hope.

The weeks went by and he quickly brought his grades up by paying closer attention in class, doing his work and sheer will power. Soon he was back at the junkyard and making a little progress on his bike.

One by one each of the group of boys that rode bikes home from school were getting their own dirt bikes. A few already had them, but with the arrival of Sam, their interest renewed and they bought new plastics and graphics kits for them and began to practice at her track. He didn’t see them much anymore since he took a different route home from school to go to the junk yard.

One day he decided to ride over to Sam’s and peek over the fence. He could hear them riding as he approached from blocks away. By the time he got there he noticed that there were a couple bikes on the track and a few riders sitting with their bikes in the shade taking a break. When they saw him they waved him over. Reluctantly he put his bike over the fence and rode on over. Curiosity had gotten the best of him.

“How do you like the track?” Tommy asked, nodding over to it. Ike couldn’t believe how big it was, just like a real race track, and the jumps were huge.

“Sweet.” Ike nodded. Then he looked at Tommy’s bike. It was a 2005 Kawasaki 125, but it looked newer.

“What’d you do to your bike?” Ike asked.

“Oh, just spruced it up a bit, rebuilt the motor,” Tommy said with a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye. “It rips now.”

“Hey what about mine?” Ben asked. “I traded up for a 250.” Ike couldn’t believe his eyes, “that’s yours?”

“Yep, got it last week. My Dad said I out-grew the old bike. So we got the new Suzuki RM250. It has enough power to haul my big butt around like I’m nothing!”

“You ARE nothin!” chided Jimmy Plaisance in a sharp tone, walking up in his race gear. He stooped down and began cleaning the chain on a big Kawasaki KXF450. “You’re just a poser like Tommy,” he added. Jimmy was older and had been racing for a couple years. They said he was very fast and had won some qualifying races out of state. But just like Dean Goudet, his success just went to his head and he used it all the time to put others down. Not only did he think he was God’s gift to race tracks, but he was a player with the girls, too. It didn’t hurt that he was the starting linebacker on the football team.

Just then two riders came flying by inches from each other and hit the big tabletop. They whipped their bikes sideways and looked at each other in the air before they landed. They sailed through the next sweeping turn wide open, sending roosts ten feet in the air.

“Who is that?” Ike asked, turning to Ben and Tommy.

“That’s Sam on the KTM and Dean Goudet on the Yamaha. Aren’t they fast?” Ben exclaimed excitedly. All eyes were glued on the two as they put on a show around the track. Dean was on the bigger bike and seemed to be playing with Sam, letting her catch up, then blasting away again; letting her pass, then passing her back.

Suddenly Ike felt sick at his stomach. He turned to leave.

“Where ya goin’? Don’t you want to stick around and watch?” Tommy asked.

“No, I’m late for work.”

“Oh, that’s right, you got a job now. When are you getting a bike?”

“It should be ready in a couple weeks.”

“Ready? What do you mean ready?” asked Ben.

“I’m cobbling one together from some old bikes.”

“Why is it taking so long?”

“I can only work on it when I’m through with all my jobs at work.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re working for that old Mexican. How much he payin’ you?”

“Uhh, seven dollars an hour.”

“Seven… why my little sister makes more than that babysitting’!” Jimmy laughed.

“Jimmy, you don’t have room to talk, your Daddy buys you everything,” Ben scolded.

Jimmy got up and walked over to Ben and pushed him. “Shut up fat boy. You’re a poser just like those two,” pointing to Tommy and Ike. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m sponsored. I earned it.”

The two riders pulled off the track and motored over to where they were standing. Sam pulled off her helmet and goggles and fluffed out her long hair. “Hi Ike, when are you gonna join us?”

“He doesn’t have a bike. Never had one, never will,” taunted Jimmy, walking back over to his bike.

Dean pulled off his helmet and glared at Ike. “What are YOU doin’ here? Don’t you have your own little kiddy bicycle track at your house?” Jimmy laughed. Ike could feel a hotness working up his spine. This would be a good time to fight him because he was tired from riding. But he was wearing lots of protective gear, too. He decided against it.

Instead he lashed out at Dean, “Hey, I’d be fast, too if my parents had given me dirt bikes since I’d learned to walk.”

“So what are you sayin’?” Dean demanded, as he put his bike on the stand and began to take off his gloves.

