scottatkinson

[scottatkinson]

Bicycle Race

“Don’t forget your helmets guys!” My mom hollers.

We bolt out the door onto the rough pebbly sidewalk. 

“Dibs first.” I go, knowing that there is probably a better chance of winning the lottery. 

“Ya right. Hold this.” My brother Eric hands me the old stopwatch our uncle gave us.

“35 seconds, that’s the record. Today’s the day. I can feel it.” He boasts confidently.

“I thought yesterday was the day and what about before that?” I respond.

“Whatever, idiot. Just watch and learn. Count me down.”

“Three… two… one … GO!” I click the green starter button.

Eric pushes off with his left leg and hurls himself atop the mini Santa Cruz bike with flames painted on the frame. His hands reefing on the handlebars and butt fully off the seat as he picks up speed. He busts up the hill narrowly avoiding an elderly couple in their bathing suits. They hold their hands up and mutter in anger as Eric bolts off up toward the main road. He turns right onto the road and for a second he disappears behind the trees. I catch flashes as he appears between the trees and then disappears again. A hard right turn back onto the sidewalk now challenges Eric to brake while turning hard, causing his back tire to skid out. He overdoes it a tad and has to use his foot as a brake to straighten himself out. He winds his way downhill picking up speed as he reaches the homestretch. He crosses in front of me as the timer hits 36 seconds.

I let out a chuckle as he looks over his shoulder to try and read my expression.

“36.” I laugh again.

“No chance! You stopped when my front tire crossed you right?”

“What difference would that even make? That’s probably a milliseconds difference.” I respond

“I just don’t get it I’ve hit 36 like 5 times now. Whatever, still better than you.”

“We’ll see.” 

Eric unstraps his helmet and hands it to me.

“No helmet, it slows me down,” I tell him.

“I’m not helping you if you hurt yourself.” He warns.

I hop on the bike. My heartbeat picks up and my vision narrows. 

“On your marks… .get set… GO!”

I take off just before the go signal. My feet move violently in circles. 

“CHEATER!” He yells.

I continue up and around the same old track I’ve done hundreds of times. Pumping my legs and gripping the handlebars as if my life depended on it. As I turn into the difficult turn I cut it close as my bare right calf rubs up against the concrete barrier. I hold my path. A beam of bright lights hits my face as I begin to whip my back tire around the turn. A loud honk blares at me. I perfectly accelerate out of the sharp turn with my sights on the finish. With Eric in sight, I empty the tank and cross the end line. I come to a streaking stop and quickly turn my head in anticipation. 

Eric pauses. “ It doesn’t count you started early.”

“Did I beat it?” 

“It doesn’t matter… it doesn’t count.” He mutters and walks inside, slamming the door behind him.

I check the stopwatch: 35.59.

First piece of media : A GIF of a scene from “Stepbrothers.” One of my favourite movies and a good representation of the theme of these short stories. “Brotherly Love” sums it up well.

Second piece : “Bicycle Race”, by Queen. I thought it was a fitting soundtrack for this story.

Third piece : A very similar bike to the one that me and my brother had. Imagine poorly painted flames added on to the frame. https://mbaction.com/santa-cruz-launches-custom-hightower-fire-relief/

#Youtube

[scottatkinson]

Brotherly Love

I dig my feet into the hot coarse sand of Cinque Terre beach in Spain. My feet attempt to find refuge in some colder sand below the surface. My Gonzaga bucket hat covers my bright red face from the scorching it has gotten the past week. 

“Heads up bud !” My brother Eric throws a nerf football and it slams into my gut. Startled, I quickly look around to spot him. He’s bolting off into the water. I act fast and reach out for the ball, quickly recoil it behind my head and launch it with all of the arm strength I have. It’s headed right for the back of his head. He lunges forward and submerges himself into the water, the ball skipping out several yards past him.

I sit down and submerge my feet back into the sand until it's up to my knees. Still fuming a little bit. I try to close my eyes and let my mind go to peace. However, thoughts of how I will get my revenge run through my brain. I open my left eye ever so slightly to spot if my brother has moved. He’s floating on his back lightly fluttering his feet. I let my back thud into the soft sand which cushions me like a pillow. My thoughts drift towards dinner tonight. A huge plate of calamari still sizzling from the frier, accompanied by an icy soda and a prawn and mussel pasta. A thick slice of fluffy tiramisu is soon to follow. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

 Life seems to be put on pause for a moment, with no responsibilities, and no commitments. My whole body lays motionless, not holding any tension at all. My thoughts begin to fade out as my breathing begins to morph into a snore. 

My eyes snap open at the sound of a seagull screeching overhead. Barely conscious at this point I pick my head out of a small divot it has made in the sand. I vaguely see a spiraling object heading my way. I blink expecting my vision to just be a bit blurry. 

