Speed Times Five (5 page)

Looking ahead, Joe saw that the Clemenceaus had lost much of their lead. “Kelly Hawk looks like she might pass them,” Joe said to Frank.

The older Hardy nodded. “I read in the paper that
this isn't the Clemenceaus' best leg of the event,” he said. “They're more road and trail athletes.”

“The college students seem to be doing okay,” Joe noted.

“We'll catch them shortly after we hit the river, I'm betting,” Frank said. “Baldwin's fallen back a bit, too. We might be able to pass him as well.” He glanced over his shoulder. “But Lupin's right on our tails.”

“We'll just have to shake him, then,” Joe said, digging in harder.

As they neared the far shore, they passed a kayak that had sprung a leak and was foundering in the chilly water. The race water patrol had the incident under control, but Joe shot Frank a suspicious glance. Both were wondering if it could have been sabotage.

Another contestant was hung up on the rocks at the entrance to Fire Creek. Again, race officials had the situation well in hand, and the Hardys paddled by into the next part of the course.

Fire Creek was much larger and rougher than its name implied. The river ran swiftly as it left the lake, and both brothers had to work hard to keep the current from pushing them into the rocks lining either shore.

“Yeehoo!” Joe shouted.

“Better swing that paddle, or this is gonna be a mighty short trip,” Frank replied with a grin. “If I remember the maps right, the rapids come up pretty quick.”

True to Frank's memory, the river rounded a bend and plunged downhill. Rocks like the backs of huge turtles sprang up from the riverbed, churning the water into white foam.

The chilly liquid tossed the kayaks one way, then another. Frank and Joe paddled furiously, trying to avoid the rocks and have a clean run to the next calm stretch of the river.

Frank banged his paddle against a submerged rock and nearly lost his grip. He snagged the other end of his paddle just before it toppled out of his reach. As he regained his composure, he saw Roger Baldwin and the college students navigating the waters ahead.

Roger Baldwin was in the lead, paddling strong and true, avoiding the rocks and hidden obstacles. Quentin Curtis, pulling hard, had nearly caught up to Baldwin. Robert Frid was making a good go of it, though his kayak skidded dangerously close to some of the rocks.

Maggie Collins, though, was struggling against the rough water near the far shore. The riverbank had risen on either side of Fire Creek, and both shores were lined with treacherous rocks. Powerful currents tugged at Collins's small vessel. She spun around backward.

Before Frank could even shout a warning, the stern of her kayak smacked into a boulder. The boat flipped over and the white water sucked Maggie Collins under.

5 Rapidly Deteriorating

“Joe!” Frank called, pointing to the upside-down kayak. He paddled toward Collins's overturned boat.

“Maybe she'll right herself,” Joe yelled back, following his brother toward the far side of the river. “Any decent kayaker knows how to flip back over.”

“In this current, she may not be able to!” Frank replied. He paddled hard to where Maggie Collins's boat was caught in the churning water.

“Hey!” Joe called. “Help here! We need some help!” The roar of the rapids nearly drowned out the sound of his voice, and Joe wondered whether anyone other than Frank could hear him.

Robert Frid was the closest to them. He turned and came to help as well. His teammate Quentin Curtis was farther away. Curtis kept going, though,
and the Hardys couldn't be sure whether he'd heard their cry for help. A bit farther up the river, they saw Roger Baldwin turn and begin the arduous task of paddling upstream toward them.

Frank arrived at the overturned kayak first. The small boat was pinned against some half-submerged rocks by the rushing current. Frank reached out with his paddle and tried to pry up the edge of Collins's sleek kayak.

The force of the water was too strong. It was all Frank could do to keep from being crushed up against the rocks as well.

“Let me help,” Joe offered, maneuvering in beside his older brother. The Hardys had done some tandem kayaking before, but the raging water made this a far trickier operation.

Stowing their paddles would have left them at the mercy of the river, so lifting with their hands seemed out of the question. Together, they used their paddles to try to rock the kayak back over. The surging river made it impossible, though. Despite their efforts, the white water shoved the brothers' kayaks up against the submerged boat.

