The Ride (Touchdown Edition)

Chapter 1: Big Chill

I was in the gate with less than a minute remaining before the last heat of the day. I guess I should have been nervous, but I wasn't. I was more excited than anything. Standing at the top of the Big Chill--the hardest and best run on Rockville Mountain--I knew that there was no room for mistakes. If I ate it on this mountain, I was going to eat it bad. More people got injured on the Big Chill than any other run in Wyoming. I think that most of them get hurt because they don't know the run. I've ridden it so many times I could probably do it with my eyes closed. Not that I would ever snowboard with my eyes closed.

"Thirty seconds," the race official manning the gate called out.

I quickly double checked my binding, making sure it was nice and tight. Then I pulled my goggles over my helmet, trying not to get them caught in my long brown hair. I was ready. I was psyched.

"Ten seconds."

I began to rock my board back and forth in the gate. It glided easily across the snow. I compared myself to a jockey sitting on a horse just before a race. I took one final, excited, deep breath. Then I blew out, hard, puffing my cheeks.

"Five, four, three, two, one . . . Go!" The gun sounded.

I flew out of the gate the instant it opened. The first part of the run was an almost vertical narrow chute. So I crouched down low to provide as little wind resistance as possible. I couldn't turn this early in the race. All I could do was tuck, pick up speed, and not fall down. After a few seconds, the slope became a bit less steep. Although I was moving at a good clip, I had a second to look around and get my bearings. There wasn't much to see: the trees and rocks were a total blur. I smiled from ear to ear.

The narrow chute that begins the run opens into a small bowl about a hundred yards down the mountain. We had gotten some fresh powder the night before, so my board sunk down when it first touched the snow. I leaned back to distribute my weight, and with luck glide more easily over the fresh stuff. The snow sprayed behind me, and a thin mist of powder hit my face. At that moment, it felt as if I were flying. I knew I was winning and it was perfect.

I wanted to turn and enjoy the fresh new pow-pow, but there was no time for that. I was racing--racing the clock. In the last heat of the day, I was so far ahead of the other racers that it would have taken a really big screw-up to blow my lead. But I wanted to win big. So I fought through the powder, turning only when I absolutely had to. Otherwise, I kept my line straight down the bowl. I was really cooking. Not out of control, though. I'm never out of control--especially on the Big Chill.

The powder bowl opened into a groomed mogul field. A mogul is a big hard mound of snow on a run. It's not a jump--it's more of an obstacle. If you hit a mogul the wrong way, you'll face plant. If you face plant when you're going as fast as I go, it hurts, even when you're wearing a helmet. I knew every bump on the run, though. There was no way I would hit one wrong.

Sure enough, I navigated through the mogul field with precision. My knees were shock absorbers. My board was an extension of my legs. I got a little bit of air a couple of times, but nothing too big. This was all about speed. I took each bump exactly as planned, and when I landed, I was ready for the next one.

After I passed through the mogul field, there was a final jump before the finish line. It wasn't much. But when you're going fast, even a little jump can turn into big air. I tucked down low and really went for it. I wanted this to be the best run of the day. Not just my best run, but the best run. Period.

My board lifted off the ground and I was literally flying. I grabbed the rails with both hands. I could see the finish in front of me. There was a small crowd that had gathered. I tried not to look at them, avoiding anything that might throw off my concentration. From the corner of my eye, though, something seemed out of the ordinary. I turned my head ever so slightly to the left, and wondered: is that a gorilla wearing a clown wig?

Just like that, it was over. I lost control for a second--a split second. My balance shifted. Not too much, but just enough to screw up my landing. The first thing to hit the snow was the front edge of my board. I was moving forward at full speed, so when I hit the ground, I hit hard. My board dug deep in the snow and stopped when it hit the frozen surface. Of course, my body flew forward, the momentum continuing to move me at an insane speed. I hit the packed snow about ten feet in front of where my board landed. I hit hard, with a loud thud that I could hear and feel in my ears. Instantly, the breath was knocked from my lungs. My teeth rattled inside my head.

This was simply not supposed to be happening to me, especially not on the Big Chill. This was supposed to be my run!

Everything became a blur after that. My mouth and nose filled with snow. My goggles flew off my helmet. I opened and closed my eyes as I flipped and spun and rolled down the hill. I caught a glimpse of the sky, then snow, then clouds, then more snow. I kept flipping. I tried to stop, but there was nothing I could do. I was moving too fast to take a spill like that.

I ended up flat on my back, sliding down the hill. When I opened my eyes, I saw that I had rolled past the finish line. I leaned up and looked at the crowd staring down at me on the ground. Sure enough, mixed in the middle of a large group of people was some idiot wearing a gorilla suit and a clown wig. What was that guy thinking? Moron. Was he trying to get someone killed?

