Status: Chapter 25 to come!
Reach for the Sky
California.
I had to get to Cali. It wasn’t so much of a want as an unexplainable but understandable need, I realized as I began to throw things into my luggage without thinking to stop and dress. Tommy was dead and I needed to go back to California.
“Scottie,” Travis sounded concerned as he handed me a pair of clean underwear and a shirt, which I tossed into the gaping duffel bag without realizing he meant me to put them on. His strong hands pinned my arms to my sides, successfully halting the loading process. “Scottie. You’re not going anywhere tonight. I know it’s rough, but there’s nothing you can do right now.” Slowly, he reeled my body into his as if I were the prizewinning hundred-pounder in a tarpon fishing competition and gently pressed my head into his bony chest with one calloused paw.
“Oh God, Travis. Oh God.” Nearly naked in a hotel room that was almost a thousand miles away from where I needed to be, all I could do was wrap my arms around Travis’s thin waist and will myself to remain that way.
“I know honey. Trust me.”
After a while, Travis helped me dress and deemed that I was stable enough to call Oakley for the funeral information. As I stood by the window of the long hotel hallway, writing information down on a complimentary pad of paper as quickly as I could, Travis, Ronnie and Jeremy stood as close as they could without imposing.
“God Oaks, I don’t know what to think. How did it happen?”
“Sharon told me he was attempting a new backflip combo into the foam pit with the guys, just the usual day. But he missed. And the quad landed on his back, it severed his spinal column at the neck. He died instantly, Scottie. He didn‘t suffer.” Sharon. Sharon was Tommy Gallagher’s wife, and one of my oldest friends. We had met her at a local race when Tommy and I had only just come out on the circuit. Quad riding had been Tommy’s life, his everything, and Sharon had somehow managed to make herself fit within his lifestyle, even though she was a non-rider.
I had been one of the bride’s maids in their wedding, Oakley and I had danced at the reception. It was difficult to believe that it had been a year ago. But then again, it was difficult to believe that Tommy was dead.
“Oakley,”
“It’s ok, Scottie. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s going to be ok.”
“He’s in a better place and all that bullshit. I know. But he belongs here with us.”
“Fuck Scottie, he’s up there teaching God how to throw a fucking backflip.” I giggled at the sentiment as I gnawed on a hangnail, compounding the slight nuisance until it was a wound. “Get some sleep, girl.” He hung up.
“What was that about?” Renner asked, as I let Travis pull me to his chest once more, where I was safe.
“Oakley said he… Oaks said Tommy’s probably teaching God how to backflip a quad.” Jeremy lifted an eyebrow before he bit a knuckle to keep in his loud trademark laugh, which would certainly have woken the entire floor. “I just…” There were no words, so I cracked the knuckles of my toes on the carpet, placing each bare foot on one of Travis’s. He brushed the hair out of my face to kiss my forehead.
“I can’t believe it either,” Stenberg murmured, glaring at the floor sullenly. “It’s like this is just some sick joke.”
“The first flight out for Cali leaves at ten o’clock, and I mean to be on it.” Renner’s face was set in grim determination, his hands balled into fists.
“We should go to bed, then.” I glanced up at Travis’s face - from my vantage point, I could only see his chin and the five o’clock shadow which grew upon it. He knew I was questioning him, though. “We’re going to Ocotillo tomorrow.”
“But you have to practice for X-Games,”
“Renner, Stenberg, you have a foam pit I can borrow for a little while, right?” It wasn’t the first time I was thankful for Travis’s dogged loyalty. Ronnie nodded as he rubbed my back gently with the open palm of his hand as Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest, mumbling something about how we should just fuck the competition season.
“Whatever gets you two over. I’ve got a guest room, too.” Briefly, I ducked from under Travis’s arms to hug the ‘old man,’ thanking him, and allowed myself to be led back to bed.
The next morning was absolute chaos, worse than usual. One would have thought that we would have had traveling with enormous crews and dirt bikes down, but the sport seemed to lack science. The entire crew but for Travis, his dirt bike, my quad and I boarded a plane headed for Maryland - Jolene had agreed to fly out with Achilles and some spare clothes.
As we waited for our plane, Renner paced on his phone trying to find a ride to his ranch as his mechanics secured his and Travis’s dirt bikes and my quad in a traveling crate with Renner’s bike; the Mulisha guys laid around in the waiting area kicking their feet and twiddling their thumbs as the plane taxied to the gate. For the ride to his place, I managed to pass out once more, curled up in a little ball between Ronnie and Travis with my head in Travis’s lap as he absently stroked my hair. There was nothing else I could do - couldn’t call Oakley to see how he was getting out to Cali, couldn’t call Sharon to see if she was alright.
Somewhere during the ridiculously long flight, Travis shook me awake and asked me to tell him about Tommy; Renner propped his head up beside me to listen, and the few Mulisha members who weren’t asleep or drunk tuned in to listen as well. With a sigh, I pulled my hair over my shoulder so I could braid the curls while I spoke.