“If we don't break this logjam, she'll drown for sure!” Joe said. He spotted Michael Lupin racing down toward them from upstream. “Hey! Help!” Joe called, but Lupin shot by, sparing only a short glance. “That rat!” Joe fumed.

“Hold my kayak,” Frank replied. “I'm going in.” He stowed his paddle and wriggled out of his kayak's seat just as Robert Frid reached them from
downstream. Frank saw Roger Baldwin coming to their aid as well, but he knew he couldn't afford to wait. He grabbed the edge of Collins's kayak and jumped overboard.

As Frank hit the cold, rushing water, he heard Frid call, “How can I help?” The roar of the river crushed Joe's reply.

Even holding onto the edge of the kayak, Frank had to struggle to avoid being swept away by the river. Whitewater dashed all around him, making it nearly impossible to move. He braced his feet against the rock next to Collins's kayak and pushed. No good.

Taking a deep breath, he dove under the water. It seemed like forever since Maggie Collins had first submerged, but she was still conscious, still struggling; her legs had gotten caught inside her boat.

Frank reached out and tried to grab her hands. But she was flailing so wildly that he only brushed her fingertips. Something bumped into his side, and Frank almost lost his breath.

Turning, he saw that someone else had jumped into the water next to him. Frank knew it wasn't Joe, but through the turbulence he couldn't make out who it was. The older Hardy and the stranger both reached for Maggie Collins, and this time, they got a good grip.

With one rescuer pulling on each of her hands, they freed the young coed from the overturned kayak. Maggie Collins and Frank broke the surface
simultaneously. Collins gasped for air and grabbed the side of her upside-down boat; she looked exhausted. A moment later Roger Baldwin surfaced beside them.

Looking around, Frank saw that Joe still had hold of his boat and Robert Frid was holding Baldwin's. Both were struggling to avoid drifting downstream.

“Th-thanks,” Maggie Collins sputtered.

“Is your boat okay?” Baldwin asked. “Let's flip it over and get you back in the race.”

“Wait,” Joe said. “She may need medical attention.”

“No,” Collins replied. “I'm fine. I just need a few moments to recover.”

Frank nodded. “Okay, one . . . two . . . three . . . heave!” He, Collins, and Baldwin pushed. Without the coed's extra weight holding it down, they righted the kayak easily.

As soon as the boat flipped, Maggie Collins scrambled back into the seat. Her paddle was attached to the boat by a tether, and she picked it up immediately. The impetus of the rescue carried her kayak out of the pack and back toward the middle of the course.

With Collins's boat off the rocks, the other kayaks began to move as well. Baldwin quickly grabbed the side of his boat and slid aboard. The Hardys weren't so lucky.

With the other boats no longer blocking them, they slipped toward the rocks that had trapped
Maggie Collins. Frank lost his footing and went under. The whitewater pushed him under, and his head banged against a boulder. Fortunately, his racing helmet saved him from any injury.

He popped up again, and Joe grabbed his arm. “Hang on, Frank!” Joe called. “We need some help here!” But the other racers were too far downstream, battling the current once more.

Another racer shot past heading downstream, too caught up in the challenges of the course to stop.

Frank and Joe struggled while their kayaks bumped up against the rocks. Finally, the older Hardy scrambled back aboard. With Frank out of the water, the brothers' years of kayaking experience took over, and they soon pushed themselves free of the rocks.

“That was a close one!” Joe said as they headed downstream once more.

“About three different times,” Frank added, deftly wiping the water from his brow with his sleeve as he paddled.

They shot through another section of rapids and then entered a calmer section of water. As they did, they saw the racer who had passed them scrambling ashore, a broken paddle in her hand. She tugged her boat behind her but didn't seem to be in any real distress.

“This part of the course will probably cut down the competition a bit,” Frank said.

“Just so long as
we
aren't the part it cuts down,” Joe replied.

At the next bend in the river, far ahead now, they saw Collins, Frid, and Baldwin still traveling in a tight pack.

“We can catch them if we push hard,” Joe said. “I don't think they're as good at kayaking as we are.”

“We'll need a lead going into the bike stage if we want to have any chance to place in the rankings,” Frank said. “Baldwin and the Clemenceaus are sure to be tough on the road.”

