he'd see the team.
The whir of his chain kept him company, the wind in his face kept him focused, and the traffic zipping past kept his adrenaline up. A gray SUV passed
closely enough to make him wobble in its draft, but the other vehicles gave him wider berth. Traffic would nearly disappear on the lonely roads away from
the city; only other cyclists would pass him. He'd been doing more passing than getting passed these days.
Someone on a bike was probably trying to get around him. Christopher could hear the zzz of wheels on road, but no one called out, "Coming
up on the left." If the guy wanted to draft, he could. For a while. Damned if he was going to pull someone all the way out to
Hygiene--if the guy wanted a free ride he could pay for it by leading a while. Stu did. Stu had always been good about trading. And bad about
minding his own business. Asshole. Way too interested in Christopher's social life. Accepting but snoopy. Jerk. Maybe calling him
"bi-curious" would back him off.
By the time Christopher exercised his anger at Stu and the unknown drafter, who was doing a pretty good job of staying with him, he'd gone miles,
up and down a steep but short hill. Time to get off Highway 36 onto a smaller road, a good opportunity for a drink.
"Ever going to talk to me again?" Stu pulled up beside Christopher.
"Didn't know it was you or I'd have gone faster." He could have; his legs weren't burning from the climb.
"I really pissed you off, didn't I?"
"You may have fucked things up with Luca and me, so yeah."
"I was trying to be friendly, Chris." Stu used the opportunity to drink too.
"I didn't tell you about going to dinner the other night because I didn't know if Luca minded you knowing, and it turned out
he really, really minds. I think a closet is damned claustrophobic but that's where he is until he decides, not until someone like you
shouts his business to the world. And he's not talking to me either." The sudden prickle of tears had to be from the foul exhaust of a
passing truck, or the wind. No traffic passed, but Christopher didn't move.
"I'm sorry. I didn't even think about that." Stu sounded really contrite.
"I know you didn't. You kiss your girlfriend in public and no one blinks, but he and I can't even stand close
together."
"Why not?"
Stu ' s not an idiot, he ' s just never had to think about shit like this. "He's not out, Stu. He's scared that getting outed will ruin his racing career, and what if he's right?"
"You're out, and it's no big deal."
"That's because we live in the 'People's Republic of Boulder' where everyone's minds are so
open their brains fall out. Maybe most of the other cyclists don't care, but if his team doesn't support him enough, he
doesn't win, or if someone on another team objects strenuously, it could be trouble. You know what sort of dirty tricks get played in a
peloton." He flashed on the image of an elbow thrown at Luca halfway up the Alp d'Huez, next to a long drop and no guard rail, and his
stomach dropped exactly that far.
"Yeah. That's some heavy shit. I'll keep my pie-hole shut."
"Too late now." Christopher stuck his empty water bottle back into its rack. "You can drag me along for a while."
"Sure, sure, now that it's flat." Stu pulled out, heading eastbound.
Must be nice to never have to worry. Christopher didn't live with Luca's kind of fear, not now, anyway. He spent another couple of
miles regretting having lashed out at Luca. He'd apologize first chance he got. If he got another chance.
The white-faced black cattle in the field to the right didn't even look up at their passage, though Christopher marveled at the width they were
attaining. Another month or two and he'd have calves to watch on this route. The thrum of an engine behind him dragged his attention back to the
road--he and Stu both hugged the shoulder more tightly.
The world went kaleidoscope.
Blue below, brown above, white blurring by. Screeching.
Pain.
The world stopped
The whir of his chain kept him company, the wind in his face kept him focused, and the traffic zipping past kept his adrenaline up. A gray SUV passed
closely enough to make him wobble in its draft, but the other vehicles gave him wider berth. Traffic would nearly disappear on the lonely roads away from
the city; only other cyclists would pass him. He'd been doing more passing than getting passed these days.
Someone on a bike was probably trying to get around him. Christopher could hear the zzz of wheels on road, but no one called out, "Coming
up on the left." If the guy wanted to draft, he could. For a while. Damned if he was going to pull someone all the way out to
Hygiene--if the guy wanted a free ride he could pay for it by leading a while. Stu did. Stu had always been good about trading. And bad about
minding his own business. Asshole. Way too interested in Christopher's social life. Accepting but snoopy. Jerk. Maybe calling him
"bi-curious" would back him off.
By the time Christopher exercised his anger at Stu and the unknown drafter, who was doing a pretty good job of staying with him, he'd gone miles,
up and down a steep but short hill. Time to get off Highway 36 onto a smaller road, a good opportunity for a drink.
"Ever going to talk to me again?" Stu pulled up beside Christopher.
"Didn't know it was you or I'd have gone faster." He could have; his legs weren't burning from the climb.
"I really pissed you off, didn't I?"
"You may have fucked things up with Luca and me, so yeah."
"I was trying to be friendly, Chris." Stu used the opportunity to drink too.
"I didn't tell you about going to dinner the other night because I didn't know if Luca minded you knowing, and it turned out
he really, really minds. I think a closet is damned claustrophobic but that's where he is until he decides, not until someone like you
shouts his business to the world. And he's not talking to me either." The sudden prickle of tears had to be from the foul exhaust of a
passing truck, or the wind. No traffic passed, but Christopher didn't move.
"I'm sorry. I didn't even think about that." Stu sounded really contrite.
"I know you didn't. You kiss your girlfriend in public and no one blinks, but he and I can't even stand close
together."
"Why not?"
Stu ' s not an idiot, he ' s just never had to think about shit like this. "He's not out, Stu. He's scared that getting outed will ruin his racing career, and what if he's right?"
"You're out, and it's no big deal."
"That's because we live in the 'People's Republic of Boulder' where everyone's minds are so
open their brains fall out. Maybe most of the other cyclists don't care, but if his team doesn't support him enough, he
doesn't win, or if someone on another team objects strenuously, it could be trouble. You know what sort of dirty tricks get played in a
peloton." He flashed on the image of an elbow thrown at Luca halfway up the Alp d'Huez, next to a long drop and no guard rail, and his
stomach dropped exactly that far.
"Yeah. That's some heavy shit. I'll keep my pie-hole shut."
"Too late now." Christopher stuck his empty water bottle back into its rack. "You can drag me along for a while."
"Sure, sure, now that it's flat." Stu pulled out, heading eastbound.
Must be nice to never have to worry. Christopher didn't live with Luca's kind of fear, not now, anyway. He spent another couple of
miles regretting having lashed out at Luca. He'd apologize first chance he got. If he got another chance.
The white-faced black cattle in the field to the right didn't even look up at their passage, though Christopher marveled at the width they were
attaining. Another month or two and he'd have calves to watch on this route. The thrum of an engine behind him dragged his attention back to the
road--he and Stu both hugged the shoulder more tightly.
The world went kaleidoscope.
Blue below, brown above, white blurring by. Screeching.
Pain.
The world stopped
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