“You should be winning the Intermediate class by now, but your’ still sandbaggin’ in the novice class. You’re a trophy hunter, just like Jimmy,” Ike said, knowing full well he was gonna pay for those words.

Dean was on Ike in two strides and knocked him off his bike. Before Ike could stand back up, Dean had pushed him down again.

“Save some for me,” said Jimmy who was coming around his bike after Ike. Dean jumped down on Ike, but Ike was waiting with a ground kick that caught him right in the chin. Dean stumbled back a few steps, caught his breath and said, “Why you little…” and went after Ike hard just as he got up.

Dean was fighting angry, Ike was fighting scared. Dean was used to people backing down from his bullying, Ike was more coordinated and quicker and had the element of surprise. Ike side-stepped the charge and left a sharp rabbit punch deep into Dean’s kidney as he went by, knocking the breath out of him. Ike jumped onto Dean’s back and got a solid choke hold around his throat. Dean spun around and around trying to get him off. Ike surprised Dean with his strength and would not loosen his grip.

Jimmy started to step in to help Dean, but Mr. Abernathy stepped up next to him, clearing his throat. When Jimmy looked up at him, he warned him with a serious look while shaking his head, no; which stopped Jimmy cold in his tracks. Finally Dean fell down and tried to roll over onto Ike. But Ike was locked in a death grip. All the frustrations and anger of the past year was in that grip, and no force on earth could stop it. Ike had gone from fear to anger. Dean had gone from anger to fear. Dean could not breathe and was getting weaker. He kept flopping around but could not break the grip. Tears were coming from Dean’s eyes, and surprisingly from Ike’s, too. All the build-up of the picking and put-downs and embarrassments were coming out from where Ike had stuffed them and Dean was paying the price.

Dean was having trouble breathing and when the tunnel vision started he tried to tap out. But in his state of panic he was tapping his own leg. Mr. Abernathy saw what was going on and stepped in.

“All right Ike, you’ve made your point. Let him go.” Ike was still in a frenzy and didn’t.

“Ike, let him go!” and Mr. Abernathy had to pry his arm from his neck with help from Ben. Finally his grip loosened and Dean fell to the ground exhausted.

“You could have killed me you idiot!” he gasped at Ike. When Ike took a step toward the bully, he flinched in fear and people stepped between them.

“All right, it’s over, everyone go home,” Mr. Abernathy said.

“And you two,” pointing at Dean and Jimmy, “Don’t come back.”

“But you don’t even know us,” complained Jimmy.

“I know your type, don’t come around here anymore.”

“My Dad’s the police chief and you haven’t heard the last from us,” Dean said, picking up his gear.

That was the first true words he had said all day.

“And you,” Mr. Abernathy said pointing to Ike. “What’s your story?”

Ike was drinking some Gatorade Ben had given him. “I was just leaving, too,” Ike said dejectedly, handing the bottle back to Ben.

“Wait, are you alright?” asked Sam and she examined his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, turning away. That was something that’s been comin’ for a while. I’ll see ya’ll at school on Monday,” he said as he mounted and rode away.

“But wait…” Sam started to stop him.

“Let him go Sam,” her Dad interrupted. “Guys I think we’re done for today. Track closed.”

“Ok. Thanks for lettin’ us ride today,” Ben said.

“Yeah, thanks. Nice track,” Tommy added. The others also turned and began to load up.

Mr. Abernathy began to walk back to the house, then turned and called to Sam, “Sam, I want to talk to you when clean up your gear.”

“Ok Dad,” she said with a sigh. “By guys,” she waved. “See ya at school on Monday.”

Chapter 7

It didn’t take Mr. Gonzales long to see that Ike had been in a fight when he walked in for work. He was cleaning something in the parts washer.

“Was it Dean?”

“Yes,” was all he said as he picked up a broom and started sweeping.

“Did you teach him a lesson?”

“Yes.”

“You think he’s done with you?”

Ike stopped to think.

“Frontal attacks, bullying, yes. Tryin’ to sneak around and sabotage me, no.”

“Once we get your bike finished, we need to watch it, cause that’s where he’s gonna strike next.”

Sometimes Ike was amazed with Mr. Gonzales’ wisdom. It was as if he’d been through all this as a kid. Maybe he had.

Mr. Gonzales stopped cleaning and looked at Ike intently. “You’re wondering how I could know this?”

