Lion (8 page)

“That was cool,” Jake said as we climbed into the back of the van.

“It sure was,” Hú Dié said. “Those wheels look a lot like bike rims.”

“They are,” Peter replied. “Even the tires are similar, except most chair tires still use inner tubes. Bike tires usually run tubeless these days.”

“What are these tracks on the floor?” Jake asked as he closed the door.

“Those are for my friends to tie down their wheelchairs and connect seat belt extensions,” Peter said. “I rarely use the bench seats. I have a makeshift ramp that I haul around, and it’s easiest for my friends to just stay in their chairs. Someday I might spring for a power lift, but we’re all in decent shape and enjoy making do with as little specialized equipment as possible.”

I thought about when I was temporarily paralyzed by dragon bone. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be in Peter’s shoes, or his friends’.

“You are very inspiring,” Hú Dié said.

“Just living life,” Peter said.

He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, using a lever mounted on the steering wheel column to control both the gas and brakes. Riding with him didn’t feel any different from riding with my mother.

“I live quite close to the airport,” Peter said. “We should be there in less than twenty minutes. Do you guys have any questions?”

Jake cleared his throat. “I do, but you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

“You’re wondering what happened to my legs.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t mind talking about it,” Peter said. “I was road racing in the rain. I was at the head of the peloton, and I’d just
fallen off
—that is, I moved off to the side to allow one of my teammates to take the lead—when he hit a pothole. He went down, along with me and twenty other guys. I think we were doing close to thirty miles per hour at the time. Several guys suffered broken limbs, and I broke my back.”

“Whoa,” Jake said. “When was that?”

“Sixteen years ago. I don’t remember much about it; one minute, I was swerving to avoid my teammate, and the next I was in a hospital unable to move my legs.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hú Dié said.

“Don’t be,” Peter replied. “It was just one of those things. People die in races every year, even pros on the big tours. I won’t say that I was lucky, but I will say that I was fortunate. Although things might have ended up differently if my teammate would have simply shouted ‘hole’ before he hit it. This is why it’s so important to learn to communicate while riding, especially if you plan on drafting. Safety needs to come first. Competition is second.” He paused. “Ryan’s mother told me that you guys were drafting a couple days ago, in the rain, no less. If I see any one of you doing that before I teach you how to do it properly, I’ll send you
all
home. Got it?”

“Got it,” we all said.

“Good,” Peter said. “Now that that is out of the way, let’s talk about something more fun—your bikes. They arrived earlier today. They’re in my garage.”

“How many boxes?” Hú Dié asked.

“Three. I didn’t open them, but based on the size, one looks like bike frames, one is probably wheels, and the last one is gear.”

“Three is the magic number,” Hú Dié said. “I packed the boxes myself.”

I couldn’t wait to open the boxes. Uncle Tí had given Hú Dié a tiny vial of dragon bone to include in the shipment, and she’d stuffed it into my bike’s hollow seat post. It wasn’t
the greatest hiding place, but it was better than my trying to sneak the dragon bone onto our airplane.

“Oh, my,” Hú Dié said suddenly.

“Sweet!” Jake said.

I glanced out the window and grinned. The strip malls and residential neighborhoods we’d been driving past disappeared, replaced by meadows of rolling hills. A canopy of trees covered the road. We drove over a stone bridge, and I caught a glimpse of the sea down a steep slope to our right. It looked like something out of a fairy tale.

“Nice scenery,” Phoenix said, “but where are we supposed to ride? This road is pretty narrow, and we’re right on the edge of a cliff.”

“That’s a surprise I’m saving for tomorrow morning,” Peter said. “It’s not far, and it’s quite safe. If you like it here, you’ll love it there.”

We slowed and turned onto a side road, bouncing along pockmarked asphalt that rose and fell between towering eucalyptus trees. Peter lowered his window, and I could hear and smell the ocean. We drove around a sharp bend, and surf crashed against rocks just a few feet from the pavement. The only thing separating us from the sea foam was a knee-high stone railing. The other side of the narrow road didn’t have a shoulder, either, just a tall hill of solid rock.

