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was busted. He gestured at another nearby rider, also standing. He got a new wheel, put it on his bike, and then got on it and started to ride up the street like a man possessed, even though his riding costume was shredded. Its shreds flapped in the wind as he stood on the pedals and accelerated after the small group whizzing past her position now. He had to be in terrific pain, and yet he pushed onward. He must have really wanted to win this race. The trailing rider came past her position, and she could see now he was bleeding from a couple of scrapes and—
    Oh my god, she thought. It’s Buck!
    She was stunned as he went by, his face a mask of pain and muscles standing out from his body. He had ceased to have any appearance other than that of function, of speed. His bike was broken, too; the seat was busted somehow so he couldn’t even sit down to pedal. She gaped, wide-eyed at the spectacle. The pain must have been torture. He could have stopped at the crash, called it with mangled wheel and torn clothes. But he kept going, disappearing around the turn.
    Faith turned to look wide-eyed at LeMond, who was smiling. “Cycling,” he said simply.
    Bernard’s face wore a slight frown, but it was replaced with a wry smile when LeMond turned to him. “ Oui, c’est ça ,” he said. Yes, that’s it.
    Faith wondered why that frown had been there a moment before.
    Down the street, the crash appeared to be clearing. The riders were continuing up the street in a loose pack, seemingly all dazed by the crash. They parted, and through the pack came the four riders form before, except that now, impossibly, the beaten and battered Buck was catching them.
    “Oh my god,” she said out loud. Something was happening inside her, some strange upwelling of a sea she hadn’t previously known she contained. She felt like she could rise into the air on its current if she just spread her arms. It electrified her, filled her, and she couldn’t hope to contain it. As the riders came past the line, she put her hands to her mouth like a megaphone and screamed for all she was worth. “Go Buck!”
    What was happening to her—Go Buck? She barely knew this guy, and she didn’t care a thing about cycling. The implications swam deep in her subconscious, but they were nowhere near the surface. She didn’t care about anything but this race, this moment.
    Behind the leaders, the riders who’d been caught by the crash were looking more organized, but nothing like the men on the front. They too disappeared around the corner.
    Any second now the lead group would be visible again down by the swimming pool. She strained her eyes to see them, to make sure Buck was okay. Who knew what could happen to someone straining that hard: heart attack, maybe, or a stroke? She shuddered to think about it. There. Yes, there, she could make out the riders. Three of them. No, a fourth was riding away from them. He burst around the corner like he was shot out of a gun. It was Buck!
    He came up the hill, a thoroughbred, an animal, a freight train, and she couldn’t contain herself. This time she didn’t even have the power to form words. She just screamed and jumped up and down like a crazy person. LeMond was yelling too, though Faith didn’t have the power of word recognition anymore. If he was forming words, they were lost on her. He was holding up a numbered sign for the riders to see.
    Only Bernard was quiet, just looking determined and checking his clipboard occasionally.
    Lap after lap the riders continued to punish themselves. Men faded away from Buck, unable to match his otherworldly tempo. But there was one rider, a larger man than Buck, threatening to catch him. Each time they came around he seemed a bit closer. Faith wished the race would just end so they could quit turning themselves inside out like this.
    LeMond said, “If Polini gets any closer, he’s got a shot.” Faith guessed the chasing rider must be Polini. He edged up to Buck with each lap, but