Ike just nodded as he worked his way out of a corner moving an engine around.

“Believe it or not I was a teenager, too. Maybe a little wilder and more reckless than you,” he said smiling. “Anyway,” he waved it away as if it were nothing, “when I was 13 I used to race flat track, then motocross. It was crude back then. The motorcycles were big and heavy and it was basically about sliding it around fast without falling down. My Dad helped me until I was 15, then he died of a heart attack. Since I was the oldest boy I had to quit racing to take over the business and support our family. I inherited his shop, which was mostly just tools and a few jobs and some debt. I had some friends here in south Louisiana and just moved the business here, became a citizen. It was the best decision I ever made. This is the greatest country in the world, bar none. Do you understand that?” pointing a wrench in his direction.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“If you’re not sure just go travel to some other countries and you’ll see how good you have it here. Anyway, I had opposition from jealous competitors who called me names, tried to put me out of business.” He looked out the window for a long moment as if seeing something. “They burned me out – twice. If I retaliated, the cycle of violence got worse. One day in I had a heart to heart talk with God. I began to read about His love and forgiveness for me. I decided to do whatever He wanted me to do and just love Him back, change the way I treated others.

But as I tried to mend the fences with these men, it only seemed to make them hate me more. No matter what I did, they didn’t like me. I finally figured out there was nothing I could do to change their minds, so when I forgave them and got on with my life, I felt a burden just lift off of me. When they saw they couldn’t bother me anymore they eventually lost interest and focused their hate somewhere else.” Suddenly there was a clap of thunder and the tap, tap, tap of raindrops started on the tin roof.

“Let’s go get the tools in, pronto!” Mr. Gonzalez said to an empty broom as Ike as already out the door. When they got things squared away they were both soaking wet. They just looked at each other and laughed.

“I tell you what. Enough work for one day. Let’s change and go do some work on your bike. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

When they walked into Ike’s little garage he noticed a few things out of place. For one thing the cylinder was in the vise and there were new metal shavings on the floor.

“Somebody’s been working on my ports,” Ike said, peering curiously into the cylinder.

“Yep, just cleaning them up and matching them a little bit. It’s an old tuning trick. You see a motor is basically a pump. The more you can get the air to flow through smoothly, the faster it will pump. A little cutting here and polishing there and the gases will flow into and out of the cylinder, making your motor pull much stronger,” he said as he pointed to the inside of his cylinder.

“This 125 will run with a 175, and if we tune it right and install a bigger carburetor, you can almost keep up with a 250 down the straights, since you’re so light.”

“So being small and thin has advantages?” Ike guessed.

“Oh does it ever. You look at some of the fastest racers that have won championships, Marty Smith, David Bailey, Jimmy Wienert, Ricky Carmichael, Bubba Stewart and Ryan Villoppoto. They were small guys with a big heart that trained long and hard every day.”

“But Kevin Windham’s not small, or Travis Pastrana or Jeremy McGrath.”

“True, but they are exceptions to the rule. But like you McGrath got his start in bicycle racing – BMX.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that’s quite an advantage, you get used to balancing the two wheels at speed over different obstacles, and it builds your endurance because you have to pedal so much. Oh yeah, you have an advantage starting out. The next thing you need is plenty of seat time - Plenty and plenty of riding.”

“But I don’t have a motocross track.”

Mr. Gonzales glared at Ike, “Stop whining about what you don’t have and focus on what you do have. A motocross track is not necessary at first.” He took the cylinder out of the vise and handed it to Ike. “Rinse this out good, then spray it with carb cleaner. I’ll finish the piston.”

Ike took the cylinder over to the parts washer while Mr. Gonzales took the new piston out of the box and began to put the rings on it. “No, you don’t need a track right away. First you need to learn to ride - in all different types of conditions, learn how the bike acts and you learn to react. We’ll just take the bike out and go riding. Nothing fancy, just having fun. I might even ride a little myself.”

“What, you still ride?”

“Sure, why not. I used to be pretty fast, you know. You wanna guess my nickname?”

“Uhh, no, not ‘Speedy Gonzales’?”

