Gravity Check Read online

  Gravity Check

  Alex Van Tol

  Orca sports

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  Copyright © 2011 Alex Van Tol

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Van Tol, Alex

  Gravity check [electronic resource] / Alex Van Tol.

  (Orca sports)

  Type of computer file: Electronic monograph in PDF format.

  Issued also in print format.

  ISBN 978-1-55469-351-1

  I. Title. II. Series: Orca sports (Online)

  PS8643.A63G73 2011 JC813’.6 C2010-907999-X

  First published in the United States, 2011

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010942093

  Summary: Jamie and his brother Seth stumble upon a marijuana grow-op when they go mountain biking in the backcountry.

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Typesetting by Christine Toller

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 5626, Stn. B PO BOX 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  14 13 12 11 • 4 3 2 1

  For Colin, whose support has made my career as a writer possible.

  Contents

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  Acknowledgments

  chapter one

  It’s been rainy this year. Every time the forest trails have a chance to dry out a bit, another big dump of H2O comes along and turns the dirt back into slop.

  I don’t mind. I’m okay with slop.

  I edge along a tricky section of trail, staying high to keep my wheels moving. I don’t want to slip down into the mud pit below. It’s fun to get muddy, but deep, sucking craters of the stuff tend to slow you down a bit. And gum up your bike.

  I’m good for about ten feet. Then my rear tire hits a wet patch and starts to slide. I lean forward and mash the pedals, transferring my weight onto the front tire. I hope it’s got some bite.

  Yep. Uh…nope. My front tire catches, then spins. I’m finished. I give up and take the slip ’n slide to the bottom.

  I come to a stop and find my footing in the deep mud. I pull my bike out from under me. About a pound of black clay decorates my shorts. Another pound has crammed itself into the chain and gearshift.

  Out here on the trails, there’s nothing I can do about mud in my gears. Some of it will clear out when I start riding again. I’ll give my bike a good hose down when we get home. Otherwise the gunk will harden into noisy little grindies that’ll mess up my shifting.

  I hear a laugh and look up the hill. My little brother Seth is standing at the start of the slippery section. “Nice one, Jamie,” he calls. “But let me show you how it’s done.” Seth grabs his handlebars and prepares to push off.

  I doubt he’ll make it. Especially since I left him a nice skid track to follow. “You’re not going to make it across, Seth,” I say. “Not if I came down.”

  Seth laughs again. “I’m not planning on bogging out, bro.”

  I feel my ears grow hot. It’s not often that I flunk a section, so I’m feeling a bit choked right now. “Just wait a sec, man,” I say. “You’re not going to make it, so let me get out of your way.” I carry my bike a few steps to where the mud isn’t so deep and set it down. I swing my leg over the crossbar and crank on the pedals. My tires slip, but then they grab. I squint as mud flings off my front tire. It’s a grunt, but a few good pushes haul me out of the hole and onto the forest floor.

  Where does Seth get off being so cocky? As if he’s actually going to make this section. If I crapped out, then there’s a good chance he will too. He hasn’t been riding as long as I have.

  It burns me that he’s so sure of himself. He’s always like that. It’s like nothing fazes him. But at the same time, I admire him for it. And I envy him for it too.

  Which basically makes me hate him.

  Everyone I know would be shocked to hear me say that. My teachers, my friends, my grandparents, my swim coach.

  Okay, maybe my parents know how I feel. Just a little bit. It’s hard to hide stuff, especially from my mom.

  I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad have started to piece things together. I think that’s why they decided to send us to camp for two weeks. We leave tomorrow morning.

  I know what you’re thinking. Camp? Sounds kinda hokey. Like we’re five and six instead of fifteen and sixteen. But it’s not just a camp, you know, like with sing-alongs and Capture the Flag and crafts. It’s a biking camp. Mountain biking.

  On the slope above me, Seth launches. I watch as his bike goes through the exact motions mine did a couple of minutes ago. Roll. Slip. Grab. Slip. Slow slide to the bottom.

  Satisfied, I suppress a grin.

  Seth lies in the mud for a moment, staring at the sky. Then he gets to his feet. He looks down at himself. “Wow, man,” he says. “I got, like, a mud enema back there.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh.

  “I warned you,” I say. “But you never listen to me anymore.”

  “I can make my own decisions, thanks,” he snaps. “You don’t always have to play big brother.” He picks his bike up and carries it out of the mud pit.

  His words make me angry, but I decide to let it go. I’d rather keep riding than get into an argument.

  I shoulder my bike, and we hoof it back up through the trees to the main trail. Mom’s going to love seeing our mud-caked clothes today. Knowing her, she’ll make us strip down to our boxers before even letting us inside the house.

  We blaze along the path, bumping over roots, catching air on little lifts and slogging through more muddy pitches. Neither of us talks. We just enjoy the feeling of spooling along the trail, soaking up everything in our path.

