Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 18: Lauren (Part 1 of 2)

Like the pistons inside an engine, my feet pound the pavement at regular intervals, splashing water in spots where it had pooled earlier. The rain had been on and off all afternoon, and a light mist still hangs in the air as I run through old town Chemnitz. While this is how a million horror movies start and I half expect a vampire to pop out from behind the next corner, there's an odd sense of peace from doing something so familiar even in a foreign location.

The cool vapor mixes with the warm sweat dripping down the side of my face, and I wipe it with my hand before settling back into a steady rhythm. There aren't many people around. Well past closing time, the shops are shuttered and the sidewalks nearly deserted. Some of the pubs I pass are playing dirndl music, while most of the restaurants smell like roast sausage. As my stomach growls, I'm not-so-subtly reminded that I probably should have had more for dinner than a bag of ketchup flavored potato chips.

Cast iron streetlamps cast a warm glow on the slippery cobblestone pavers as I round the base of a medieval-looking tower to make my way back to the hotel. After sixteen laps of racing on a wet track just hours ago, you'd think my body was already way past the point of exhaustion, but my mind can't seem to settle down.

I should be happy. The race has given me the best finish on the world circuit so far, with an almost point-scoring sixteenth place. One position better would have let me cross another milestone off my list, but the important thing is that I'm getting closer with every try. I'd also done it all on a replacement motorcycle with an intermediate setup. That's almost like completing an expedition to the Himalayas using gear bought at the local sporting goods store. It's adequate, but definitely not ideal.

But my success today has—in a weird way—come at others' expense. While it's every man (and woman) for himself in road racing, I hate to come out on top only because some other guy got screwed over. Diego going down right in front of me was scary. Him taking Tobei with him was scarier. It had been close. Too close. I barely missed running into their downed machines, forced off-track in the chaos. Seb had also ended up in the gravel. It was only through a little luck and lots of skill that he managed to salvage his race.

These last couple of days really have been a perfect storm of bad luck. Tanner's crash from just a week ago still bothers me. It was actually the first thing I thought of when Diego went down, and I called him in California again as soon as I could just to make sure he was still doing okay. My own collision with Gareth on Friday was a close second. His comeback to win today's race after that mess is a testament to his professionalism, no thanks to me.

Maybe I'm obsessing because my brain is exhausted. Paranoia and 'what if' speculations are pointless. The German race is done, leaving just Italy and the US. After this run, I'll go back to the hotel, soak my shoulder in a nice warm bath, and then it'll be time for another painkiller. That's pretty much all I can do for the pulled ligaments and bruised muscles, apart from the biweekly physio for the next month. At least nothing's broken.

As long as I can get back on the bike, it could have always been worse. Tomorrow morning, I'll fly back to California again for a few days. A girls' night with Cam is definitely in order. It'll be nice to also see in person how Tanner is doing. I've never wanted to be at home as badly as I do now.

I crank up the music streaming from my favorite station back in Morgan Hill—it's a true miracle living in the twenty-first century—and sprint the last few blocks. I'm gasping for air by the time the uniformed doorman holds the door open for me. Hurrying across the lobby while keeping my gaze down, I go to the nearest elevator and push the 'up' button. When the carriage stops with a ding and the doors slide open, someone gets off, but blocks me from entering.

I look up. It's Seb and he's mouthing something, but I can't hear him over the perky indie ballad blaring into my ear. Our last real interaction ended with him bolting from my trailer, and while I'd love to eventually find out what that was all about, I really don't have the bandwidth for it at the moment.