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“Are you racing today, too?” I ask Luke.
“Our boy gave up racing years ago,” Cam answers for him. “He had to, otherwise no one else would ever win.”
“Lies.” Luke shakes his head. “I was not that good.”
“He was that good.”
“I haven’t raced since juniors. Switched from racing to fixing bikes pretty quick,” Luke explains.
The scene around us becomes more chaotic as we reachCam’s tent. People are rushing between the enclosures, yelling things about missing parts and how little time they have left. The revving engines become more frequent, which Luke informs me is people testing their bikes before the races.
Everything in Cam’s area is black and yellow, like an oversized bumblebee. His canopy tent is bright yellow with black metal legs. He’s backed his truck, which is also bright yellow with black stripes along the sides, up under the edge of it next to a big black box trailer with yellow decals on the side, including one that says,“Race Naked.”Luke slides two camping style folding chairs out of the bed of the truck and sets them up for us next to Cam’s chair.
“What’ll it be?” Cam asks, holding up two different beers, one in each hand.
“It’s not even nine o’ clock,” I answer.
“Are you going to sit there and tell us you’re against day drinking?” Luke asks, mistaking my pleasant surprise for judgment. He settles back into his bumblebee-colored folding chair like it’s a throne, with his chest broad and chin held high, smiling wide. The cocky half-smile I’ve grown used to hasn’t made a single appearance yet this morning.
“This is hardly day drinking,” I say. “It’smorningdrinking. It’s different. Arguably better.” I’m all-in on whatever Luke has planned for the day, so I pick a beer, and Cam gives the other option to Luke.
“It’s all coffee and water for me until I’m done racing, but you should enjoy,” Cam says, handing us each a warm breakfast burrito wrapped in foil before disappearing from the tent.
Luke raises his can in cheers. “Thanks for being up for this.”
“Of course!” I tap my can against his. “I can already tell I’m going to love it.”
“And we haven’t gotten to thegood part yet.”
“No?”
“The races are the real fun.” He smiles broadly again, carrying himself with the kind of happiness I’ve never seen on him before.
“Even though you don’t race anymore?” I ask him.
“Absolutely. I prefer it that way.”
“You really like to watch, don’t you?”
“You have no idea,” Luke responds. I turn away and take a sip of my beer to hide the blush I can’t quite explain.
“LP!” a young voice yells from behind us. A girl and two boys, probably pre-teens, walk into Cam’s tent. They all have on leather coveralls that are unzipped and hanging from the waist over the top of their regular clothes. It’s got to be eighty-five degrees out already. They must be sweltering.
Luke hugs each of the kids and introduces them to me. The girl with two long dark-brown braids and rich bronze skin is named Addison. The boys, Joshua and Dylan, look so similar with their shaggy long hair and sandy sun-tanned skin that I’m sure they’re brothers.
“Where have you been this year? I almost won last weekend, and you missed it!” The taller of the two boys, Dylan, asks Luke.
“Fourth place isn’t almost winning,” Addison teases him.
“I got passed twice in the last turn. Wasn’t fair,” he argues. “Still better than you placed.”
“One time. You’ve placed higher than me once this whole year,” Addison scoffs at the boy and moves a few steps away from him.Are these children racing motorcycles? Is that safe?
“You’re gonna watch today, right?” the shorter boy asks Luke.
“Of course. We both are,” Luke says, sitting back down in his chair next to me and waving a hand between us. “Why else would we be here?”
“Are you his girlfriend?” The shorter boy asks me.
