Lion (12 page)

“I want to learn to do what you and Phoenix did in his grandfather’s garage.”

“That will take years.”

“I’ve got to start somewhere,” I said. “I promise I’ll let you know if my stomach starts acting up.”

Hú Dié thought for a moment. “We can try,” she said. “Maybe Phoenix was right. You want to learn a Tiger style move?”

“Sure.”

“How about a palm strike?”

“A palm strike?” I said. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not really. At least, not the person throwing it. The recipient might get a little sore, though.”

“I won’t break my hand?”

“You are far more likely to break your hand throwing a regular punch. There are many small bones in a fist that can easily break.”

“I see.”

“Drop down into a Horse Stance like Phoenix taught you.”

I set my feet shoulder-width apart with my toes pointed forward; then I straightened my spine, bent my knees, and sank low.

“Perfect,” Hú Dié said. “You are a natural.”

I smiled.

“Seriously,” she said. “Most people would have forgotten parts of that. You remembered everything. Now straighten your arms and raise both hands in front of you, chest-high, like this.”

I copied her.

“Next,” she said, “flex both wrists back so that your palms are facing forward. Spread your fingers out.”

I did.

“Good,” she said. “Finally, curl your thumbs and fingers inward. This is a basic tiger-claw fist.”

“Cool,” I said.

Hú Dié nodded. “You are going to strike with the heel of your palm. The support for the blow comes from your wrist and the forearm bones behind it. Never throw a regular punch with this kind of fist, though, or you will break your hand, for sure.”

“Okay.”

“Now,” she said, “inhale deeply as you bend your elbows and retract your arms, stopping your raised palms on either side of your chest.”

I did it.

“Finally, exhale and thrust your palms forward, aiming the heels of your palms at an imaginary target. It is very important that you exhale forcefully when you strike.”

I exhaled as I thrust my arms forward, grunting with the effort.

Hú Dié smiled.

“How was that?” I asked.

“Not bad. I forgot to tell you that you can make some noise if you feel like it. It means you are giving it all you have. Do it again.”

I raised my tiger-claw fists and inhaled, pulling them back to my chest; then I exhaled powerfully while thrusting the heels of my palms forward with all my might. This time, my grunt came out as a
ROAR
.

“Wow!” Hú Dié said. “Very intimidating! Just like when you ride. Keep practicing, but you do not have to get quite so into it. Maybe go back to grunting like you did the first time.”

I nodded and wiped beads of sweat from my brow. The seemingly simple strike was turning out to be a lot of work. “This is great exercise. Thank you for showing it to me.”

“My pleasure. Practice it two thousand times a day, and you will have it down in less than a week.”

“Two
thousand
times? Are you kidding?”

Hú Dié shook her head. “There is a famous saying, ‘I fear the person who practices one strike ten thousand times, not the person who practices ten thousand strikes only once.’ ”

“Good point,” I said.

“If you truly do one thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight more today, I promise I will teach you something else tomorrow. Make sure you alternate hands, though. Do one thousand with each. It sounds worse than it is.”

“I’ll do it.”

Hú Dié smiled. “I think you are going to make a great martial artist, Ryan.”

I beamed. “Really?”

“Well, you actually punch like a girl. We are going to have to fix that.”

The next five
days were more or less the same. We would wake up and do our own thing until late afternoon; then we’d train as a team at Point Lobos. Afterward, we’d watch the footage together.

True to her word, Hú Dié taught me five new kung fu moves, one each day: a hammer fist, a front kick, a side kick, a knee trap kick, and how to catch an opponent’s kick like Phoenix had caught her kick at his house. The last two could only be done with a partner, so she worked with me. Hú Dié took quite a beating, as both moves involved my knocking her down in the cold, wet sand and twisting one of her legs into a pretzel. We switched legs to give me practice from both sides, and I could tell that she was still pretty sore from the routines. She was tough.

I was sore, too, but it was worth it. I was getting a great workout, plus I was beginning to feel like I could protect myself if I ever needed to. The dragon bone still seemed to
have a stranglehold on my energy level, but at least it wasn’t getting worse.

Jake continued to train one-on-one with Peter and made amazing progress. Everyone noticed it, and no one was more proud than Jake. It was cool to see. Peter only needed to show Jake something one time, and he never forgot it.

Phoenix spent his time alone on the ’cross bike, usually riding over to Point Lobos and tearing up the trails that allowed mountain biking. It was pretty obvious that he didn’t like being on a road bike, but being out on the trails seemed to make him happy, so Peter let him ride that far on his own.

On our eighth night in California, we gathered as usual to watch the video, but Peter announced that he had other plans instead. There was something we needed to discuss.

“I have some exciting news for you guys,” Peter said. “You all know that people are still gossiping on the cycling forums about you, right?”

We all nodded.

“Well,” Peter said, “it looks like it may have amounted to something. There is an invitation-only twilight criterium in one week that will take place in downtown San Francisco. It’s a race for adults, but all four of you have been invited.”

Our jaws hit the floor.

“This is … incredible,” Hú Dié said. “Even if none of us won, we would be sure to get attention. We could all find ourselves on teams.”

“That’s right,” Peter said.

“Wait,” Jake said. “What’s a criterium?”

Peter laughed. “Sorry, Jake. It’s a special kind of road
bike event that’s usually quite short. A typical road bike race lasts several hours. The race usually begins in one place and ends in another. A criterium, or crit, takes place on a closed-loop course. It begins and ends in the same place, and usually lasts about an hour. It’s basically a really long sprint. This one is a one-mile loop, and the race will run for one hour, plus three laps.”

“How does that work?” I asked.

