front of me, blocking the way. I’d try to skate the other way, and they’d all move as one in the other direction to block me again. I was beginning to think this wasn’t so much about somebody winning, as about making sure I would lose. As long as they kept me back like this, I would always be the last one to reach the rack of balls.
That would be bad news at checkpoint #3.
We quickly approached the second checkpoint. Like precision pilots the five racers smoothly moved into a single line, with me last, again. But this time I made sure to be close enough behind the fifth racer so he couldn’t try anything cute witfc the sixth ball.
He didn’t try. All six of us picked up a red ball and dumped it into the steel basket beyond the rack. This time, I was right there with them. But I was still in sixth place. Not good enough. I had to make a move.
The course then slid into a narrow canyon of ice. The walls rose up steeply on either side. There was maybe five feet between the walls where we were skating. It was so narrow, we had to skate single file. There was no way I could make up any ground.
I was in trouble. The next checkpoint only had five balls. If we stayed this way, I’d be gone. I tried to move up on the fifth racer, but it was like these guys had eyes in their butts. The whole line slid over in front of me. It was so frustrating! I was fast enough to keep up with them, but didn’t have the experience to do anything else.
We were closing in on the third checkpoint. I had to make some kind of move or the race would be over. An idea came to me that was either brilliant or totally whacked. Chances were good if I tried it, I’d crash and burn. But I didn’t see any other way. I looked ahead at the ice walls to either side of us. I needed a little luck, and got it. Ahead to my right I saw a spot that was a little less steep than the rest. There wasn’t time to think. I had to go for it.
I made a quick move to my left and sure enough, the whole line of racers slid in that direction to block me. But then I shot to my right and skated toward the wall of ice. The slope was forgiving enough that I didn’t slam into it. Instead I skated a few feet up onto the wall, forcing my chattering legs to hold firm. I then pivoted my body back left and shot for the center. The momentum from being up on the wall gave me just enough extra speed for a slingshot between the fourth and fifth skater. It was a NASCAR move all the way, and it worked.
The fifth guy couldn’t believe it. My surprise move threw off his rhythm and he nearly fell. By then we were at the checkpoint rack of balls. The fifth, and last, was mine. I scooped it up and jammed it into the basket. I was still alive.
The next section of the race was hairy. We shot out of the ice canyon and the course again moved left. I now realized we were moving in a big loop, counterclockwise, back to the starting line. The racers ahead of me broke out of formation. A second later, I saw why.
The expanse of ice before us was littered with boulder-size chunks of ice. There was no straight path through. It was an obstacle course. Blasting through at full speed would be suicide. We had to back off the speed, get more control, and dodge the boulders. Fpr me it was a relief, because I was getting tired. I’d bet Anything that these guys were in better shape than I was. My only advantage was that I had so much at stake, I couldn’t lose. I was racing on adrenaline.
All five of us took a different route. It was tricky, not only because I had to get through as fast as possible, but now that I wasn’t following anybody, I had to keep an eye out for the red arrows that marked the course.
I have to admit, I was doing pretty well. I can’t take all the credit though. These skate pad things were incredible. They made it so easy to shift direction, I started pouring on the speed and cutting it very close to the boulders. I saw that I was actually pulling ahead of the others. It was awesome! By the time we got to the end of the boulder field, I was out in front. The checkpoint was just past the final obstacle, and the first ball was mine. Yes! But I didn’t care about winning. All that mattered was the next checkpoint. I had to get one of the next balls to make sure I’d finish. I was feeling pretty confident, though, which in my experience is the kiss of death. This time was no different.
I had just grabbed the red ball and dumped it into the steel basket, ready for the final push, when something hit me on the back of the foot. At first I didn’t know what it was. But I wasn’t worried… until I put that foot down and tried to push off. Before I knew it, I lost my balance and fell to the ice. Something had happened to my skate pad.
On the ice next to me, I saw the culprit. A red ball was lying at my feet. The first racer shot up, scooped up the ball, and dumped it into the basket.
“Sorry,” he said. “It got away from me.”
Yeah, right. He had thrown it at me. The ball must have knocked off my skate pad and when I put my foot down, my boot caught the ice and sent me tumbling. Sure enough, I saw the wire frame of the skate pad a few feet away. I scrambled for it, desperately pulling it back over my shoe.
I quickly looked up to see the four other skaters leaving me behind. I was done. There was no way I could catch up and pass anybody before the next checkpoint. But I didn’t know what else to do. So I strapped the skate pad back on and skated after them, praying for a miracle.
The racecourse again veered left and into another canyon. This one wasn’t as narrow as the first, and the walls weren’t quite as steep. I pushed as hard as I could, trying to catch up, but it was useless. These guys weren’t taking any more chances. They were skating hard and moving faster than they had the whole race. The sad truth hit me that up until then, they had been playing with me. They knew I wasn’t a threat and barely put out any effort. But now, they had their heads down and pumped their arms powerfully. I didn’t stand a chance.
That’s when I got the miracle I needed.
The four remaining racers were so focused, they didn’t see it coming. But I did. At first I wasn’t sure what it was. It didn’t make sense. But nothing about this fantasy building made any sense, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. A few seconds later I saw exactly what it was and it suddenly made all sorts of sense.
High up the slope on one side of the canyon, an avalanche was starting. But it wasn’t about snow and ice. It was an avalanche of red balls. There must have been forty of them, all rolling down the hill, headed for the skaters. There was only one explanation.
Loor.
I looked up to the top of the rise to see her standing there with the empty wire basket that had once held all the balls. Excellent.
I glanced down to the racers. They had no clue about what was bouncing down toward them from above. The only question now was whether Loor had timed it right. There was a chance the tumbling balls would miss them entirely.
They didn’t.
The balls rained down on top of the unsuspecting racers, making them scatter. One took a header and beefed it into the canyon wall. Another spun out, lost control, and came to a dead stop. A third kept going, but had to pinwheel his arms to keep his balance. One racer dodged the balls completely and kept going. I didn’t care. Fourth place was all I needed.
I flashed past the three skaters who were trying to get their balance back. They didn’t know what had hit them. When I got to the checkpoint, I had my choice of three balls. I felt like taking one and dumping the other two over, just to put an exclamation point on the moment. But I figured we had already cheated enough. So I picked up one of the balls, and spiked it into the steel basket with a vengeance.
I coasted home on the last leg. By then the two other racers caught up and passed me, but I didn’t care. I skated across the finish line with my hands in the air chanting, “We’re number four! We’re number four!”
Loor jogged up and patted me on the back. I could tell she was holding back a smile.
“Good race, Pendragon,” she said.
“Good thinking, Loor,” I shot back.
“You cheated!” one of the racers yelled. It was the last guy who dropped out. He skated up to the finish line looking all sorts of angry. “I call foul!”
“Excuse me,” I said calmly. “I thought the first rule was: Anything goes.”
“But she interfered,” he protested.
“But it was okay to throw a ball at me and knock my skate pad off?” I shot back. “I don’t think so.”
By then the sixth skater had returned. “I want another race,” he demanded.
“Tough,” I said.
“There won’t be another race,” said the first racer firmly. It was the guy who explained the race to us and
