Spokes (31 page)

"If it didn't happen this week, or it didn't happen with a bicycle, I don't need to include it. I'll look
biased as hell if I leave some major item out, but, Luca, you were right when you said I was a sympathetic member of the press." He bent to
nuzzle into brown curls. "You aren't going to get a better platform."

"Tell only half the story?" Luca turned enough to look into Christopher's eyes.

"Hmm." That wasn't how he'd describe it. "More like tell all the story, but without details. Depends on
how widely known that sabotage issue is, and what exactly happened between you later."

"We didn't talk for two years and tried to blow each other off the road." Luca leaned his face into his hands, giving no sign
that Christopher's massage was loosening a thing. "Everyone knew we were angry, but no sly hints about knowing why."

"Then I can describe that as 'a falling-out we both contributed to, and eventually got past.' See? That's not so
bad." Much more benign than anything Bob would do with the information.

"All the story." Luca snorted. "And not all the story, at same time. I was glad to be on team with him,
Christopher." Luca's shoulders relaxed just a bit. "He was strong rider, good climber. Even young. But no sense of timing,
not on bike, not in life. Maybe I wasn't better. Maybe grabbing opportunities has to be good for the person you grab. Maybe I shouldn't
have grabbed you."

"Don't
ever
say that!" Christopher shook Luca's shoulders one quick rebuke. "Maybe we're
all messed up, but I wouldn't have missed one single minute, well, except the 'goodbye' part. I wouldn't be here as
a writer if you hadn't grabbed me. There were opportunities, things you said, that I shouldn't have grabbed, and I'm trying
to make up for it. I'm sorry I did things badly. I'm trying to do better."

Luca reached up to lay his hand over Christopher's. "I know. Any bad is lost in the shadow of all the good. Thank you. Maybe talking
now to journo-you is more grabbing. For me, trying to save reputation." With a touch of the mouse, Luca expanded the browser and switched
windows. "This says I knocked him down, left him, all on purpose. For old angers. Why would I do that to anyone? Why would I hurt my lieutenant?
I need him. Team needs him."

"This writer needs to get attention. He's making things up. Luca, we'll put your own words out there, and ignore the slime.
We'll call Michel. I'll ask him if I can quote what he said, and we'll get the truth out. Damiano probably has a video
camera--we'll do an interview, post it. Your own words will be more important than this trash."

"Let's do it now. While I have the courage to talk."

Damiano had a decent video camera and a tripod, lurking in a cabinet below the TV. Christopher aimed it at two chairs sitting under the brightest lights in
the midnight house. Luca joined him, hair combed, his turquoise jersey zipped to the neck. Christopher started the camera and darted to the second chair,
butterflies the size of cormorants in his gut.

"This is Christopher Nye of
CycloWorld
, speaking with Luca Biondi of Team Antano-Clark. Signor Biondi wore the
maglia rosa
of the
Giro's leader before the tragic accident that ended his hopes and deprived him of his friend and teammate Rolf Knecht. Signor Biondi has agreed
to tell us about that final stage..."

His questions directed Luca to necessary points: their long rivalry, sharing hotel rooms on tour, the dog, the joke and its reference, and his grief. Luca
talked to Christopher, not the camera, and wiped his eyes before he was done. So did Christopher.

"...I will miss him for the rest of my life." Luca bowed his head.

Christopher wouldn't press him for more, and besides, that would make a good slow dissolve. Not to mention that the interviewer was sniffling and
waiting for the smartass voice in his head to say
Aww, do you miss me like that?
And yes, he did. Christopher jumped up to turn the camera off and
find tissues for them both.

Luca wiped his eyes and stood to lean into Christopher's embrace. "He was a good man. We just weren't good for each other.
Too young, wanted too many exact same things."

I
'
ll never be more than a recreational companion on the road. But I am what you need out of the saddle. Even your life isn
'
t spent entirely on a bike.
"I'm pretty sure we won't have that problem. Come on back to bed, Luca."

***

Morning came, and again Christopher woke to an empty bed. He found Luca in the back garden with a cup of coffee, watching the light play on the lake below.
"This is so beautiful. How do we thank Damiano for letting us stay here?"