He nodded and they both laughed so hard they almost dropped their work. They tinkered with the bike long into the night. Ike called his Mom and let her know he would be late. As long as Mr. Gonzales was with him, she didn’t mind, since it was a Friday. They ordered pizza, and got right back to work. Ike couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy, and he was working on HIS bike - His very own dirt bike. He felt like he could do this forever, except there was one thing he wanted to do more.

By 11:00pm they had the motor on, the wheels, chains and sprockets and the carburetor. Ike was too excited to be sleepy. Mr. Gonzales was, too. He was like a little kid again building a new toy.

“Well, let’s fire her up!” Mr. Gonzales said with expectation.

“Will she run?”
          “Will she run? Will she run! Of course she will run. If she doesn’t we’ll persuade her to run,” Mr. Gonzales said picking up a big hammer with a smile.

He fastened the pipe on and added a plug. They put the fuel tank on, turned on the gas and choked it. Mr. Gonzales, swung a leg over and gave it a few swift kicks. Then he blipped the throttle a couple times and looked at Ike. “This should be it right here.” He gave it a rapid kick and the bike roared to life. They both celebrated like wild Indians as the little garage filled with smoke. He kept it going with the throttle, then un-choked the carburetor.

“Come over here. I need you to keep her running while I adjust the carb.”

Ike jumped up on the bike and began to blip the throttle. It was loud, with blue smoke coming out of the exhaust. Mr. Gonzales opened the door to let in some fresh air. Then he knelt down beside the bike with a long screwdriver. He began to turn the idle and air screws until it almost died, then he adjusted it back up. He nodded to Ike to let off on the throttle. She purred like a kitten. He put his hand on the cylinder to see how hot she was. A minute later he made the kill sign to Ike and Ike pressed the kill switch to shut her down.

“Ok, she’s got to be broken in now. We run her for a while, then let her cool down. Not too hard, just to let things seat in and expand and contract.” He looked up at Ike on the bike. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re wondering how soon you can ride her, huh?” asked Mr. Gonzales.

“How do you KNOW these things?”

“I was your age once, remember? Anyway, she’s not much to look at right now, but we can add the plastic and graphics later. I have already ordered them. You come back here tomorrow at 8:00am and you can ride.”

Ike got off the bike and surprised them both with a hug. “Thanks Mr. Gonzales. I thought this would never happen.”

“Well it has, you made it happen with patience and hard work. Let’s go shut down.” Ike had a hard time leaving the garage; he kept staring at his new bike, well old, new bike. Then they locked up and headed over to the main building.

The rain had stopped. Mr. Gonzales led him into his office where a couple of boxes were sitting. They had “Tucker Rocky” on the side. He opened the first one and there was a brand new pair of boots. The other box had red riding gear and a helmet. Finally the chest protector and neck brace was unwrapped down in the bottom.

“Rule number one,” no riding without gear. Not just helmet, but boots and chest protector. You understand?”

“Yes sir, but how am I going to pay for this stuff? You have almost 500 dollars here.”

“I still have contacts in the industry so it didn’t cost that much, but yes, it was a couple hundred and you can work that out. Try it on.”

Ike tried everything on, needing some help with a few things. It all fit, though the gloves felt a little tight.

“The gloves are supposed to fit snug. Try to move your head in the helmet,” he said as he held the helmet with his hands. Ike could not move his head inside the helmet. When Mr. Gonzales let go the helmet moved with his head.

“Ok, that’s the way the helmet is supposed to fit, nice and snug. Your face shouldn’t move in there. The boots look right, too. This gear will be uncomfortable for a while until you break it in. Until everything breaks in, you need to take everything easy, no crazy stuff, you understand? You ride with restraint until I tell you to cut it loose and go for it, deal?”

“Deal,” Ike said raising his hand for a high five. They shook on it, then Ike put the gear into the gear bag. He just stared at it.

“What are you waiting for? The sooner you go home and get some rest, the sooner you can come back and ride.”

Ike turned and headed for his bicycle.

“You gonna be ok out there? It’s gonna be muddy.”

“Oh yeah, mud and I are like that,” he said holding up two fingers together.

“That’s good, because you’re gonna need every bit of that experience,” smiled Mr. Gonzales. “Good night.”

“Good night, and thanks again!”

“Sure,” Mr. Gonzales nodded and waved him away with a broad grin. “This is gonna get good, I can tell,” he said to himself as he locked up. “I feel 20 years younger already.”