“After one hour, a signal is given. Whichever lead rider completes three full laps after the signal wins.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Yeah, they’re very straightforward solo events. However, individuals sometimes work together as a team to improve their odds.”

“Why did you call it a
twilight
criterium?” I asked. “They don’t actually race at night, do they?”

Peter nodded. “They sure do. It’s not as bad as you might be thinking. There are streetlights. I’ve raced in a few twilight criteriums before. They’re a lot of fun.”

“What about prizes?” Hú Dié asked.

Jake’s ears perked up. “Prizes?”

“Most crits have stage prizes, or primes,” Peter explained. “During certain laps, riders have the opportunity to win a prize if they win that particular lap. This race is special, so there won’t be any stage prizes. However, there will be one whopper of a prize for the rider who crosses the finish line first—a professional cycling sponsorship!”

Phoenix’s eyes widened. “Do you think any of us have a shot at winning it?”

“Honestly?” Peter replied. “It’s a very long shot. The
race promoter is an old friend of mine and I told him as much, but he said that he didn’t care. Your participation would help the event get more attention, and that’s a priority for any promoter. I’ve already spoken with all of your folks, except yours, Hú Dié, and they support your participation and don’t mind you staying out here longer. Additionally, Ryan’s mother has finished her business in Indiana and has offered to fly out and help, which would be invaluable. While she doesn’t ride, she has a deep knowledge of cycling strategy. She was instrumental in several of my victories in the past, particularly in criteriums. What do you say? Are you guys interested?”

“Yeah, baby!” Jake shouted.

“I’m in!” I said.

“Me too!” Hú Dié said. “I have plenty of time left on my travel visa.”

We all turned to Phoenix. His face was somber, but then he broke into a huge grin. “I’m in, too.”

“Yes!” Jake said, and he began to dance around.

Peter groaned. “You need a theme song to go along with that dance, Jake.”

“How about ‘Eye of the Tiger’?”

Phoenix, Hú Dié, and I replied as one: “No!”

We spent the rest of the morning making plans for the race. The fact that we would be competing against adults beneath streetlights began to wear on my mind, but it didn’t bother me enough to make me want to back out. Plus, Peter promised to begin training us at night, which helped put me somewhat at ease.

Once I was able to push the night-racing concerns out of my mind, I realized I had a bigger problem—I was going to need more dragon bone. I didn’t have enough to get me through the extra days. I thought my mom could bring me some, but she was worried about trying to get it through airport security.

Fortunately, Uncle Tí had me covered. He made a phone call to PawPaw, an apothecary friend of his in Beijing. It turned out she had a friend in San Francisco’s Chinatown who could be trusted. Her name was YeeYee, which means “Auntie” in Chinese. Uncle Tí made arrangements to ship out a small amount of dragon bone via courier airplane as a medical necessity—which it was—and YeeYee was going to be able to pick it up at San Francisco International Airport, and we could get it from her. Sending it to her instead of Peter directly seemed best because she often received medicine from doctors. Additionally, she could check it over to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with. Uncle Tí didn’t want to take any chances.

I was also happy that my mom was coming to help us. She seemed more excited than I was, and I looked forward to learning all she knew about racing strategy. I’d had no idea her background was that extensive, and I felt closer to her than ever before.

Peter called the race promoter to confirm our participation, and almost immediately the cycling forums and blogs began to light up with news that the “mystery teen team” would be at the event. It was both exciting and a little scary for us. What it meant, though, was that we were going to have to practice like never before.

Since Peter was going to take us all to Chinatown tonight to pick up the dragon bone, we decided to head to Point Lobos early. We arrived around noon and parked in our usual spot in front of the tidal pools.

Jake said that the forks on his road bike had been acting a little strange the previous day. Hú Dié suspected a hairline weld fracture, but she hadn’t found one. As a precaution, we’d brought along the ’cross bike for Jake to ride, if necessary.

We started with our usual spinning; then we stretched. The stretching routines were getting more difficult, but Jake and I were already seeing some serious results. While standing, I could almost put my palms flat on the ground, and Jake could now press his knuckles against the road. Peter was impressed.

We finished stretching, and Peter decided to begin our session with the “car” drill we’d practiced the first day. Peter once again played the role of the car as the cameras on our helmets recorded our every move. He was in rare form, zooming past us faster than I’d ever seen him ride.

When we reached the turnaround at the end of the road, I saw a pickup truck parked there. A man wearing a cowboy hat was behind the wheel, and a large dog sat beside him. I gave the others a warning shout, and we expertly avoided the vehicle as we came about in our peloton with Peter bringing up the rear. We began to head back in the opposite direction, when Peter suddenly surged forward, pretending to be a car once more. Hú Dié shouted, “Car! Single up!”

Jake, Phoenix, and I shouted back to confirm that we’d heard her. “Single up!”

We spread out, and Peter blew past us.

“Wow!” Jake shouted from behind me.

I glanced down at my electronic display: twenty-two miles per hour.

“What a maniac!” I shouted back with a laugh. “He has to be going at least forty miles per hour! I—”

“Car!” Hú Dié shouted again. “Single up!”

“Single up!” Phoenix, Jake, and I shouted back, and I glanced over my shoulder. The truck that had been parked at the turnaround was approaching us.

Fast.

We spread out and slowed. Ahead of us, Peter turned around in the very center of the road.

“Car, Peter!” I shouted.

Peter saw it, too. He began to crank for the opposite shoulder of the road to give the pickup plenty of space. I glanced back once again and saw that the truck was already beside Hú Dié. Phoenix was thirty feet in front of her.

The truck’s horn blared, and I heard a dog howl.

My heart leaped into my throat.

I knew that howl.… It was a black mouth cur hunting dog from Texas named Bones.