Rev Girl (26 page)

She took a deep breath, doing her best to ignore her stomach raw and uneasy with nerves swung her backpack over one shoulder and slid her sunglasses from the top of her hair down over her eyes. There was no sun to be protected from, but the dark lenses would hopefully mask her anxiety as she made her way into the unknown realm of world Enduro.

Clover followed her parents through the front gate, past the long admin building, merchandise stands and food stalls where she was struck by the smell of sizzling meat and coffee, too much for Leslie to resist. She stopped to buy three cappuccinos for the family. Clover loved her Canadian team jacket, white, with Canada flags on the front and back. But she made a mental note to wear a hoodie underneath when she ventured out to start pre-walking the special tests in the lead-up to the race.

The Parc Ferme was already a hive of activity, featuring an orchestra of sounds. Bikes revved, voices boomed, and a distant stereo pumped techno music. The smells of exhaust and race fuel drowned out those of the food stands at the entry. Groups of men, and the odd woman, buzzed about, unpacking dirt bikes, boxes and gear bags from vehicles and shipping containers, chatting away in languages Clover had never heard. The race wouldn't start for about a week, but riders wasted no time getting their motorcycles unpacked, jetted for the altitude and ready to go. Many bikes, including Clover's, had been crated up and sent in the shipping containers on boats many months before.

Clover still hadn't spotted any signs of the Canadian camp, or the American one, which Kerry had informed her during one of their Facebook chats that summer would be located directly opposite.

The Italian pit area was approaching on their right the most elaborate yet, with a huge marquee out the front, big ‘Italia' banners and nation flags draped from its roof. Countless quick shades jutted out from either side of the main tent, with at least two semi trucks parked in behind. A few dark, fit guys in slim fitting light blue and white tracksuits milled about, looking suave and devastatingly handsome. Clover's eyes dropped to the pavement, and she shrunk behind her big sunglasses, as she heard someone yell, ‘Canadian, Bella!'

‘Hey ciao Bella!'

From the corner of her eye, Clover saw one of the guys in the Italian team uniform as he shouted again and let out a wolf whistle, bringing the rest of Team Italia to see what the fuss was about.

Clover shoved her hands further into her pockets. She didn't know if she should look if she did, wouldn't she seem conceited, or something? She gave them a quick glance, inciting a riot of yelling and ‘ciaos' and invitations to ‘ah, c'om here'. She looked at the guys, smiled tightly, and then jumped to the safety of Ernie's opposite side and hurried around the end of the row of pit set ups, and out of view.

Clover was hoping to pass the Australian camp before finding the Canadian one, as, much to her disappointment, she hadn't caught a glimpse of any of the alluring Aussies in the hotel that morning. They passed Germany a clean, tidy pit area with order Clover could sense, even from the outside then Japan; a humble set up, but with several families, mothers, fathers and grandparents, everyone pitching in and all cheerful smiles for the passers-by.

Before Clover saw any green and gold or kangaroos, she spotted the Canadian flag out the front of a small pit area right across the walkway from the Americans, who were rambunctious already. All stars and stripes.

The Canadian pit consisted of two shipping containers, a couple of quick shades and one support van. The team manager, Clover recognised from pictures online, and his equally excited wife, whizzed about, clipboards in hand, as a few young guys in the team jackets unloaded gear from a container. It'd been organised into categories and set in piles on the concrete. There were fuel cans, tool boxes, spare tyres, water containers, food baskets, eskies (although ice wouldn't be necessary in these temperatures) more quick shades, boxes of instant noodles and crates of sports drinks, all the necessary items to get the twenty Canadian riders and their bikes through the exhausting six-day race.

Everyone was busy, and Ernie and Leslie had disappeared to find out what they could do to help, so Clover peered over at the American pit. She spotted Kerry, sitting off to the side of the chaos, and rushed towards her, ready to pull her friend into a hug, when a huge blonde man stepped into her path.

She was sure her eyes were playing tricks as the Viking-like face of her Canadian idol, Nick Mann, smiled down at her.

‘Hey, Clover.' His voice was as gritty as the dirt he was so good at roosting through. ‘Was hoping to see you today.'

Clover took a step back, glancing from side to side, just to confirm that she was the person being addressed. When she was sure she wasn't hallucinating, she tried to think of the coolest thing to say, but her heart sank when, ‘Um, hi,' was all that came out.

The ten-time Canadian champion smiled. ‘I just wanted to wish you luck. It's great to have a girl on the team, for a change.'

‘Ah … thanks, Nick.'

He nodded his head, and extended a massive paw of a hand, which swallowed hers.

Clover was astonished at how gentle his handshake was.

‘Watch out for the bog holes,' Nick said. ‘And make sure to accept help, if you're lucky enough to have the offer.' He smiled and nodded, before leaving Clover to watch his back as he bounded towards a container and disappeared into it.

Kerry was grinning at her. ‘Hey, Clover Canada!' She stepped up to give her a hug. ‘Some words of encouragement from Nick the Great, huh?'

‘I think so.' Clover glowed with pride, and hugged Kerry tightly. Her encounter with Nick seemed like one of her dreams, but the feelings he'd stirred were certainly real. He believed in her. Someone who was respected to such a high degree, actually got who she was.

Clover wanted to jump right on her bike, head for the start line and hit up those Czech Mountains. She knew she could win. With the Canadian Champion's blessing, Clover could beat any girl in the world.

That night, however, Clover was disappointed to again find no Australians in the hotel restaurant. There was one more of her idols was dying to spot.

As the family found a table off to the side of the mostly empty restaurant, Leslie must have seen the disappointment on her face. She placed a hand on Clover's shoulder. ‘Don't worry,' she said. ‘We must be eating at funny times. Once the race starts, you're bound to run into some of them.'