Chapter 8

Ike was at the junkyard at 7:30am. He hadn’t slept at all, mostly just tossing, turning and thinking. He finally had to get up in the middle of the night and look at racing magazines. He imagined his name in the results of races and his picture in the race reports. Ten minutes later Mr. Gonzales pulled up in his truck. He got out with a couple biscuits and some coffee.

“I thought you’d be early,” he grinned. “And let me guess, you didn’t sleep, right?”

“I didn’t need to, I’m ready. For this I was born ready. This is my destiny!” He yelled, lifting his hands in the air.

“Ok superman, let’s go run the bike for a little while and let her cool off again. While we’re waiting we’ll get the practice bike out and let you ride a little.”

“Practice bike?”

“Yeah, I’ve got an ole’ 74 125 over here that has a little more life in it, and you can start riding it while we work out the kinks in the race bike.”

“So when do I start racing?”

“Hold on superman, you aren’t nearly ready for racing. You won’t be for months.” He passed out the biscuits and they sat down. Ike stopped in his tracks.

“Months? I can’t wait months!”

“Why not?”

“There’s a big race coming up in three weeks in New Iberia. It’s a qualifier for the Nationals.”

“Nationals? Son it’s way too early to think about Nationals. You have never even ridden yet, much less raced. You have no idea what it takes to be ready for that.”

“Yes I do, and I’ve ridden before.”

“When?”

“My cousins used to come over and bring their bikes. They let me ride them. I could ride them better than they could.”

“What kind of bikes?”

“They were trail bikes.”

Mr. Gonzales just sipped his coffee. “Rule number two, you’re not ready to race until I say you’re ready. And I’ll determine which races you race in. Ok?”

Ike looked down with his lips tight, clearly biting his tongue about what he wanted to say. “All right.”

“Good, now let’s go get the bikes out.”

As soon as Mr. Gonzales unlocked the door, Ike went straight to his bike and began to roll it outside.

“Wait.” Mr. Gonzales stood blocking the doorway. “Rule number three: always check the bike over before you start it. Check the air in the tires, check the fuel and oil. Look around for anything loose or hanging in the chain or spokes. When all of that is ready, you turn on the gas, choke the carb, blip the throttle and kick it over. If you were riding it, you would already be in your gear.”

So Ike went through the checklist, even though they had just done everything the night before. It could use a little more fuel, but they were just going to run it for a few minutes. He took it outside and it started on the second kick. He sat on it, revved it a couple times and let it warm up. He looked over at Mr. Gonzales who was checking out the practice bike. He nodded, so Ike shut it down.

“Go get your gear on,” he instructed.

Ike put the bike on the stand and went inside to get dressed. When he came back out Mr. Gonzales was riding little circles around the lot on the practice bike. There was a big smile on his face. Ike just folded his arms, tapped his foot and waited, and waited, and waited.

Finally he brought it up and killed the motor. “It’s not running right. I need to change the gas. Would you go get me that can over there?” he said pointing at the cans near the door. When Ike came back they started draining the fuel. Ike held the bike while Mr. Gonzales went for a new plug and the wrench. He came back with fresh fuel. In ten minutes the bike was running much better and Mr. Gonzales held the bike for Ike to ride. He didn’t have to offer twice and he was on the bike and away in seconds. Mr. Gonzales pulled up a chair to watch.

At first Ike got used to the levers, the clutch, where it engaged and the brakes. Soon he was accelerating through the gears down to the other end of the fence. Back and forth he went, going faster and faster. Next he started turning with the throttle and sliding around. Whooping and hollering he was having a blast. Meanwhile Mr. Gonzales had started the race bike a couple times and let it cool. Then he waved Ike in.
“Man that was fun. Why do I have to stop?”

“You don’t. It’s time to ride the race bike. Here,” he said, handing him the other bike and taking the practice bike. Ike started the race bike and sat there for a few minutes letting it warm up. He noticed the difference right away. It sat higher, and it revved quicker. When he let the clutch out the motor stalled.

“You let the clutch out too fast, and give it more gas, but be careful,” said Mr. Gonzales.

“I know, I know.” He restarted it, revved it a couple times, then carefully let out the clutch. It almost died again, then he gave it more gas. It jumped right out from under him and his feet came off the pegs as he took off. When he was finally able to ride it in a straight line Mr. Gonzales flagged him in.

