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Until, today. Have you ever woken up with a feeling that something isn’t quite right? You can’t place it but it’s there. Distinctive. Controlling. Oppressive.
You get up, try to shake the thoughts, but they remain. It doesn’t help that today Roan is racing in the final round of the Red Bull Hard Enduro Series, one he’s dominated the entire series and now it’s in the final round. The Roof of Africa in the kingdom of Lesotho, Africa.
I’m uneasy about the extreme rock-strewn mountains and heat. The temperature is pushing ninety. I worry about dehydration and injury. He’d just finished racing in Baja not two weeks ago where he iron-manned the entire race. Fifteen hours on a bike and then collapsed at the finish needing an IV just to make it to the podium.
Maybe that’s where my apprehension is coming from? I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s heavy, lingering over me like a dark cloud.
Roan didn’t want me to come with him to Africa. And believe it or not, he almost backed out of the race when there was no way he was going without me. He feared me traveling at thirty weeks pregnant because of the complications I had with my first pregnancy. We never did figure out what went wrong, but so far into this pregnancy, it’s been perfect. I didn’t even experience morning sickness.
Now, at thirty-four weeks, we’re on the final day of the enduro, after racing for three days through and two hundred miles through the brutal mountains of Lesotho, Roan leads the race with only nine seconds separating the top three riders.
All we have to do is make it through this race, then fly home and wait for the arrival of our first baby. But… I’m uneasy and on the edge of my chair.
“He’s on a mission today,” Parker, Roan’s mechanic, notes, handing a radio over to Marcel.
I smile, knowing he’s right. There’s nobody quite like Roan Sawyer when he wants to win. Or get the girl.
Well into the race, I can’t shake the feeling. With my hands on my belly, I rub the spot the baby usually kicks, low on my left side. “Your daddy is leading the race, little one.” I still don’t know the sex of the baby. We want to be surprised.
My mom sits beside me, handing me another bottle of water. “Are you okay, Ophelia? You’re looking really flushed.” She reaches out, touching my forehead.
I force a smile. “Probably just tired.”
“Maybe we should go back to the hotel?”
“No.” I wave her off, unable to draw my eyes away from the laptop, my eyes glued to the red light on the screen, my only indication Roan is on the bike and it’s moving. “I want to see him cross the finish line.”
Believe it or not, though he’s been dominating this series, I haven’t seen him win this race. He hasn’t in four years and jokingly refers to me as his bad luck charm.
I stare at the screen, but then blink rapidly when the light stops moving. My heart beats faster, my stomach dropping. “Why’d he stop? Is there something wrong?”
Consumed in his notes from the previous day’s race, Parker glances at the screen. He pulls the headset away, his only connection with Roan aside from the GPS transponder on his bike. “Final check point and fuel stop.” Parker looks over at me, and then back again. “Are you feeling okay, O?”
Fifty miles. I only need to wait fifty miles and then he’s fine. We’re fine. But, I don’t think I have that. I breathe in slowly, try to tell him I’m fine, but then a sudden wave of heat hits me. I’m dizzy, the world around me shifting on its axis.
My mom reaches for my hand, pain shoots through my stomach, the pressure blinding. I suck in a breath, fight off the darkness surrounding me, but I fade in and out. It feels like I’m being sawn in half.
I don’t know how, or how much time passes when Roan comes into view, his helmet on, his face covered in mud and blood. Unstable, unable to draw in a breath without pain, I want to tell him I’m fine, assure him, but I know I’m not. My baby, it’s dying. I know it.
My last vision is of Roan, a glorified, admired legend, and icon brought to his knees, screaming, “Help her!”
“No, help the baby” are my last words before I fade completely.
Did you know your entire life can change in the blink of an eye?
It can. It does. It might.
My body aches, my muscles are cramping, arm pump has got the better of me. I’m exhausted, bleeding, pretty sure I’ve broken my pinky finger, but I push forward. I push myself to the very limits, question my sanity and give everything I have to a race that humbles you, minute after minute. It’s not called the mother of enduros for nothing. The Roof of Africa has a way of reminding you that out there, you’re nothing unless you’re willing to push to the extremes and respect the kingdom around you.
Sweat beads inside my goggles. My vision’s blurry. That’s when my radio cracks in my ear. “Roan, you copy?”
I’ve just left the last check point. Roughly fifty miles stand between me and the finish and I know second place is right behind, seconds away from taking the lead should I not get through the tight ruts as quickly as him.
“Copy,” I reply, my balance wavering through a rock ravine, my focus on the distance.
Silence follows, but then he says, “Come in.”
Did he say come in? Did you hear him? Am I hallucinating?