Clover shied away, embarrassed.

After that evening, Ernie insisted on taking the girls out to restaurants in the town, to ‘experience the local culture'. Kerry and her parents often joined them.

Although Clover glimpsed several famous riders, including ‘dirt bike Ken' and a few other fast Americans, an encounter with an Australian seemed horribly elusive.

The main sports stadium was lit up like a disco for the opening ceremony, two nights before the start of the race. All the preparations for the kick off were complete, with the bikes through safety inspection, and locked in a gated complex off to the side of Parc Ferme, awaiting their riders the morning of Day 1. Clover's WR250F looked puny in comparison to the KTM 450 four-strokes it was sandwiched between bikes that would be ridden by the women riders from Germany.

There were eleven women competitors in total. Three from America: Kerry, Lasha and Lucifer. Two from France: the fast and famous ‘Madame Roux' and another equally stunning brunette, Henriette, whom Clover had met while getting their bikes through technical inspection. Two from Sweden. Then Clover Canada, the pair of German girls and one Australian, Joanna Elwood. Three Aussie girls had been on the pre-event list online, but according to the site, the second and third, were out due to injury. The Aussie girls had been touted as favourites to take out the class on its debut. Clover couldn't wait to meet Joanna.

The opening ceremony celebrations got underway with a parade of nations, led by the home team, which really whipped the local crowd of about fifteen thousand into a frenzy. Foghorns blared, and kids and adults alike screamed the names of their favourite Czech riders, who were illuminated by huge floodlights as they led the procession of entrants around the arena. A stage had been constructed at the far end of the field, crowned by huge speakers, pelting dance music.

‘Welcome to the 98th annual, World Six-Day Enduro Championship!' boomed a voice loud enough to penetrate the music. The announcer then switched to speaking Czech, and by the eruption of the fans, Clover assumed had just welcomed the home team. Before he could continue to introduce the rest of the nations, however, the dance music was cut, and a roar of small capacity engines caught the attention of the entire auditorium.

Clover had to stand on her tiptoes to get a look at the source of the sound. Two dozen men in trench coats and black bowler helmets complete with bug-eye goggles were blasting with all the pace their strange little dirt bikes could muster towards the centre of the oval. Clover laughed as she spotted the last rider in the group, a ‘Cat Man' dressed in striped orange and black fur, with his motorcycle also donning the costume, complete with a long tail flapping behind.

‘And, here, may we present the Purple Helmets!' the announcer yelled. ‘The Sheep Skull Enduro Riders, all the way from Isle of Man, United Kingdom!'

Before the crowd could cheer, the full intensity of the stadium's spotlights was trained on the Sheep Skulls. A lone man had appeared, in an orange jump suit with a cord sticking out the front of him that was attached to one of the bikes, which was now taking off towards one end. The cord caught, pulling the suit from the unfortunate man and leaving him totally naked, with the exception of his helmet which he promptly whipped from his head and used to cover his front bits. The crowd went nuts.

The Sheep Skulls continued their routine, to the delight of all in the stadium. Their stunts included one of the riders jumping the rest with the assistance of a steep ramp, a race with members being pulled in flaming chariots, and a grand finale with a precarious moving pyramid of all the insane Sheep Skulls.

When the Purple Helmets roared off, presumably to find a bar, the announcer got back to welcoming the remaining nations, and the spotlights returned to the riders of the WSEC. In alphabetical order, with Australia first. All Clover could see of the Aussies were flags being waved and blow-up yellow kangaroos and beach balls bouncing around above the riders' heads.

The Swedes strode past, in royal blue and yellow, the lady riders as blonde, slim and lovely as the men were huge and godlike. Spain so much red and cheerfulness, singing in Spanish and waving to the crowd. And England, a whole new kind of handsome, with their dark hair and pale complexions.

A rush of honour filled her heart as Canada was announced, and the lights made it impossible to see beyond the faces of her team. She waved to the crowd, grinning without any effort at all. It was beyond her wildest dreams, being recognised as part of her nation's team, among all the best Enduro racers in the world.

This feeling, however, was quickly extinguished.

Lasha Moore grabbed her arm.

‘By the look of you,' Lasha said. ‘I'm not sure you realise how hard this is gonna be.'

‘How many six days have you ridden, Lasha?' Clover replied.

Lasha shook her head and laughed, a trill, sinister sound. ‘I was sorry I didn't get to say “hello” at all this summer. So glad I've had the opportunity before the biggest race of your life.'

‘Whatever,' Clover said, ripping her arm from her grasp.

‘Break a leg,' Lasha shot back, as Clover glared, and then hurried to take her seat next to her parents in the stadium. She looked frantically for Kerry.

Leslie moved close. ‘What did she want?' she asked, in a pause of the music.

‘Just to be a cow,' Clover said.

Leslie's face pinched with confusion, then she shook her head. ‘That's okay, honey.' She patted Clover's thigh. ‘I bet she doesn't know her throttle from her front brake.'

Clover blurted out a laugh, and couldn't help but smile at her mom. But not even a motorbike joke from her mother could make her forget what Lasha had just said. The truth was, Lasha was an experienced rider, and probably knew this race, better than she did. Maybe there was some merit to her theory? Maybe the six-day would prove too tough for her?

Lasha's work was done. Clover's confidence was shaken and she felt nervous and unsure until she mounted her bike, on the morning of Day 1. She was still feeling glum as she pushed her gleaming WR250F from the bike impound, through the pits where she would hopefully return at the end of the day to complete her work period and up to the start podium, erected at the entrance to Parc Ferme.

It was a freezing morning, darker and bleaker than any of the days since they had arrived. Rainclouds had set in the afternoon before, leaving the air thick and misty. Any moment, rain would start to fall, turning the track to slick slop, the rocks and logs to ice.