“It’s fast,” Ike said shaking with excitement.

“You haven’t even gotten it on the powerband yet. This time hold the gas longer before you shift gears.”

“Ok.”

Ike took off gingerly at first, then let first gear wind up. Suddenly the bike hit its powerband and the motor jumped up an octave, lifting the font end. Ike almost flew off the back. He turned and came back in.

“What was that?” Ike asked.

“That’s the powerband.” Laughed Mr. Gonzalez. “When that power kicks in at 5,000 rpms it hits hard. You’ll have to learn to manage that power with the clutch and gas. It will take time. But that’s how you get a smaller motor to pull like a bigger motor - in a narrow powerband.” Mr. Gonzales walked away snickering.

“Hey I heard that. What are you laughing about?”

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m uhh, well, I guess I’m laughing at you,” He laughed in spite of himself as he continued into the garage.

Ike took off again, this time easing out the clutch. He wound out first gear and moved his weight forward as he prepared for the front end to come up off the ground, which it did. This time he let it sing, then shifted into second, allowing it to sing out, then shifted to third. The fence came up so fast he had to grab the brakes hard to stop and he still hit the fence.

“Man, this thing rips!” Ike said to himself, giggling like a girl as he pulled it off the fence and turned around without letting the motor die.

Back and forth he went, getting more and more used to the power. After a while Mr. Gonzalez flagged him in.

“Why are we quitting so soon?”

“What do you mean, so soon? That was 30 minutes.”

“No it wasn’t. That was like 5.” Ike countered.

Mr. Gonzales laughed. “You mean it FELT like five minutes to you because you were having so much fun. Come on, let’s wash these bikes and service them. We can take a break while they cool down.”

Ike took off his new helmet and just began to realize how thirsty and tired he was. While sitting and drinking he couldn’t help but thinking of the other kids. Were they practicing today? What about Sam? Obviously she was talented, but was she in top notch shape? She didn’t look that winded when she took off her helmet the other day, at least not as tired and sweaty as Dean was. “I guess I’ll find out Monday at school,” he thought.

“Let me give you something to think about,” Mr. Gonzales said, “because you are going to need to start training right away. The sooner you get in shape, the sooner you can race. I’ve used anything I could to motivate myself to get out and jog, or in your case ride your bicycle and have a good workout at least every other day. But the thing that kept me at it was this thought. Whether I got up and worked or not, didn’t change the fact that my competitors were always working out – always. So if I wasn’t working out, they were; and I was falling behind. I couldn’t stand the thought of them getting stronger and me getting weaker.

Ike thought about Jimmy Plaisance and Dean Goudet. So, they were probably working out, huh? Sam was too. Ben and Tommy? Nah. “When can we start?”

“Right now. Let’s start by standing and stretching.” Mr. Gonzales did every exercise along with Ike. He was in pretty good shape for an old man. He showed him warm up stretching, cardio, upper body and lower body work. He told him how long to ride his bike without stopping. He told him to include 50 push-ups and 50 sit-ups each night before he went to bed.

“But I can’t do that many,” Ike protested.

“You will if you want to win,” Mr. Gonzales advised as he crouched into a boxing stance and began jabbing playfully at Ike. Ike raised his fists and began boxing back.

“Who’s the champ?” Mr. Gonzales challenged.

“I am.” Ike countered as they boxed.

“No, WHO’s the CHAMP?” Mr. Gonzales yelled.

“I am!” Ike responded throwing a combination, getting into Mr. Gonzales’ defense and backing him up.

“Ok, put your guns away till you need them,” Mr. Gonzales ordered with a big smile relaxing and putting his hands down.

Ike blew off his fists playfully then put them in his make-believe holsters.

They spent the next hour going over exercises, then servicing the bike. They washed, dried, then cleaned the air filter and lubed the chain and cables. They put the bikes up and Ike was packing to leave.

“One more rule, Ike” Mr. Gonzales offered as he wiped his hands on a red rag. Take one day for rest. No exercise, no work, a little play mixed with relaxation. Take time to enjoy your family, get perspective and be thankful for what you’ve got. I can’t make you go to church, but it is a good idea for growing your faith, which you will need at the upper levels of racing. It helps you dig deep for training and racing, especially when the real bullets start flying. Faith gives you confidence when you are sitting on the gate and approaching big jumps.” Sundays are good for rest, until you start racing on Sunday, then you’ll have to use Saturdays.”

