Reach for the Sky

The next morning, I stirred before the wake-up call came. Quietly and slowly as I could, I extracted myself form Travis’s arms and at on the edge of the bed, head in hands, thinking about what I was about to do later that night. After a few minutes, I started my morning exercises - something I had neglected over the last few days due to travel and partying. In a sports bra and underwear, I stretched out my knee with painstaking care, and my metal-plated shoulder even more carefully. After a few minutes of quiet, the phone rang and interrupted my calm - I heard Travis pick up the phone as I stretched my forehead to my knee and held the pose.

“Hey miss contortionist.” I felt his hand descend gently on my back, his fingertips traced up to my neck and guided my face up from my knees to his face. “Don’t be nervous, honey.”

“What makes you think I’m nervous?”

“You’re tense, you need to relax. Come sit in the hot tub with me or something.” After I brushed my teeth and got myself together, Travis and I went to relax for a bit in the hot tub, where we drank Red Bulls and water.

“My knee has been killing me since I got on the damned plane,” I grumbled, letting go of Travis’s hand to rub at the perpetually-bruised joint.

At eleven o’clock, the hotel began to stir, and Travis and I abandoned the hot tub for the nearly-as-relaxing Lazy River. I laid my head on his chest as we floated slowly down the false current, and he stroked my hair. At twelve, feeling slightly waterlogged but definitely in-tune with my chi, Travis and I stopped our floating (actually, we had fallen asleep) routine to find the Nitro Crew for lunch. A few backflips off the top of the waterfall and a stupid stunt involving a lawn chair, Travis, Jolene, Andy and I and the water slide, I retired to the hotel room.

It was nearly two o’clock when I jumped in the shower; it was an irrational shower, I wanted to style my hair, and so I washed it. As if anyone would see my hair if I didn’t podium. I blow-dried the ribcage-length mass slowly, standing in front of the mirror stark naked as I considered the bruises on my shoulder, the bruises which wrapped around my ribs, and those on my inner thighs - which originated from a combination of the seat of the bike and Travis.

Was I really ready for this - a competition on a dirt bike? Was I crazy, or just taking a calculated risk? Was Oakley right, had Travis influenced me for the worse?

I didn’t have too much time to dwell on the subject; I set the brush down and unplugged my blow-dryer from its adaptor, and noticed Travis’s silhouette in the foggy mirror. Instead of acknowledging him, I let my face fall into my hands, elbows propped on the edge of the sink. Travis crossed the room to envelope my tiny frame in his arms, effectively dwarfing me.

“You’re going to be great, sweetheart.” There was no hair stroking, no overly-soothing tone in his voice, just what he thought was the truth. And I was grateful for it.

He held me for a few moments before someone began pounding on the door, shouting about how we needed to go. We moved reluctantly apart, and set about gathering gear and dressing. I slipped into a pair of shorts and a DC shoes t-shirt as Travis stomped his shoes on his feet (because he was too lazy to bend over and tie the laces again) and together we left the room.

“About time you two,” Andy gave Travis a good smack in the shoulder, and was about to hit me but thought better of it at the last minute, given the overly-bruised state of my body. Jolene took my gear bag from me as she fell in step beside me, and Godfrey quizzed us for the camera as we walked down the hallway. Travis was confident and calm, as always, and I was… well, I was nervous. Cam and Andy rode the bikes over to the bullfighting ring and Travis and I sat in the minivan, contemplating death and failure - actually, Travis probably contemplated winning and continuing to reign supreme. He reached over and gripped my tiny hand in his - everything about him was so much bigger than I was, his body, his drive for success.

After giving a copious amount of interviews (after which I wondered if I were a model or a FMX rider), we were let loose on the course. We walked the track one last time before the spectators showed up - I was surprised that Travis held my hand around all the guys, but everyone was too wrapped up in their sequence of jumps to say anything or even notice. In the staging area under the bleachers, all of our bikes were lined up in the order we were set to jump in, because of our last names, Travis and I were far apart in the lineup.

Slowly, I suited up, considering each and every movement. Sports bra, chest protector, jersey, knee-high socks, knee guards, pants, boots… Everything in sequence, everything in order. I pulled out my iPod and stuck it inside the kidney belt I wore, winding the headphones through my gear and up to my ears so I wouldn’t have to listen to the roar of the crowd, which would intimidate me. With gloves, goggles and my helmet in hand, I sat down on my bike to stare out the entrance to the track, watching people file in to their seats and considering that first jump. A hand on my arm startled me into awareness once more, and I turned to see Travis.