“I'd like to catch that Lupin guy, too,” Joe said angrily. “He could have stopped and helped, but he didn't.”

“There's no rule that you have to help your competition,” Frank replied. “C'mon, let's make up some distance.” He and Joe dug in hard, and their kayaks slowly began to close the gap to the other racers.

By late afternoon they had passed Collins, Frid, and Baldwin once more. They saw several other racers stranded on the side of the river, but no one seemed in need of rescue, so the brothers pushed on.

They never did catch sight of Lupin again, but by the time the checkpoint came into view, they could see Quentin Curtis just ahead of them. He glanced back at the brothers as he paddled wearily toward shore.

The brothers beached their kayaks and recorded their times with the checkpoint officials just after Curtis. “Have you seen Maggie and Robert?” Curtis asked, peering upstream.

“We just passed them,” Frank said. “They should be in any minute.”

As he spoke, Collins and Frid appeared at the top of the bend and headed toward the checkpoint landing. Curtis let out a long sigh of relief.

Joe seemed about to say something, but Frank put his hand on his brother's shoulder. “Let's grab some grub from our boats,” Frank said. Joe nodded but glanced from Curtis to Collins, and a spark of anger flashed in his blue eyes.

The Hardys walked the short distance from the checkpoint station back to their kayaks. Sealed in watertight bags, their food had survived the river in fine shape. As they hauled out their provisions and blankets, Collins and Frid beached their kayaks and headed to the checkpoint station. A few minutes later Roger Baldwin did the same.

“Hey,” Joe called to him, “thanks for helping back there.”

Baldwin gave a curt nod. “Don't mention it.”

While Baldwin hiked toward the check-in station, the brothers headed for the camping area. Though it wasn't dark yet, some of the other competitors had already built a large fire.

“That fire'll feel mighty good,” Frank said, still wet from rescuing Collins. He and Joe took up spots near the blaze and opened their food pouches.

Kelly Hawk, the Clemenceaus, and a number of other competitors were seated around the fire nearby. Hawk sat stoically, staring into the fire. The
Clemenceaus, though, were cooking a very tasty-looking meal—chicken in a white sauce with vegetables—in an aluminum pan with a folding handle.

“How can you eat that?” Victoria Clemenceau asked, eyeing the Hardys' freeze-dried fare.

Joe frowned. “It's edible, it's light, it's easy to carry,” he said. “Doesn't carting all that extra stuff slow you down?”

“Perhaps,” Georges Clemenceau replied, “but it is worth it.”

“Just because the conditions are barbaric, doesn't mean we must eat like barbarians,” Victoria added.

Those gathered around the fire laughed, even Kelly Hawk. As the laughter died away, the sounds of another conversation drifted to the Hardys' ears.

“I don't care how far ahead you were,” Maggie Collins said, “you should have come back. We're in this together, aren't we?”

“Sure we are,” Quentin Curtis replied sheepishly. “But there was nothing I could do—honestly.”

“Quent would have helped if he could have,” Robert Frid said. “Don't forget, though, we need to keep our eyes on the prize here.”

“C'mon,” Curtis said. “This isn't the place to discuss this. Let's take a walk down the riverbank.” The three of them turned and walked away.

“Well,” Joe whispered to Frank, “at least Curtis isn't getting off scot-free. I wish I could say the same of that Lupin guy. He should have stopped to help. Where is he, anyway?”

Frank shrugged. “I saw his kayak on the shore when we landed. He must be off by himself somewhere.”

By the time darkness fell, the riverbank camp was crowded with competitors. Many had not made the checkpoint cut-off by dark and would therefore be out of the race. Race rules required that there could be no boating after dark, and so the disqualified racers were forced to camp upstream—in less comfortable conditions than the checkpoint camp.

The camera crews and race officials had a nice tent city higher up the riverbank, but the contestants were responsible for their own accommodations. Most of the racers had brought warm blankets in waterproof bags; the Clemenceaus and a few others had brought sleeping bags.

Joe and Frank bedded down in blankets by the fire, glad to have made the cut. Slumber took the brothers quickly. They slept soundly until the noise of a helicopter woke them the next morning, just before dawn.