"We leave some good wine." Luca took a deep pull at his coffee cup and seemed surprised to have drained it.

"Okay. Want a refill while I'm getting mine?"

Luca handed over his cup.

While Christopher ambled around the kitchen, his eye fell on the BMW key fob hanging on its hook. Damiano had clearly said to use the car. They'd
been cooped up in the house for the better part of a week. It was a rest day for the race, so he didn't have to spend hours in front of the
screen trying to soak up what he was supposed to be watching live. Consoling himself that he'd be watching the bulk of the race on a screen in
the press area if he were there didn't make it right, or even much better, but until he had a better solution for being in two places at once, it
would have to do.

He wouldn't ride without Luca, and Luca hadn't wanted to ride.
You will know when it
'
s time to ride again.
Yeah, he had, but his own time didn't have a lucrative contract attached, and more races yet in the season. Luca
needed the days off, but he also needed to maintain his form if he was going to race well following the Giro. Coming to a second peak in time for the
Vuelta de Espana
was probably his goal, but an extended period of pretend-riding indoors wasn't going to keep him in top shape.
Christopher wanted to ride, and Luca needed to ride. He wouldn't push Luca to anything, not sex, not cycling, but he'd for damned sure
put the opportunity for both out there.

Luca got his coffee and a kiss, and Christopher went inside to consult maps.

He knew where he was going. Now for how to get there. The back seat of the sporty, compact liftback BMW folded down. More than enough room, good.
Christopher hit the quick releases on their bikes' front wheels and tucked the pieces into the car. He tiptoed back into the house, peeking
carefully for Luca. He was still sitting outside staring at the lake, or maybe at his past, and nothing moved but his hair in the breeze. Not a good sign.
A still Luca was a brooding Luca, and if the catharsis from yesterday hadn't lasted, this plan Christopher was hatching might refresh it. Either
way, they'd get out of the house.

Tugging his cycling shorts up over his butt, Christopher considered which clothing of Luca's to bring. What had Paolo left him? He was entitled
to wear pink shorts to go with his
maglia rosa,
but for what Christopher had in mind, that might be like strolling into a grocery store in a tux.
Team colors--better. Turquoise and black jersey and shorts, socks, good, cycling shoes, good. A tube of chamois cream. He'd better take
that.

Christopher pulled jeans over his shorts and added his turquoise jersey to the pile he'd hide in the car. A polo shirt would be fine until Luca
decided what he was going to do.

He parked clothing and shoes in the car and went in search of his target. "Had enough coffee?"

"Yes." Oh boy, Luca was back to monosyllables.

"Great. Go put your shoes on. We're going for a ride." He pulled Luca to standing.

"No, we aren't." Luca kept his eyes on the ground.

"Street shoes. We're taking the car." Christopher lifted Luca's chin enough for a nose-bump/almost kiss.
"Damiano said we could use it."

"I don't know how to drive."

Argh. "I do. You've ridden with me. I won't crease the BMW's pretty red fenders." He swatted
Luca's butt lightly. "Go put on your shoes."

At least he was getting that much cooperation. It would be seriously awkward to throw Luca over his shoulder and drag him to the garage.

They were out of the garage and halfway through the gate before his reluctant passenger noticed the cargo. "We have car full of
bicycles."

"They wanted to go for a ride too." Christopher touched a button on a remote and the gates closed smoothly behind them. Lovely
technology, and now Luca was well and truly stuck, since the car doors wouldn't open while they were in gear.

"Where are we going?" A decided edge colored Luca's voice.

"Just shut up and enjoy the scenery." Luca had probably been up and down their intended route half a dozen times, since the
Giro de Lombardia
used this road, but had he ever really been able to look around? "It's lovely." Did he remember what
lay at the other end of this road?

"Hmmph." Luca pointedly stared out the passenger window, but calmed down and really studied the green-covered hills dotted with houses
as elegant as the villa.

Strada Provenciale
41 took them up an unpopulated, tree-lined canyon, and they steadily gained elevation. If Luca were willing to ride, they'd scoff at taking a car
the few miles they needed to go, but now.... Luca needed the choice.

