Hearts Racing Read Online Free PDF Page B

Clacking sounds echoed as the riders clipped into their foot retention pedals, some as loud as rifle shots. The pack drew away from the start. Buck, surprising himself, got away well and slipped into fifth place, a good position to be in for a crit.
    Buck’s crit racing philosophy, such as it was, involved staying behind another rider. The rider behind uses thirty percent less energy than the one in front. That was well known. But the more riders in front of you, the more chances one could fall and take you out, which was exactly what caused Buck’s broken collarbone. He liked to be a few riders back so he could be out of the wind, but not too far. Fifth was good, and he was able to hold that position for the first few laps.
    The pack would take it easy for the beginning of the race. Riders would jockey for position but not take the pace up too much lest they have to work too hard too early. Of course, there was always the chance of a breakaway. Buck was just thinking about the possibility of a few riders attempting a breakaway and wondering if any would. He looked around for Polini, a likely candidate to try something like that, but didn’t see him. That’s odd, he thought. He likes to ride up near the front, same as me.
    At the southeast corner, the bottom of the climb that would wind around the swimming pool to the start, the break came. Buck had slipped to sixth place but was readying himself nicely for another climb when Polini and three other riders surged from the pack and up the hill like they were merely dancing on the pedals.
    “There it goes!” he yelled. “Polini’s up the road!” He hoped someone would pick up the pace to catch Polini. He could follow that person and be dragged up to the break without spending too much energy chasing them down. Buck’s adrenaline told him to ride after them on his own, stay with them, cover the break and hopefully hang on for a top-ten finish, but he knew he didn’t have the legs. Safer to stay in the pack for now. “Come on, guys! We gotta catch Polini!” he shouted, but the riders around him did not respond. Most were already showing signs of fatigue, their heads dipping to look down at the road and their breathing ragged.
    Buck felt the race slipping away from him. If the peloton was looking this tired already, they’d never work together to catch the breakaway, and Polini or one of the other three riders would take the win. He couldn’t possibly catch them. No way. Not with his sore legs and broken—
    As Buck was having that thought, a rider two places ahead of him went down and began sliding across the asphalt. A second rider hit the first and went down. Buck couldn’t avoid the tangle of bodies and bikes lying across the road. He hit someone’s bike frame with his front wheel and went flying. He had time for but one thought: I’m sorry, Michael.
    He went over his handlebars and flipped in the air, expecting to hear twisting metal and broken bones. But he got lucky. He landed and rolled then slid across the roadway and ended up against a curb with one foot still clipped into his bike. He pulled it free and leaped up. His legs were working. He flexed his hands, moved his shoulders. All working. His kit was shredded, and he’d scraped his right leg, hip, and elbow. Blood already dotted his raw skin, but he paid it no mind. He’d flipped in the air, directly over a huge pileup. It would take a minute to detangle the bikes. If he was lucky—enormously, ridiculously, stupidly lucky—the pileup would delay Polini and the break. He picked up his bike and prepared to leap onto it, but the cushion part of the seat had broken off and his front wheel had been destroyed in the crash.
    Buck looked around. The front part of someone’s bike was lying nearby, the carbon fiber torn completely in half. The rider stood in the roadway and checking himself for wounds. What was his name? One of the new guys. Dammit. It was . . .
    “Vance! Give me your wheel!” Buck said