Alan Cook - Run into Trouble

“That sounds like you. I’ll get you some aspirin. That won’t kill you.”

“There’s something bothering me.” Drake laboriously rolled over onto his back. “You and I being matched for this race is far too great a coincidence.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Giganticorp knows a lot more about us than is good. What we did together was top secret. Especially what we did when we were off duty.”

Drake smiled at the thought. “We need to keep our eyes open.”

“And our mouths zipped. Loose lips sink ships.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously. Of course you’re right. You were always right.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t mind sarcasm coming from her. “I know we’re supposed to meet for an introductory dinner, but I can’t make it.”

“Quite right. I’m the doctor, and I’m prescribing bed rest. Alone. Fortunately, you and I have the only single rooms. The other nine teams are all lads, and teammates have to room together. I’m the lone girl in the race.”

“I’d rather have you for a teammate than any male runner I can think of.”

“Flattery is nice, but it won’t get me into bed with you. I’ve learned my lesson on that score. I’ll be back with ice and aspirin. And I’ll have dinner sent up to you.”

Border Field State Park marks the United States side of the border with Mexico. The route for Running California starts here and wends its way north along the beach past the Oneonta Slough. Some wading may be necessary. The route continues along Imperial Beach and then across the narrow isthmus that separates the Pacific Ocean from San Diego Bay. It may be easier to run on Silver Strand Boulevard (Route 75) than the sand here. Stay on Route 75 and continue to the entrance to the San Diego-Coronado Bridge.

The official Giganticorp bus was bright green with “Giganticorp” written on the side in large orange script. Below the company name the words “Running California” were painted on it in purple. The whole scene would have been impossible for Drake to miss, even if Melody hadn’t been standing beside the bus waving frantically at him. He limped over to her.

She looked at him, not trying to hide her dismay. “Where were you? I rang your room, but you didn’t answer.”

“Good morning to you, too. My first problem is going to be getting up these steps.”

The initial step, especially. He’d had enough trouble negotiating a few much lower steps. Drake tried to lift one foot, but the pain in his back stopped him well before it reached the level of the step. If the bus had been able to pull up to the curb in front of the hotel, he might have had more success. The extra nine or ten inches of height from street level was a killer. He did no better with the other foot. His run of the California coast might end right now.

“Could we have a boost here?” Melody called to Peaches who was sitting in the driver’s seat.

Peaches got up and stomped down the steps. Without saying a word, he positioned himself behind Drake, grabbed his elbows, and lifted him up to the first step with about the same effort that it would take most people to lift half a dozen hardcover books from a table. It hurt to be lifted, but Drake squelched a groan. The other steps were lower, and Drake managed to escape further humiliation; he pulled himself up by grabbing the handrails and putting most of his weight on his arms.

Ignoring the stares of the other runners, he stumbled along the aisle and fell into an empty seat.

“Move over-if you can.”

He laboriously moved over to the window seat as Melody sat down beside him. In contrast to his elephantine moves, she was so graceful that it almost looked as if she sat on air just above the seat. Peaches shifted into gear, and the bus started rolling.

Melody looked at him. “I didn’t think you were going to show up. Maybe it would be better if you hadn’t. You’re fit for nothing but lying in a bed of pain.”

“You always did have a way with words. But to answer your earlier question, I was on the floor stretching, and I couldn’t get to the phone when it rang. The pain woke me at four, and I spent the next three hours alternately icing my back and trying to stretch without killing myself.”

“Did you eat?”

“I had room service bring me breakfast. I figured if Casey could afford a million dollar prize, he could afford that. Tell me about the dinner last night.”

“I met the runners I didn’t meet yesterday afternoon. Naturally, they’re completely discounting us.”

Drake shrugged. “They’re not used to seeing women runners. That would work to our advantage, but because of the shape I’m in, they’re quite correct to discount us.”

“There’s another thing.” Melody lowered her voice. “I’m the only one not from California.”

Drake pondered that. “I think we have some questions to ask Casey. Did he make a speech?”

“Actually, he did. He’s quite the orator. He talked about the glorious adventure we were embarking on and how much good it was going to do for the great state of California.”

“Did he mention the million dollars?”

“He managed to toss that in. And he emphasized the tax free part. Although I’m not sure how he’s going to manage that. One thing I’ve learned since I’ve been in the States is that taxes are inevitable, just like they are in jolly old England, and just like it says in the saying.”

“I suspect he’s going to pay additional money to the winners to cover the taxes. Although, if he does that, the additional payment becomes taxable, and he’ll have to give more money to pay those taxes. And then-”

“I get your point. It goes on forever. Well, I’ll let you be the calculator for our team. You always were more calculating than I was.”

“We missed you at dinner last night.”

The man avoided looking at Drake’s bandaged face.

“I heard it was a lot of fun.”

He shook hands with the eighth or ninth runner he had just met. He thought this one called himself Glen. The names and faces blurred together, although he realized that their body types were similar-thin and not too tall. Not one was over six feet, and the shortest had only an inch on Melody who stood about five and one-half feet. In contrast, Drake cleared six feet by a couple of inches and had a stockier build.

One of the runners had a name that sounded familiar: Tom something-or-other. Drake mentioned this to Melody who was standing beside him, also trying to learn the names.

“Tom Batson. He’s the only Californian ever to win the Boston Marathon.”

“I should know that.”

“After what you’ve been through, it’s a wonder you remember your own name. These are serious runners. Even if you were healthy, we wouldn’t stand much of a chance.”

Peaches had brought them to Border Field State Park. Drake didn’t know it until he swung himself off the bus using mostly his arms, but Casey had ridden on the bus with them. He was wearing runner’s clothes, and he was going to run with them today. Fred had driven separately. There were no reporters here at the boundary between the United States and Mexico.

Fred herded the runners over to the Mexican Border Monument, a marble obelisk proclaiming the friendship of the United States and Mexico, and took pictures of Casey and the runners. The ugly metal and wire border fence extended on either side of the monument and into the ocean. Drake could see a section of Tijuana through the fence, complete with a bullring, which contrasted to the barrenness on the U.S. side.

Casey addressed the group. “I realize that this is an inauspicious start to a grand enterprise, but you’ll receive a proper sendoff this afternoon at the Coronado Bridge. So let’s get going. We’re going to run up the beach for awhile before we hit the road. There may be some swampy places, but we’re runners, and we don’t mind getting our feet wet, right?”