The Ideal Path

• Ben Brunckhorst, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

“READY… GO”, I flew down the track winding my way around corners and steering between rocks and other obstacles. I was on one of the best mountain bike trails in the world competing in the national under-16 cross-country final. My dad’s cries of, “Go Mick”, quickly faded into the distance. The slow start of what would be a 100km marathon, made my thoughts drift.

The last year had been a fairytale for me, sure it had some lows, like getting expelled, but I had discovered mountain biking. I was given a Scott aspect for my birthday and asked to compete with my friend in a six-hour-enduro. I became totally hooked. My brother Carl and I won many more races that year until we reached here, the ultimate challenge.

My attention snapped back to the race as a bike whipped past me. It was Chris Rowan, a 15 year-old from Sydney riding past on his $10 000 Ibis Mojo SL. He had been named as the person to beat and was already sponsored. I focussed my concentration on the track and rode on. I was coming about tenth but felt pretty confident with 99km to go.

The first fifty went in a flash as I overtook more riders but there were still two ahead of me. I put my head down and, ignoring the pain in my legs, rode on. At the ninety-five-kilometre mark I glimpsed Chris and in front of him Carl. I was shocked to see my brother coming first and felt fiercely competitive. How could I let him beat me? Rounding one corner and jumping a log I found my self directly behind Chris. Despite the narrow track I rode up level with him and took a wooden berm with him. I powered along and flew off the other side overtaking him and easing up a hill. In the distance about 100 metres ahead of me I saw Carl. “C’mon”, I thought desperately realising Carl would win. Riding on I rounded a bend to see Carl sprawled on the track. I knew that he had epilepsy but not how to manage it. I ended up holding him to stop tightly to stop him harming himself. Chris rode past sniggering but I held my ground. After agonising minutes the fitting ceased and Carl urged me to go on. Once I saw that he could ride I was out of there, struggling to catch up to Chris in the last two km.

Once again I could see Chris and powered to reach him before the wooden berm ahead. “Not this time”, jeered Chris as he cut across me. I braked hard and watched with amusement as his back wheel left the bridge and swung under it jamming his frame between the slats and throwing him into the scrub.
Turning the corner I found the finish line straight ahead. I had chosen the right path helping my brother. I couldn’t believe it. I had won.