“Ok, I’ll try,” Ike said. “So we won’t meet tomorrow.”

“No. When I get home from church I’ll be resting around the house, mostly in my EZ-chair.” See you Monday afternoon.

“Ok, Monday afternoon,” Ike said as he pedaled home with a satisfied smile on his face.

Ike and Mr. Gonzales looked forward to the times they spent riding every afternoon. Mr. Gonzales would ride his bike, a big dual-sport motorcycle built for on and off road. They would go out and ride for miles down the gravel roads, to the dirt roads, then go off onto trails and even where there were no trails. They would chase each other through fields, woods, along the creeks and bayous and sometimes near swamps if the water was down. They especially loved the power lines where there were little jumps as the elevation changed.

The weeks went by and Ike grew accustomed to both the race bike and the practice bike. He learned to service it, change the plugs, fix flat tires, adjust the suspension and chain and anything else that was needed. When they were riding it was as if nothing else in the world mattered. It was a great escape for both of them. But as Ike spent more time with Mr. Gonzales, he noticed that something was bothering him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something there, kind of like a black cloud that hung over him. Some days he would be moody – even distant. He thought that maybe it was just old age, or loneliness. Whatever it was riding was good medicine for them both. Soon the days got longer as summer approached. This meant more riding time. But Ike became determined to find out what was bothering his old friend.

Chapter 9

Ike started taking a longer route to school to get in more of a workout. Each morning he passed by the Abernathy track and peeked over the fence. He dreamed of riding there one day as the track looked so inviting to him. Usually it looked like they had been riding on it especially after the weekends since there were fresh new ruts and lines. He wondered who practiced out there as he pedaled to school. He had asked Mr. Gonzales about riding on the track several times, but his answer was always the same, “Master your bike on the trails and woods first. Become one with your bike. You’ll be ready when you don’t have to think anymore.”

One Monday morning he pulled up to school at the same time as Tommy.

“How ya doin’ Tommy?” Ike asked as he locked his bike.

“I’m good. How about you? You get your dirt bike finished yet?”

“Oh yeah. I ride it every day.”

“How is it?”

“It’s fun. I ride two, a race bike and a practice bike.”

“What are they?”

“The practice bike is a 1974 Honda 125 Elsinoreand the race bike is a an ’82.”

“Ike, don’t you think those bikes are kinda old?”

“So the race bike is 20 years old. It’s still a good bike.”

“26 years,” Tommy corrected. “Hey, how come you don’t come out to the track with us?”

Ike looked down, “I dunno, I will soon, when Mr. Gonzales says I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to be ready. You just ride. That’s what we do. The track’s not that hard. You don’t have to jump everything.

They grabbed their book bags and started walking to the cafeteria.

“Are you working out?” Ike asked.

“What do you mean? Like weights and stuff?”

“No, like training, for racing.”

“Why do you have to train for racing?”

“Mr. Gonzales says it protects you from injuries and helps you to ride longer and think sharper when you start getting tired. It keeps you from being too sore, too.”

“What does he know about racing? He’s just an old grease monkey.”

“He is not,” Ike said, his anger rising. “He used to race and he knows how to build race bikes.”

“Sure he does,” Tommy said laughing. “My Dad says he just an old, drunken Mexican who used to steal cars. That’s why he lives so far outside of town. Nobody likes him or trusts him.”

“That’s not true! Mr. Gonzales never stole anything in his life. Just because he came from Mexico doesn’t mean he doesn’t belong here! And he’s not a drunk!” Ike screamed pushing Tommy so hard he almost fell down.

Tommy was infuriated, “Yes he is, you’ll see. They have already met with the mayor to have him shut down. They’re gonna deport him.”

“That’s a lie! They can’t do that! You’re a liar,” Ike said throwing down his books and going after Tommy. Just then Mrs. Molotov walked up.

“Ok Tommy, you can go to class. Ike, come with me, grab your book bag.”

“But Tommy started it, he called Mr. Gonzales…”

“That is quite enough Mr. Hebert. I saw the whole thing. You’re not getting out of this one so easy!”

They walked into the office as the other students stared at them. He could see Jimmy and Dean standing around a table with the cool kids and they pointed and laughed. “There goes the loser, into the office again! Loser – Loser – Loser!” they chanted, even doing cheer-leading motions to it.