“Pray with us.” He motioned to a group which stood in a broken circle. Slowly, I nodded and dismounted, following Travis to stand beside him, between he and Brian Deegan. We grasped hands, and bowed our heads - a few of the racers weren’t interested in the ritual, but I had been wondering how I was supposed to compete without it. Beside me, Deegan began the prayer, and it flowed around the circle, ignoring boundaries such as race, gender or religion. Each person addressed their entity in a different manner, I heard Yaweh, God, Jesus, Good Lord and Allah in a matter of minutes.

“Lord, I’m putting this in your hands.” Was all Travis said beside me, gripping my hand tightly.

“Help us to fly like you do, and if this should go badly, lift us up to dwell with you forever.” It was the first time I had said my private prayer aloud. “Amen.” The closing was echoed by the rest of the riders, who shuffled nervously and quietly. Travis wrapped his long arms around my head and shoulders, his face buried in my hair - I slid my hands around his waist and held him firmly as I heard the first rider’s name called over the loudspeaker. The competition had begun.

The qualifying run was nothing special - no backflips as everyone was saving their big tricks for the second round. Hell, one of Renner’s tricks was a left whip and he qualified.

As the competition bustled around us, I felt Travis’s fingers wrap around my chin, drawing me up to his lips. At that point, I was beyond being surprised by anything that happened over the course of the evening.

“I love you, Scottie.” I smiled up at him, which prompted another kiss.

“I love you, Travis.” He held me against his chest until I had to put on my helmet and gloves, and whacked the back of my helmet as I heard the little blurb about my life being read. I pressed play on my iPod and squeezed Travis’s hand one last time before I shot out the opening gate, scaling the first jump to pull a Hart Attack/Indian Air combination.

Just because I was nervous didn’t mean I was going to do a bad job.

The second jump loomed before me, and I backflipped it, watching the dirt sail past my nose as I landed, hands thrown up in the air. Two jumps down, three to go. Unlike in other competitions, in X-Fighters, I could pull all of the big tricks I had selfishly squirreled away. I didn’t dwell on the fact as I sailed into the air, and backflipped, hooking one leg on the handlebars and sticking the other leg forward for a trick called the Stripper. Even through my headphones I could hear the crowd go wild as I paused to spar with the bullfighter in the middle of the arena, acting the part of the raging bull with a wheelie.

The fourth trick I did was a Christ Air - a Cliff Hanger with folded hands instead of outstretched arms, as if I were praying for the next trick to go well. The hardest one of the night had definitely been the Stripper/Backflip combination, but my last trick looked much more difficult. As I pulled the bike around for a backflip, I let go of the handlebars and placed my arms behind my head as if I were in a lazy boy recliner, and landed the flip with no hands, fists pumping to the sky triumphantly as I rounded the track back to the entrance.

I high-fived the next rider out the gate, and dropped the bike on its side as Travis, Deegan, Renner and Twitch all rushed me, thumping my helmet and giving me one-armed hugs as I tried to remove my helmet.

“I need new stitches,” I commented, as the guys let me have a little bit of space. “The Stripper ripped them open.”

After a little while, the boys had to disperse, I stood with Travis beside his bike as he walked me through his routine quietly while reprimanding me on how I needed to go to the medic before I died of blood loss. Finally, he had to suit up and queue up for his turn - I snuck in a kiss before he put on his helmet and wished him luck as he kicked his bike into life.

As Travis left the gate, I took a vantage point near the entrance/exit where I could see most of his run as he had done for mine, flanked by Renner and Jeremy, both of whom were slated to go soon after Travis. I gripped Renner’s arm as Travis nearly swapped the front tire while landing his second trick, and winced as he held his Lazy Boy/Backflip combination for just a fraction of a second longer than I could manage it. With Travis, it was either go big or go home, and it was probably enough to give any normal woman a heart attack. To me, watching Travis perform was nearly as exciting s getting out there myself.

Nonetheless, I was happy to see him back into the staging area in one piece. He brushed a gloved hand over my head as he blew past and skidded to a stop just before he would have collided with a wall.

“Oh man, did you see that front tire try to flip out on me? I thought I was going to loose it!” Excited as ever, Travis wore an enormous grin as I wished Renner luck before he too shot out onto the track.

“God Travis, you kicked my ass!” I punched him in the shoulder before he could sweep me up into his arms Indiana Jones style.

“Don’t say that, it’s not over until the fat lady sings. Or until the fat judge announces our scores.”

We didn’t have long to wait - Renner and Jeremy were only separated by a few riders, and after Stenberg, there was only one racer left. While the judges were compiling their thoughts and tallying scores, I was supposed to do a short, five jump demo on my quad, which was lined up at the start as soon as the last rider went out.