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insane tempo. If Polini caught him and rode his slipstream to the finish, he could certainly outsprint Buck. Buck’s only choice was to keep the tempo so high that Polini couldn’t sprint for the finish. At two laps to go, Polini was twenty meters back. When Buck rounded the swimming pool turn on the next lap, Polini was just ten meters back.
    LeMond was ringing the one-lap-to-go bell as though he were a lifelong hater of bells determined to make this one pay, and again Buck heard that voice that somehow terrified him and spurred him on: Go Buck!
    He went, pedaling furiously. Polini was in his slipstream now on the descent, and they went into the final turns of the final lap together. Polini rammed his shoulder into Buck’s side, trying to break his rhythm, but only manage to unbalance himself in the process. The two men headed up the front straight wheel-to-wheel, wrenching on the handlebars and grimacing with the pain. At the line, they both pushed their bikes as far ahead of them as they could, but it was no contest. Buck was ahead by half a bike length. He could hear Polini’s cry of anguish as he crossed the line second. The effort of the chase had been too much for him.
    Buck rode his bike around the back of the course. All he could do was breathe. He stopped his bike at the bottom of the hill on the back side, got off, and lay down in the grass, staring up through the trees at the blue sky and sucking air in great gulps.
    I won, he thought. Somehow, I won. I hope you saw that, Pop. I won.

Chapter 7
    Faith had been staring out the glass windows in the gym’s front door when her phone rang. It was LeMond, wondering if she’d like to see Buck’s bicycle race. She’d never seen a bike race before.
    “I just thought you might like to check it out. A crit is really something to see,” he said.
    Well, why not, she thought. It’s no CrossFit Games, but people do enjoy professional cycling. For some reason. She wouldn’t have any students until later in the afternoon, so it’d at least be an excuse to take a long lunch and head across town.
    “All right,” she said. “I’ll head down there for a bit.”
    She got directions from LeMond, parked her car a block away, and walked in. The gendarmes waved her through. One of them had one of those “I’m about to say something smarmy” smirks on his face, but all he said was “Bonjour.” He still managed to inject a certain amount of smarm into that one word, however, as he looked her up and down.
    The race was already in progress when she arrived. She heard the pack of riders coming before she saw it, which sounded like a swarm of bees the size of ponies heading down the road. She’d seen packs of riders going down the street, but being this close to a crit course was another matter. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, wheel-to-wheel, going faster than she’d known it was possible to go on a bike. She had to admit, it was thrilling.
    Once the pack disappeared around the corner, she found LeMond standing near the finish line.
    “How’s it going?” she asked as she walked up.
    LeMond flicked his eyes to a man in a blazer with a clipboard to indicate that they shouldn’t speak freely. “It’s going well,” he said. “We have three riders in a breakaway, and I expect there might be a retaliation from the main pack soon. Wouldn’t you say, Bernard?”
    Clipboard man looked up and smiled. He nodded and put his hand out to meet Faith.
    “This is Faith Racing, a local CrossFit trainer friend of mine,” LeMond said.
    “Ah, bon soir, Mademoiselle ,” Bernard said.
    “ Bon soir ,” she replied.
    Three riders came pelting into view, and behind them was a tangle of riders in a massive crash. Bikes and helmets and bodies flew everywhere. LeMond and Bernard both made surprised, pained noises.
    One rider flipped right over the melee and slid to a stop on his side into a curb. Unbelievably, he got up, looked around, and tried to get on his bike. But the front wheel