Tommy and I had grown up together, when I got my first ATV, he had taught me how to wheelie, much to the dismay of my mother. Competing with him was probably the reason I had gotten to the level of racing I had achieved thus far - Tommy had always been just one step ahead of me, driving me with his success. His racing record, spotless, he won many more than he lost which was no feat to be underestimated. Tommy had somehow managed to both be wildly successful in both Motocross and Freestyle, he had pioneered the backflip on a quad; he had moved out to California from Florida when he had enough money to buy a place and start building his own track and a foam pit, and learned from the Metal Mulisha much as I had from Travis.
“And that’s about all, really…” With a sigh, I leaned my head on Travis’s shoulder. “Tommy was amazing.” He began to twist strands of my hair together as if he wanted to braid them again, pulling half of the red mass loose from the braid I had willed it into.
“He really was something,” Renner set his motocross magazine down, folded backwards as to not loose his spot. “Damn we picked a horrible sport, didn’t we?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m sure Tommy knew the risks just like we do.” Travis was definitely the biggest fan of his own sport that I had ever run into - it was rare for a FMX guy to go and just watch a Motocross race just for the fun of it - he would defend dirt biking until he was blue in the face.
“Memento Mori.” An eerie silence fell in our ragtag corner of the airplane as the whisper dissipated, broken by one of the Mulisha guys.
“What does that mean?” I lifted an eyebrow at the tattooed biker, who I thought I remembered was named Colin. With a sigh, I pushed the headphones of my iPod into my ears and curled up against Travis once more; someone else could explain Latin better than I could, I was certain. Reaching for Renner’s abandoned magazine, Travis let a lanky arm settle over my shoulders.
Before I knew it, he shook me awake at LAX. The Mulisha guys had quite a group waiting for them as we filed off the airplane - girls screamed their names and asked for autographs, hugs, sex… whatever the guys would give, they wanted. It was a little intense, and Travis and I didn’t manage to slip by unnoticed as I would have preferred; I found myself signing away and posing for photographs, which I attempted to avoid due to the simple fact that no one looks good after a thirteen hour flight.
Renner loaded us into his truck (and trailer, thankfully, I had never been able to fit two dirt bikes and a quad into a truck bed) and we began the two hour drive to his home in Fallbrook - merely minutes away from where Tommy and Sharon lived in Murrieta, and less still to where the Mulisha lived in Temecula.
“Sharon?” Her voice sounded shaky when she answered the phone, but I knew one of the few girls I managed to be friends with instantly. “Sharon, it’s Scottie. I’m here. We’re staying with Renner. What can I do?”
“Scottie,” Travis sounded concerned as he handed me a pair of clean underwear and a shirt, which I tossed into the gaping duffel bag without realizing he meant me to put them on. His strong hands pinned my arms to my sides, successfully halting the loading process. “Scottie. You’re not going anywhere tonight. I know it’s rough, but there’s nothing you can do right now.” Slowly, he reeled my body into his as if I were the prizewinning hundred-pounder in a tarpon fishing competition and gently pressed my head into his bony chest with one calloused paw.
“Oh God, Travis. Oh God.” Nearly naked in a hotel room that was almost a thousand miles away from where I needed to be, all I could do was wrap my arms around Travis’s thin waist and will myself to remain that way.
“I know honey. Trust me.”
After a while, Travis helped me dress and deemed that I was stable enough to call Oakley for the funeral information. As I stood by the window of the long hotel hallway, writing information down on a complimentary pad of paper as quickly as I could, Travis, Ronnie and Jeremy stood as close as they could without imposing.
“God Oaks, I don’t know what to think. How did it happen?”
“Sharon told me he was attempting a new backflip combo into the foam pit with the guys, just the usual day. But he missed. And the quad landed on his back, it severed his spinal column at the neck. He died instantly, Scottie. He didn‘t suffer.” Sharon. Sharon was Tommy Gallagher’s wife, and one of my oldest friends. We had met her at a local race when Tommy and I had only just come out on the circuit. Quad riding had been Tommy’s life, his everything, and Sharon had somehow managed to make herself fit within his lifestyle, even though she was a non-rider.
I had been one of the bride’s maids in their wedding, Oakley and I had danced at the reception. It was difficult to believe that it had been a year ago. But then again, it was difficult to believe that Tommy was dead.
“Oakley,”
“It’s ok, Scottie. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s going to be ok.”
“He’s in a better place and all that bullshit. I know. But he belongs here with us.”
“Fuck Scottie, he’s up there teaching God how to throw a fucking backflip.” I giggled at the sentiment as I gnawed on a hangnail, compounding the slight nuisance until it was a wound. “Get some sleep, girl.” He hung up.
“What was that about?” Renner asked, as I let Travis pull me to his chest once more, where I was safe.