Christopher parked at an overlook above the eastern leg of Lake Como, slender and blue in the valley below. If Luca were in a kissing mood, this would be a
great spot to park and get frisky. Maybe not. A car shot by on the road below them. Some cyclists in a motley assortment of jerseys and hair tending to the
gray went past going the other direction. Tourists. Getting all over. Jeez.

"The lake is pretty." Luca stared through the windshield. "But I was looking at a pretty lake before."

"Gorgeous," Christopher agreed. "But not why we came." He scanned the hilltops to their left. The topographical map
suggested he should be able to see their destination from here. "We're going over there." He pointed to a white building with
a gray tower one hill over. "And we stopped because you need to make a decision."

Luca said nothing.

"I know you know where we are. And I stopped because we need to decide how to get there. I can drive us the rest of the way."
Christopher tried peeling Luca's hand away from the gearshift. He covered it with his own instead. "But I think that's
disrespectful. We've both lost people we care about. It's right for us both to go there. We are cyclists, our dead were cyclists, and
we should approach this shrine on two wheels."

Luca swallowed hard, staring at the church in the distance. "It would be very wrong for us to visit the place of our patron saint in a
car."

"I won't make you go, but I need to go." Where'd this lump in his throat come from? He wasn't usually a
praying man. Except when he needed to beg Whoever was running the universe to keep Luca safe.

"I promised to place Stu's name among cyclists. His nameplate is in my bag." Luca spoke slowly.

"Should we go back and get it?" No, please no. If they went back he wasn't sure he could get Luca in the car a second time.

"Need to get permission first. We come back, have ceremony." He stared past Christopher to the shrine. "But I need cycling
shoes."

Christopher reached behind the passenger seat and set both pairs of fixed-sole shoes in Luca's lap. "Done."

"This isn't proper clothing." He plucked at the neck of his T-shirt.

Christopher reached again for the colorful pile of miracle fiber. Before Luca could find another objection, he produced the chamois cream.
"We'll get our gloves and helmets when we get the bikes out."

"What about you?"

"One of those jerseys is mine." And clean--the villa did have a washer. He peeled his jeans down to reveal black spandex.
"I think I brought everything."

Without a word, Luca unzipped his jeans. In a moment, he was again the splendid cyclist who had won or placed in nearly every event he'd ridden
this spring. All except for the deepened sun-lines around his eyes and the tautness in his lips.

They reassembled their bikes and swung aboard for the last few kilometers to
il Santuario della Madonna del Ghisallo.

Chapter 28

Luca let Christopher lead, staying on his wheel but not pushing. The road flattened enough to allow them to draft for a few meters at a time, but dipped
and rose to "stand on pedals" steepness in between. Two kilometers of steady climbing had Christopher's legs talking to him.
Luca made no comment, but in the last half kilometer he zipped around to take the lead. Christopher followed in his wake.

The square, white church stood on the highest hill on this side of the lake, its gray stone bell tower pointing to the heavens. Tourists roamed, snapping
pictures and chatting.

They racked their bikes and clopped into a chapel scarcely larger than Christopher's apartment. Christopher gasped, but Luca must have been here
before. He passed the walls pinned with race banners and tiled with plaques, each with a picture, name and dates, heading straight to a tiered table with
candles, some burning. He lit one and knelt at the table, his hands clasped.

Maybe that was the way to pray here, though Christopher usually spoke more directly with God. He needed to be here, but what he needed was outside, where
heaven was close enough to touch and blue enough for eternity. Inside, the history of his sport rested under the yellow arched ceiling, where bicycles
lined the upper racks and crowded the floor at one end. The bikes were labeled with their names and races: Gianni Bugno's machine stood against
Eddy Merckx's and Gino Bartali's. Jerseys, yellow, pink, blue, and polka dot, adorned the walls. Offerings of thanks, reminders of
mortality, dedicated to la Madonna del Ghisallo to keep them all safe. The bicycle that carried Fabio Casartelli to his death in the 1995 Tour de France
loomed overhead, its forks bent like knees. Rolf's blue King of the Mountain jersey belonged here with other mementos of the renowned, fallen and
living. Stu's name belonged here, to be remembered. An eternal flame burned in the center of the church--if Christopher stared into the
flame maybe only a few tears would spill over.