“I am speechless,” Hú Dié said.

“I’m not!” Jake said. “This is the coolest! Wow!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Peter said. “I have a small place just up this next hill.”

The van climbed the steep slope, and we pulled into
Peter’s driveway. He hit the button on his garage door opener, and the door began to rise.

“Look at that!” Hú Dié exclaimed. “I might never go into the house!”

Peter had converted his garage into a small machine shop where he built custom handcycles for himself and others. Tools and machines were neatly arranged atop a series of low workbenches. Cycles in different stages of completion hung from winches attached to the ceiling.

Peter turned to Hú Dié. “You like to look at mechanical things?”

Phoenix laughed. “She likes to
build
mechanical things. She has the craziest bike I’ve ever seen. She even named it:
Trixie
.”

“Really?” Peter said. “Ryan’s mother told me that you and your father owned a bike shop, but she didn’t mention that your employees actually build them.”

Hú Dié flashed her brilliant smile. “I build them.”

“You assemble everything yourself?” Peter asked.

“Yes. I fabricate the frames, too. We have tube benders and a TIG welder. I even paint the frames.”

“You bend steel?”

“Sometimes,” Hú Dié said. “Most of our customers want aluminum, though. It is so much lighter.”

“It sure is,” Peter said. “Do you know how to weld aluminum?”

“Sure. It took a few years to get the hang of it. Now I weld aluminum for other people, too. Not a lot of people know how to do it.”

“I got that,” Peter said. “I’ve been trying for years, but I still keep blowing holes in my frames. I end up spending a fortune to have my bikes welded by someone else, and a lot of times
they
don’t even get it right.”

“I can teach you how to do it,” Hú Dié offered.

“Really?”

She nodded. “Although it is going to cost you.”

“Oh?”

“I want to ride one of your handcycles.”

“Is that all?” Peter said. “Come on, then. You can try one right now! I want to close this deal before you change your mind.”

We unloaded our
luggage; then Phoenix, Jake, Peter, and I waited inside the garage while Hú Dié disappeared into the house. She soon reappeared wearing our new “team” cycling jersey and padded riding bib shorts, as well as new white socks and racing shoes. She pulled her long black hair into a ponytail and shook out her legs, stretching them. Her thighs rippled like the shoulders of a powerful feline.

“You know you won’t be using your legs at all with this handcycle, right?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” Hú Dié said. “I just feel a little stiff after the plane ride.”

I rolled my eyes. She wanted to show off her muscles to Peter.

Peter pointed to two cycles he’d lowered from the ceiling. Both were hand-powered trikes with three wheels, but one was low to the ground with two wheels in back and one in front, while the other was higher and had one wheel in
back and two in front. The higher one also had knobby off-road tires and a seat that appeared to have long armrests.

“Which one would you like to try?” Peter asked.

“Both!” Hú Dié said.

Peter laughed. “All right, but you can only ride one at a time.”

“I’ll ride the other one,” Jake said.

“Not before I get a chance,” I said. “He’s
my
cousin.”

“You can all have a turn,” Peter said. “Let’s get Hú Dié squared away first.”

“Thank you,” Hú Dié said, eyeing both bikes. “One is for off-road, and the other is for riding on pavement, yes?”

“That’s right,” Peter said. “The low one with the single wheel in front is a road cycle. You sit in it like a regular chair. The higher one is a mountain cycle. See those things that look like armrests on the mountain cycle? They’re actually for your legs. You kneel on them. There is also a pad to rest your chest against.”

“I will try the mountain handcycle first,” Hú Dié said. “I like road riding, but I enjoy mountain biking more.”

“Sounds good. The mountain cycle is better suited for the crumbling asphalt of my neighborhood streets, anyway. I can’t wait for them to be resurfaced.”

Hú Dié climbed onto the mountain cycle, and Peter strapped her in, binding her ankles and bent legs to the cycle’s frame. If she crashed, she’d stay attached to the bike.