“Oakley said he… Oaks said Tommy’s probably teaching God how to backflip a quad.” Jeremy lifted an eyebrow before he bit a knuckle to keep in his loud trademark laugh, which would certainly have woken the entire floor. “I just…” There were no words, so I cracked the knuckles of my toes on the carpet, placing each bare foot on one of Travis’s. He brushed the hair out of my face to kiss my forehead.
“I can’t believe it either,” Stenberg murmured, glaring at the floor sullenly. “It’s like this is just some sick joke.”
“The first flight out for Cali leaves at ten o’clock, and I mean to be on it.” Renner’s face was set in grim determination, his hands balled into fists.
“We should go to bed, then.” I glanced up at Travis’s face - from my vantage point, I could only see his chin and the five o’clock shadow which grew upon it. He knew I was questioning him, though. “We’re going to Ocotillo tomorrow.”
“But you have to practice for X-Games,”
“Renner, Stenberg, you have a foam pit I can borrow for a little while, right?” It wasn’t the first time I was thankful for Travis’s dogged loyalty. Ronnie nodded as he rubbed my back gently with the open palm of his hand as Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest, mumbling something about how we should just fuck the competition season.
“Whatever gets you two over. I’ve got a guest room, too.” Briefly, I ducked from under Travis’s arms to hug the ‘old man,’ thanking him, and allowed myself to be led back to bed.
The next morning was absolute chaos, worse than usual. One would have thought that we would have had traveling with enormous crews and dirt bikes down, but the sport seemed to lack science. The entire crew but for Travis, his dirt bike, my quad and I boarded a plane headed for Maryland - Jolene had agreed to fly out with Achilles and some spare clothes.
As we waited for our plane, Renner paced on his phone trying to find a ride to his ranch as his mechanics secured his and Travis’s dirt bikes and my quad in a traveling crate with Renner’s bike; the Mulisha guys laid around in the waiting area kicking their feet and twiddling their thumbs as the plane taxied to the gate. For the ride to his place, I managed to pass out once more, curled up in a little ball between Ronnie and Travis with my head in Travis’s lap as he absently stroked my hair. There was nothing else I could do - couldn’t call Oakley to see how he was getting out to Cali, couldn’t call Sharon to see if she was alright.
Somewhere during the ridiculously long flight, Travis shook me awake and asked me to tell him about Tommy; Renner propped his head up beside me to listen, and the few Mulisha members who weren’t asleep or drunk tuned in to listen as well. With a sigh, I pulled my hair over my shoulder so I could braid the curls while I spoke.
Tommy and I had grown up together, when I got my first ATV, he had taught me how to wheelie, much to the dismay of my mother. Competing with him was probably the reason I had gotten to the level of racing I had achieved thus far - Tommy had always been just one step ahead of me, driving me with his success. His racing record, spotless, he won many more than he lost which was no feat to be underestimated. Tommy had somehow managed to both be wildly successful in both Motocross and Freestyle, he had pioneered the backflip on a quad; he had moved out to California from Florida when he had enough money to buy a place and start building his own track and a foam pit, and learned from the Metal Mulisha much as I had from Travis.
“And that’s about all, really…” With a sigh, I leaned my head on Travis’s shoulder. “Tommy was amazing.” He began to twist strands of my hair together as if he wanted to braid them again, pulling half of the red mass loose from the braid I had willed it into.
“He really was something,” Renner set his motocross magazine down, folded backwards as to not loose his spot. “Damn we picked a horrible sport, didn’t we?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m sure Tommy knew the risks just like we do.” Travis was definitely the biggest fan of his own sport that I had ever run into - it was rare for a FMX guy to go and just watch a Motocross race just for the fun of it - he would defend dirt biking until he was blue in the face.
“Memento Mori.” An eerie silence fell in our ragtag corner of the airplane as the whisper dissipated, broken by one of the Mulisha guys.
“What does that mean?” I lifted an eyebrow at the tattooed biker, who I thought I remembered was named Colin. With a sigh, I pushed the headphones of my iPod into my ears and curled up against Travis once more; someone else could explain Latin better than I could, I was certain. Reaching for Renner’s abandoned magazine, Travis let a lanky arm settle over my shoulders.
Before I knew it, he shook me awake at LAX. The Mulisha guys had quite a group waiting for them as we filed off the airplane - girls screamed their names and asked for autographs, hugs, sex… whatever the guys would give, they wanted. It was a little intense, and Travis and I didn’t manage to slip by unnoticed as I would have preferred; I found myself signing away and posing for photographs, which I attempted to avoid due to the simple fact that no one looks good after a thirteen hour flight.
Renner loaded us into his truck (and trailer, thankfully, I had never been able to fit two dirt bikes and a quad into a truck bed) and we began the two hour drive to his home in Fallbrook - merely minutes away from where Tommy and Sharon lived in Murrieta, and less still to where the Mulisha lived in Temecula.
“Sharon?” Her voice sounded shaky when she answered the phone, but I knew one of the few girls I managed to be friends with instantly. “Sharon, it’s Scottie. I’m here. We’re staying with Renner. What can I do?”