I squinted to get a closer look at the bib the person was wearing on his gorilla chest. It read, "I go ape for Mad Marty in the Mornings on 104.5." As I finished reading those words, I realized exactly who the idiot in the gorilla suit was. My father--Mad Marty Morgan.

There might have been a time in my life when I was more furious with my dad, but at that moment I couldn't remember it. I sat up, stretching my body to make sure I hadn't broken any bones. Then I got to my feet, feeling all right physically. That was when I began planning how I was going to move out of my house and into my best friend Sally's--far, far, away from my embarrassing, gorilla-suit-wearing father.

Just then, a voice came over the loudspeakers, "despite her unconventional finish, Cece Morgan nabs first place in the thirteen-and-under girls' category." This announcement was followed by some applause from the crowd. I gave a wave. "And with the last heat of the day," the voice went on, "we have the final results. The overall winner of the Rockville Junior Snowboard Jam is. . ." I took a deep breath. ". . . Chad Doogan." I let out a big sigh.

My name is Cece Morgan, not Chad Doogan. I know Chad Doogan, and he's a jerk. I undid my binding and walked away from the crowd. I wanted to go home. At least I wasn't injured from my big wipeout, which I guess was lucky. At the moment, though, I didn't feel very lucky. I thought I might just be the unluckiest person on the planet. How many other kids had a gorilla for a father?

I walked over to the tent where they served hot chocolate and posted the day's results. It was in black and white, clear as day. Chad Doogan, the biggest jerk in all of Rockville, had beaten me by 3.2 seconds. 3.2 seconds! Guess how many seconds slower my last heat was from the one before it? Four seconds.

That wipeout cost me the championship. I felt like punching something. I felt like crying. I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs. I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around. There was no one there. I felt a tap on my other shoulder. I turned around again. There was still no one there. I only knew one person who was childish enough to think this was funny. I stared straight ahead and hissed through my teeth, "Stop it, Dad."

"Congratulations, Chili," said my father, with a muffled voice--muffled because of the mask he was wearing. I ignored him. I crossed my arms tight across my chest. "Come on, Chili, you won your age group. That's fantastic!"

He didn't get it. Winning my age group wasn't enough. Today was supposed to be my day! I was supposed to win the whole thing! The reason I didn't win was because of him. He just didn't get it.

I finally turned around. It was worse than I imagined. Not only was my dad a gorilla, he was also a clown. He was wearing a full gorilla suit, complete with big bushy brown body hair and a dark mask. On top of his mask sat a big rainbow-colored clown wig. He wore ridiculously large mirrored sunglasses as well. My angry reflection stared back at me from his shades. A big red clown nose hung from his face. From the slopes, I hadn't realized that he was also wearing matching rainbow suspenders and a yellow bow tie. And, oh yeah, a giant diaper.

This was my father. "Dad, please walk away from me. Pretend we don't know each other."

"What's wrong, Chili?" he asked, pulling his mask off. His light brown and gray hair stuck straight up from the static electricity. He looked at me with concern through his light hazel eyes. The same eyes I had.

"Dad, I never would have wiped out like that if you weren't wearing that stupid costume. You made me blow my concentration! And if I didn't crash, I would have won. I would have beaten Chad Doogan."

My dad stared at me, silent for a moment. "Beaten Doogan, huh?"

I nodded.

"Chili, I'm sorry." He hung his head, "I just came to see you race. You know I would never do anything to screw up your racing. Today is such a crowded day, I thought I'd advertise for the show--you know." He stared down at the snow again, then back up at me. "Honey, you were great out there! This whole place was going bananas for you."

"Bananas, dad?" I started to smile at him in his gorilla suit, but I stopped myself.

"It's true. They were going absolutely ape!" he smiled at me again. "I'm sorry."

When Dad looked at me like that, it was almost impossible to stay mad at him. So instead, I just smiled. "Let's go, Dad. You are such a goofball." I grabbed his arm and we made our way toward the parking lot. I knew he didn't mean to blow my concentration. He really is a great person. He's just kind of weird.

Just before we made a clean getaway into the parking lot, Chad Doogan walked up to me. "Great race, Cece. I was worried there for a second. It really came down to the wire. Lucky for me that jump got you at the end. Now that's drama." He smiled his insincere cocky smile. I wanted to tackle him. "Better luck next year," he said. He turned to face my dad. "Hey, Mr. Morgan. Love the outfit." He laughed and walked away.

I was quiet for most of the ride home. I could have been a winner.