“You’ll notice the hand crank arms on this cycle are set a hundred eighty degrees apart, like on a regular bicycle,” Peter said. “Your arms will work in opposition, just like your
legs work in opposition on a regular bike. You can lift yourself to absorb bumps by straightening your elbows slightly, just like you’d rise up out of your saddle on a regular bike by straightening your knees a little.”

Hú Dié glanced at the road handcycle. “Those hand cranks are different.”

“That’s right,” Peter said. “The cranks on that cycle are parallel with one another. Your arms go around in unison. Parallel cranks help you go faster over flat ground because you can really get your torso behind each revolution. However, cranks set a hundred eighty degrees apart are better for climbing because you’re providing continuous power. There aren’t any dead spots in your stroke.”

“Makes sense,” Hú Dié said. “Where are the brakes, and how do you steer this thing?”

“Both types of cycles have brake levers and gear shifters mounted to the hand cranks. To steer the road cycle, you turn the hand cranks like a steering wheel. On this mountain cycle, the chest support does the steering. You simply lean in the direction you want to go, kind of like riding a motorcycle.”

“I understand,” Hú Dié said.

“Ryan,” Peter said, “see if you can find the helmets in the smallest of those three boxes that came from Indiana.”

I opened the box and tossed Hú Dié her helmet. She strapped it on.

“Be careful,” Peter told her. “Trikes seem like they’d be more stable than a two-wheeled cycle, but they aren’t. If you lean too far the wrong way into a turn, you’re going to flip.”

“I know what you mean,” Hú Dié said. “I have built a few large delivery trikes for customers in China. I will be fine.”

Hú Dié began to turn the cranks, and her taut biceps and triceps bulged out of nowhere as she made her way up the sloped driveway toward the road.

Peter glanced at me. “That girl is a rock.”

“Actually, she’s steel.” Jake laughed. “Her name means Iron Butterfly in Chinese. Whatever you do, don’t bump fists with her.”

“I heard that!” Hú Dié shouted as she crested the driveway and turned right, heading up the hill.

I nodded at the road cycle. “Can I try that one now? I don’t need to change my clothes.”

“Be my guest,” Peter said.

“Come on, bro,” Jake whined. “Let me go next.”

“Fat chance,” I said as I put on my riding gloves and helmet.

“Promise me you’ll take it easy,” Peter said. “It’s a bit more squirrely than the mountain cycle.”

“Just like a regular road bike,” Phoenix muttered.

“That’s right,” Peter said. “It goes with the territory. Speed comes at a price.”

I climbed onto the bike and was surprised how comfortable it felt. The backrest went all the way up to my head. Peter strapped me in, one seat belt–like strap going around my waist while separate straps went around each ankle.

“This is my personal racing bike,” Peter said. “You and I are about the same height, and our arms are about the same length. It should feel pretty good to you.”

“It does,” I said. “I could probably take a nap on this thing.”

“Not while you’re riding, you won’t.”

“I’m kidding.”

“I know, but you need to be constantly aware on any bike, especially this one. You’re very close to the ground, and I haven’t outfitted it with a flag because I only ride it in races. Cars will have a difficult time seeing you.”

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” I said. “I promise.”

“All right,” Peter said. “You want me to give you a push up the driveway? This thing climbs like a two-ton snail.”

“Naw,” I said. “If a girl can do it, so can I.”

Peter chuckled. “If you say so.”

“Hurry back, Beefcake,” Jake said. “I want my turn.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Beefcake?”

“Never mind,” I said.

I began to crank, my hands revolving in unison. It was a strange sensation. It was more like rowing a boat than pedaling a bike. It was also hard work. I broke a sweat halfway to the top of the driveway, and by the time I reached the street, I smelled like the inside of a dragon bone container. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. I wasn’t ready to tell Peter or Jake about the substance yet. I was going to have to buy some stronger deodorant, or maybe some cologne.