Read Canyon Chaos for Free Online

Smedingham...which doesn’t give us long to get you ready. Come on, Jimmy,” said Grandpa, heading out of the shed towards the house.
    Jimmy shuffled after him.
    “You make breakfast,” called Grandpa, “while I find a nice surprise for you.”
    Jimmy tried to smile.
    What next?
    * * *
    Back in the house, Grandpa disappeared into the cupboard under the stairs while Jimmy put the kettle on and made yet another plate of jam sandwiches. He was beginning to feel sick and his hands were shaking. He had been feeling nervous about the race, but now he’d seen Cabbie he was terrified.
    What am I going to do? he thought. I can’t tell Grandpa that I don’t want to drive that old rustbucket, not after all the hard work he’s put in. I’ll have to give it a go...
    But then Horace Pelly’s horsey face crept into his mind again, the boy laughing himself to death and making fun of Jimmy in front of Max and all his friends.
    Grandpa was now deep in the cupboard under the stairs, muttering to himself. Occasionally something would come flying out: an old Christmas tree, a broom with no bristles, a chair with three legs.
    “Aha!” came his voice from the depths of the cupboard and Grandpa suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway with dust and cobwebs strung from the corners of his moustache to his ears. He was holding a battered crash helmet. “This was mine when I was just seventeen,” he said, carefully placing it on the kitchen table. “And now it’s yours, Jimmy.” Grandpa patted the crash helmet fondly. A cloud of dust and flakes of paint landed on Jimmy’s jam sandwich.
    “Thanks, Grandpa,” said Jimmy with as much enthusiasm as he could find.
    Grandpa placed the helmet ceremoniously on Jimmy’s head like he was crowning the next king of the world.
    “Come on then, Jimmy,” said Grandpa. “Let’s go and win that race.”
    “What about my breakfast?” asked Jimmy.
    Grandpa looked at the kitchen clock. “No time!” he said. “You can eat jam sandwiches any day of the week, but you’ll only get one shot at qualifying for the Robot Races. Come on!”
    They hurried back to the shed. Grandpa opened Cabbie’s door and Jimmy climbed in.
    There were buttons, switches, levers and dials covering every centimetre of the dashboard, on the doors to his left and right and even over the roof above his head. Jimmy’s eyes widened as he looked around. Cabbie might look like a scrapheap on the outside, but on the inside it was like being in the cockpit of a robo-rocket.
    “How do I—” he began, looking up. But Grandpa had already climbed onto his rusty old bicycle and was pedalling furiously out of the shed door, heading for the main road.
    “I’ll see you at the finish line!” he called over his shoulder.
    Jimmy glanced back down at the hundreds of buttons, knobs and levers that lined every inch of Cabbie. “But...but I don’t even know how to make it go!” he said to himself.
    “Go?” said an excited electronic voice from somewhere behind the dashboard. “Of course! Why didn’t you say so?”
    From all around Jimmy came a whirring noise which grew higher and louder as the racer powered itself up. A red button was flashing right in front of Jimmy.
    “Am I supposed to press this?” Jimmy asked nervously, not sure if he should expect an answer from the voice or not. There was no reply. Jimmy shrugged, then reached out a finger, took a deep breath and gently pressed the button.
    “Whoopeeeeee!” cried the voice and, with a deafening roar, Cabbie lurched forward at an incredible speed, hurling Jimmy back into his seat. He just had time to do up his seat belt before they crashed through the shed doors, out into the garden, through the neighbour’s fence and onto the road.
    They bounced down the kerb and Jimmy had to turn the steering wheel sharply to avoid hitting the wheelie bins belonging to Mrs Cranky across the street.
    “Come on,” encouraged Cabbie. “Put your foot down. Do you want to be in this