  I love mountain biking. I got into it a couple of years ago, with a cheap hardtail on the dirt track at the park near our place. Naturally, Seth wanted in on the action, so he got a bike too.

  I spend a lot of my free time checking out the trails around the fringes of the city. It’s a big city. There are a lot of trails, and a lot of them are forested, like this one. Sometimes Seth comes with me. When we’re getting along, that is.

  And when he’s not too busy.

  Seth’s got a lot of friends. He’s Mr. Popularity. He talks so much in class that he doesn’t get his work done. So he spends a lot of time playing
catch-up at home. Except lately, he’s been having more trouble catching up.

  I think my parents are hoping this camp is going to be some kind of bonding experience for me and my brother. Something that’ll bring us back together. Like we used to be.

  Although we’re in different grades at school, Seth and I have always done everything together. When we were little, we ate together, napped together, played together. Threw tantrums together. We shared the same room until last year, when our family moved closer to the university and added an extra bedroom to our world.

  Seth and I have a lot of the same interests. Mountain biking being one. Basketball, Big Gulps and girls being others. Whenever people see one of us, they always ask where the other one is.

  For a long time, I never cared that people talked about me and Seth in the same breath. It’s like mac and cheese. You don’t think of one without the other.

  But lately…I don’t know. Seth’s been driving me crazy. If I’m honest with myself, it’s because I’m jealous of Seth. I’m not as popular. Not as good-looking. Not as funny. Somehow over this past year, when I wasn’t paying attention, my little brother became Mr. Big.

  On one level, I hate him for it.

  But on another, he’s still my kid brother. It’s a messed-up feeling. I mean, Seth hasn’t really done anything to deserve my resentment. It’s not like he woke up one morning and said, Gee, I think I’ll be more popular than Jamie today. But I can’t stand him just the same. How he always knows the right thing to say. How everyone loves him, including teachers.

  It’s sick.

  And not in a good way.

  chapter two

  “You guys hungry?” our camp counselor asks from the head of our table. He cranes his head toward the kitchen. “I think it’s pizza for lunch.”

  “Sounds good to me, Chase,” says the skinny kid with glasses. I can’t remember his name right now. He sat in the first seat on the bus on the way up. Talked to the driver the entire time. That would make me nuts if I was driving. To have a know-it-all kid squawking in my ear for an hour and a half? No thanks. The driver didn’t seem to mind though.

  The bus dropped us off with our bags and bikes about an hour ago. You should have heard everyone grumbling about leaving our iPods and cell phones at home for two whole weeks.

  You have to admit, it is a bit of a drag.

  For me, though, it’s a worthwhile exchange. I want to be here. I’m looking forward to two straight weeks of bumps, jumps and awesome downhills.

  I look around the lodge. It’s busy, noisy, full of people moving around. And it smells great. My stomach rumbles, and I realize how hungry I am.

  I look back at Chase. He seems like a laid-back kind of guy. Big and muscular, like he could bulldoze you in a heartbeat. He’s sunburned, and his hair is a wild tangle of curls, but he’s got a nice face. Friendly. Early twenties. He told us this is his sixth year of being a counselor at Camp Edgelow. Six, man! He must have started when he was my age or something. I wonder if maybe he goes to the university where my dad teaches.

  Chase is hollering along with a noisy camp cheer now, pounding on the table as the program staff prepare to make their after-lunch announcements. Sitting next to Chase is the skinny kid from the bus. I remember his name now. Nolan. What a perfect name. He’s exactly how you’d picture a Nolan. Sharp, alert expression, like a raccoon. Skinny. Smudgy glasses. Hair that sticks up in the back. He’s obviously a total nerd. I wonder what he’s doing here, in an intermediate mountain-biking group. He’s the kind of kid that other kids would make life hard for in school. Not that I would. I’m not a dick like that. I don’t need to make other people feel bad to make myself feel better.

  Seth’s sitting next to Nolan, but let’s just skip over his blond, blue-eyed, grinning, freckled perfection and move on to the last person in our small group.

  Rico. He’s our junior counselor. From what I can tell, he’s the strong, silent type. He seems cool. Doesn’t talk unless he needs to say something. Not like Chase and Nolan, who are both motormouths.

  Seth’s a talker too. The three of them will get on famously, I’ll bet.

  Whatever. I’m going to focus on having fun this week, not on how Seth drives me crazy.

  As of tomorrow morning, our group is headed off-site for four days of pure mountain-biking excitement. Chase says when we’re done lunch, we’ll need to figure out our menus and pack our gear. We’ll still be able to get a couple hours of biking in before supper too. I’m a bit bummed that we’re not going to be sticking around to explore all the terrain around here. But I’m sure there’ll be even crazier tracks where we’re headed. First thing tomorrow, we’ll load our bikes onto a trailer and take the van up into the hills. Deep into the mountains. Where I can ditch my worries on the rolling single track.