WAM! The nerf football wacks me square in the nose. This time I don’t even consider what to do next. I spring to my feet and begin a full sprint toward my brother. The blank expression on his face showing fear that his little brother might give him a beating. He pivots and runs down the shoreline. 

He runs right through a young child's sandcastle leaving it a messy heap. I’m close to his tail barely two arm's length away. My teeth are grinding in anger and I can taste faint drops of blood leaking from my nose. I’m slowly gaining ground on him, my hands balled up into a fist. Everything around me is not in focus. As I reach out to grab his right bicep for a takedown, I’m swept clean off my feet. 

“Easy there, Scotto.”  Says the disciplined voice of my dad. He holds me slightly off the ground by the back collar of my shirt. My brother with a devilish grin standing behind him. I’ll get him one of these days.

First picture : A view from the hike we did above one of the small town in Cinque Terrre. Cinque Terre is french for “five lands”, as five of these small beach towns are connected along the coast. A train can be taken in between them, or about a 45 minute hike.

Second picture : Me and my brother laying peacefully (for once) on the beach in Cinque Terre.

Both pictures taken by my mom

[scottatkinson]

Trying to Stay Afloat

We drift through the clear open waters of Georgian Bay in our red canoe. Not a care in the world. Smiles on our faces, stomachs full, and a full day of paddling and exploring ahead of my family and me. The first two days had gone by like a breeze. We paddled for 5 or 6 hours total, sunny clear skies, and lots of tasty snacks along the way. Always finishing off with hot chocolate once we got set up at camp. Today seemed to follow the same suit; we got up at the crack of dawn, got some oats and coffee in us, and packed up for the day ahead. The temperature was about 25 degrees Celsius and the sun was tickling our skin once again so we made sure to layer up with sunscreen.

We traversed the Georgian bay in about an hour hiding the edges with small rock islands habiting frail trees and lots of chirping birds. As we approach our turn down into the river running out of the bay, we see a black sign with a picture of a rock with fast-flowing water. We know what this means; our first set of rapids that we must tackle. My uncle and my Dad being the most experienced paddlers decide to go up and take a look at what to expect, as the water levels change frequently with the seasons. It's mid-June so almost all of the snow has melted months before and the water level is moderate to high. In April or May, this would be an almost impossible task to get through with the dangerous water levels. Most likely resulting in a portage, where we take off the packs out of the canoe and carry everything around the rapids on my foot. 

My dad and uncle work their way back to us with a smile on their faces. 

“Nothing you guys can’t handle up there. We’ll just need to avoid a couple of sticky spots and everything will be fine.” Says my dad.

At this point, we have no reason to doubt him so we throw our life jackets on and get ready to go. As we slowly approach the head of the rapids I see two massive boulders on each side with lots of white water crashing over top of each one. 

We gently tip the head of our canoe into the flying water and get grabbed and thrown into the stream like a walkway at the airport. Immediately I feel like i’d lost my training wheels and my sense of control over the canoe.

“VEAR LEFT!! LEFT!!” My brother screams from a foot behind me.

I quickly do draw strokes on the left side of the boat pulling us a couple of feet over and narrowly missing a sharp rock.

“LET'S HEAD RIGHT!! QUICK!” My brother directs me.

The left side is now home to a field of boulders in shallow water ready to pierce the bottom of our boat.

I draw as hard as I can to the right but the back of the boat fishtails behind us. It slams into a boulder sending a wave of bone-chilling water into our boat. I dig my paddle into the bottom of the river in an attempt to stabilize our boat from tipping, but to no avail. 

“WE HAVE TO LEAN !” I cry out desperately.

Our efforts are too late as the canoe does a full 180, ejecting us and our belonging into the river. My body is shocked at the frigid temperature of the water but I come to my sense and put my feet out in front of me. This way the rocks will hit our feet and we can gently push off as we float down to the bottom of the river. Our packs are spread out across the river at the bottom as we pass the final stretch of rapids. I look over my right shoulder and see a pie sized hole in the bottom of our canoe.

First picture : A beautiful painting by Nancy Yanaky which depicts a section of rapids in the french river, on her trips to the Georgian Bay. https://www.kingstonglassstudio.com/products/orchards-2

Second picture : A map of Georgian Bay. On our trip we traversed the open water and exited at the French River in the top corner of the map. https://www.redbubble.com/i/photographic-print/Map-of-Georgian-Bay-and-Lake-Huron-by-QBFCanada/51429189.6Q0TX

Third picture : Picture used in “Guide to Rapid Classification.” Posted by Mikaela

https://www.voyageurtripper.com/whitewater-rapid-classification/