Chapter 19: No Front Brake

The brake lever went all the way to the grip and stayed there.

We were on the long grade down into Coeur Pines.

It was a mile of curves with a drop on the right side and a log truck coming up the other lane.

I had my arms around Rhett's waist and my cheek against his back, and I felt him go rigid.

"Hold on," he said.

"What is it?"

"No front brake."

He stood on the rear pedal.

The Road King shuddered, and the back wheel locked and skipped, and the needle on the speedometer kept climbing.

The curve came at us.

"Rhona, listen to me."

"I'm listening."

"When I say, you let go and tuck your head."

"Not without you."

"You let go," he said.

The log truck's horn tore down the road.

Rhett dropped a gear and the engine screamed, and we hit the first curve leaning so far over my knee almost touched the asphalt.

We slid wide.

The truck swept past, close enough that I felt its wind in my teeth.

"Now," Rhett said.

He leaned the bike down toward the gravel shoulder away from the drop.

I let go.

I hit the ground on my left side and rolled.

The world turned to sky and dirt and sky, and something hot ripped through my jeans.

I stopped on my back in a ditch full of dead weeds, staring up at the pines.

I heard metal grinding away down the road, and then silence.

"Rhett!"

Nothing.

I got up on one knee, and my ankle screamed.

I crawled to the top of the ditch.

The Road King lay on its side two hundred feet down the shoulder, with the rear wheel still turning.

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