  Just me, my bike and my wits, duking it out with the dirt trails.

  And my baby brother Seth far, far behind me.

  Sweet.

  chapter three

  Chase says there’s a pump track here, and we can go there after we’ve packed for our overnight! Awesome. I had no idea the camp had one. They’re superhard to build and a lot of places don’t even allow them. I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised. I mean, this is a mountain-biking camp, after all.

  I’ve never been on a full-fledged pump track before. I’ve just played around on the jumps that Seth and I have built up in the woods near our place. I’m totally busting to try it.

  After we finish packing, we hop on our bikes and pedal down to the pump track. I love my bike. Last year, I was riding hard-tail on an old Hahanna from, like, the Ice Age. But by April, I’d finally saved enough to buy my Kona Cadabra. It’s the sweetest ride. It’s more work to pedal this sucker uphill, because the suspension adds weight. But the ride down is way, way finer. Pumping and jumping is a snap on this bounce machine.

  Seth’s got my old bike. It’ll be good to him. He’ll have to save up for another one, though, if he wants a better ride. As if that’ll happen. Seth burns through money like a welding torch through pipe. Doesn’t matter how many hours he works at the sub shop, he spends his paychecks as soon as they come in.

  Nolan, Chase, Seth and Rico follow a short gravel road that leads straight down from the out-tripping building. I spot a path in the trees and take that instead. I didn’t sign up for road biking!

  The trail is short, dry, narrow and packed with roots. Primo. It’s not a steep slope, so I don’t even try to avoid the bumps. I stand on the pedals and rattle straight over them. I eat bumps for breakfast. I savor the jerky motion that the path creates in my wrists. My bike feels great. Tight and compact. Like an extension of my body.

  I arrive at the bottom of the hill, primed and ready for more. I follow the others, cutting through a field of long grass. On the other side of a small hill, a huge oval has been carved up into paths. It’s about the size of an Olympic swimming pool. Maybe bigger. And it’s filled—jammed, crisscrossed—with waves, berms and jumps. My mouth waters just looking at it.

  The pump track.

  “Whoa,” Seth says. His eyes are huge in his face. “This is the dopest pump track ever.” I roll my eyes. Like he would know. How many pump tracks has he been on? Exactly none.

  Nolan nods sagely. He looks like a skinny version of Harry Potter, without the scar.

  Chase steps off his bike and turns to us. “Welcome to the Camp Edgelow pump track, guys. I’ll give you a quick rundown of the rules. Skid lids, always. No rule about pads or guards here, but I’d never stop you from wearing protective gear. Only one guy at a time on the track. And stay in control. Okay?” He looks out at the pump track. I can tell he’s pretty excited too. “Watch me.” And he takes off.

  It’s a total stoke watching him ride. My heart races, and my eyes feast on his every move. I can practically feel the adrenaline spurting into my bloodstream every time he flips off a lip and catches air. Up, down, up, around, down. Every motion Chase makes is as smooth and fluid as a surfer rid
ing a mother wave. He’s got it dialed. The guy’s incredible!

  Chase rides around the pump track a couple of times. He pulls out some fancy freestyle moves just to show off. He doesn’t spin the pedals around once. That’s the whole idea of a pump track—to get all the way around by using only the movement of your body and your bike.

  Seth and Nolan cheer as Chase skids to a stop in a puff of dust. I dish the applause too, a huge grin splitting my face.

  “How about it?” Chase asks, breathing hard. Seth hoots, and we all nod. “Few pointers before you head out,” Chase says. “The goal here is to get you pumping so you can have better traction and more control. It’s a pump track, right? PUMP track.”

  I nod, but Seth asks, “Better traction and more control? Doesn’t that translate into going slower?”

  Chase shakes his head. “Actually, it’s the opposite. If you keep your body fluid, you can use the transitions and rollers to go faster. Think of a mogul skier whose legs move like pistons. Or a surfer soaking up wave chop with his legs. His upper body is quiet, right? Not moving a lot.” We’re all listening intently, so Chase continues. “Same thing on the pump track. You use your arms and legs to add or decrease pressure on the wheels. The traction lets you store up energy to get over the next obstacle. You’ll actually end up moving faster by applying pressure to the track at the right times. And,” he adds, “you’ll be in control. Which is the most important thing.”

  The physics of it makes sense to me, but it’s too much for Nolan to take in. “Hold it,” he says. “Can you go over that again, Chase?” I half expect him to whip out a pad and pencil and start taking notes.

  “I’ll do you one better,” Chase replies. “I’ll go around again. This time, watch how I stay active on the bike. Moving forward and back as well as up and down.”

  He pushes off again and rides another smooth circuit. I think about what he said about the skier’s legs sucking up the moguls. I can hear the knobs on his tires gripping as he corners, deep and swooping, in front of us and heads back into the bowl for the jumps across the center.