By John w. Lefelhocz
 

 After taking his entry fee, the woman behind the table said, "Your number is 6 2 8,  put it on your left side so the finish camera can see it".
 Alex felt pretty good. He was due for a good finish he thought. The race was called to the line and Alex got a good starting position.
Coming up the road the wrong way on the course was a sight that all the racers hated to see. It was the four horsemen of Team Diablo. A racing squad from the West that had the strength to turn this race into a nightmare. They had the best bikes, the coolest van, the sponsor covered jerseys, the European coach, and the fast looking sun glasses. Alex felt his stomach tighten into an ugly tangled knot. To add insult to injury, the announcer called them to the front of the pack and proceeded to go on and on about how many records they held and races they had won. Alex wanted someone to show those guys up but they were too strong and too well organized.
 The race started and all Alex could do was sit in the pack as they sped through the laps. No race plan or tactics were necessary, only to survive. The Diablos  pushed the pace faster and faster. Then, half way through the race, the four horsemen, one at a time attacked away from the field. Someone in the pack in a haggard voice said, "Stick a fork in this one, its done ". The pack slowed to a reasonable pace and everyone rested. Thirteen laps later, Team Diablo lapped the field and raced off the front again. Alex chased them. At least he could get fifth place if he hung on. One of the horsemen told Alex to make sure he stayed out of the finish so the newspaper picture wouldn’t be cluttered by Alex’s homely mug.
 Then it happened. Alex got something in his left eye. He slowed down and  blinked but nothing improved. Finally he got it out, but now he was out of touch with the lead four and the pack was closing. Alex was upset and said aloud too himself,
 " Homely mug ?, what a jerk, I’d do anything to beat those guys". Then a voice from behind said " Maybe you can beat them". One racer had bridged up to Alex. The rider was wearing a scarlet colored jersey but didn’t really look like a racer. He had a mustache and a goatee, which is strange on a cyclist. Alex had not seen the guy for the first half of the race. He came out of nowhere. His face, arms and legs were red from sun burn, so the guy must have ridden a lot. It showed. He led Alex away from the pack and up to the four Diablo riders just as the last lap was starting.  Mr. "Scarlet Jersey" rode like a demon. He sprinted ahead of the four horseman before the final turn. Alex was stunned as he tried to stay close. Then, with a sound like a gun shot the demon  blew a tire and crashed onto the pavement. As sparks came up from metal meeting pavement, the four Team Diablo riders went down behind the crash like dominoes. Only Alex stayed up past the wreck. As Alex realized he had won the race, the sky strangely got darker. Alex looked back to see the bloodied, sun burnt, goateed rider with number 6 6 6 getting  up from the crash, laughing fiendishly. Alex beat them, but at what price?
 
 
 
 
 
 

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