Once inside Mrs. Molotov motioned for Ike to sit on the “ice” bench in the waiting room. He sat in his usual spot and just watched the kids come to the window and let his mind wonder. “Could this be true? Was Mr. Gonzales a car thief? Had he ever been? He had seen no evidence of it, except there were lots of cars sitting around mostly with parts removed. And what about the drinking? He had never as much as seen a bottle of any kind of alcohol, not even a beer can. He had heard grumblings against Mr. Gonzales before. Maybe this is why he was alone. The people of the town didn’t like him.” Ike continued to mull things over in his head.

Then he noticed the traffic of students coming to the front desk. Notes from parents, notes from doctors, notes why they couldn’t do homework, school dress code violations, it was comical. At 7:30am it was too early for injuries, but this is the time where the late students were bringing excuses why they were late and trying to avoid consequences. Ike laughed at the whole circus. So this is what irresponsibility looks like? He’d never seen it from this perspective before. Even the parents were trying to keep the kids out of trouble, some even lying for their kids, one screamed at the secretary.

He noticed with a growing respect how well she handled these cases, each one with patience and kindness, never losing her temper. More and more he began to see how adults were placed in the lives of kids to help them, not to hold them down and keep them from having fun. He thought of Mr. Dansberry, Mr. Gonzales, Mrs. Frightmeyer going out of her way to help bring his grades up. She didn’t have to do that. Now Mrs. Molotov was a different story. She seemed to have it in for him. He said a prayer before going into her office, “Dear God help me to find something to like about her. Help her to go easy on me.”

Just then the secretary looked at him and smiled. “Ok Ike, you can go in now. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Same to you,” he said pointing at the line by her window. She just waved her hand, “Oh I got this, just an average day in the life of school secretary,” and with a good-natured laugh she turned to face the impatient kids. Ike eased into Mrs. Molotov’s room.

“Mr. Hebert, what was that all about? I thought you and Tommy were friends.”

“We were, kind of. But then he started talking about Mr. Gonzales, and saying lots of bad stuff about him and all.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Oh, like him being a car thief and a drunk. He was calling him names and all.”

Mrs. Molotov just sat staring at him with her hands folded under her chin, drumming her fingers together, as if wondering what to do with him.

“So you like Mr. Gonzales.”

“Besides my Mom, he’s the only one who believes in me.”

“That’s not true, Ike. Mrs. Frightmeyer and Mr. Dansberry have had nothing but good to say about you the last few weeks. Something has turned your attitude around and your grades are coming up. What is it?”

“It’s my dirt bike. I finally have a purpose and I get lots of exercise riding it. It’s fun and it makes me happy.”

“Well, it’s hard to argue with the results,” she said putting her glasses on and peering at a folder in front of her. “It appears your grades have gone from D’s and F’s to B’s and C’s – and here’s an A on a writing project.” She looked up at him to see his response.

He sat a little straighter in his chair. “That’s right, I’m doin’ better in school, and I don’t hate it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I understand better and I can keep up. I don’t feel so stupid anymore.”

“That’s because you’re not stupid. You were never stupid, just a poor student, and now you are becoming a better student. I tell you what, I like your attitude and I don’t want to disrupt your new success. I’m going to let you go on one condition. You keep your hands to yourself. Is that understood?”

“Yes ma’m,” Ike nodded. “Is that a picture of your family?” he asked pointing to the picture over her shoulder.

“Yes, that’s my husband Carl, my son Blake and my daughter Theresa; and our two cats.”

“Nice family.”

“Thanks. Now you get to class, I’m going to give you a note, and you stay out of trouble.”

“Ok, thanks.” Ike got up and took the note. He turned to open the door.

“One more thing.”

“Yes,” Ike said, turning around.

“Be careful on that dirt bike. Those things are dangerous.”

“I will, besides I have the best teacher.”

“Mr. Gonzales, I presume.”

“Yep. He’s the best teacher I’ve ever seen.”

Ike walked down the hall and back towards his room. School really wasn’t so bad. It was what you made of it. It was all in your head.

When the school day was over he was a little late getting out of class due to some last-minute work. When he got to his bike he couldn’t believe what he saw. His tires were cut! Someone had taken a knife and cut