Page 19 of The Big Race

Another Scorching Day

T he Panama City morning arrived with a blanket of humidity that promised another scorching day. Ray and I stood with the remaining teams at the starting mat, waiting for Julie to begin the next leg of the race.

She handed us our first clue envelope. As soon as Julie said "go," Ray tore it open.

"Fly to Caracas, Venezuela," he read. "Once there, pick up a rental car and drive to Henri Pittier National Park. Find the ranger station for your next clue."

"Venezuela," I repeated, already running through what I knew about the country. "It's been in economic crisis for years, but has some of the most diverse ecosystems in South America."

Ray was already flagging down a taxi. "Airport first, geography lesson later."

I bit back a retort about his dismissiveness. We'd agreed to try harder today.

At the airport, we discovered all teams would be on the same flight to Caracas, a frustrating reset after our advantage in the previous leg. The flight was scheduled to depart at noon, giving us time to strategize.

"We should keep our alliance with George and Ernie," Ray suggested as we waited at the gate. "They seem like decent guys, and they've been solid competitors so far."

"Jeffrey! Ray!" Gemini's distinctive drawl cut through the gate area chatter. She and Blaine approached us with warm smiles, looking impeccable despite the early morning flight. "Y'all mind if we sit with you? These airport chairs are just dreadful for your back."

"Of course," I said, gesturing to the empty seats beside us.

Blaine settled in gracefully, somehow managing to look polished even in team-issued athletic wear. "So how are y'all feeling about Venezuela? I have to admit, I'm a little nervous about the altitude in some of those mountain regions."

"You've researched the geography?" Ray asked, sounding impressed.

"Oh, honey, research is half the battle," Gemini said with a laugh. "Though I bet Jeffrey already has the whole country mapped out in his head, don't you, sugar?"

There was something calculating in her tone that made me pause. "I did some reading," I said carefully.

"I knew it!" Blaine clapped her hands together. "That's exactly what we told each other—Jeffrey's the type who does his homework. Very thorough. Very... strategic."

"What about you two?" Ray asked. "Any secret weapons we should know about?"

Gemini's smile was sweet as honey. "Just good old-fashioned Southern charm and a willingness to learn from the best." She looked directly at me. “Blaine and I were just saying how impressed we were with your navigation yesterday. You two work so well together."

Ray shifted beside me. "Thanks. You guys seem pretty coordinated yourselves."

"Oh, we've had lots of practice," Gemini said airily. "Planning events, managing people, you know how it is. But nothing like what y'all have—twenty-five years together? That's incredible."

"It has its advantages," I said, not sure why I felt like I was being interviewed.

"I bet," Blaine said with wide-eyed admiration. "Though I imagine it must be challenging sometimes too, being together so much. Especially with all the stress of the race."

The question hung in the air with deceptive casualness. Ray's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"We're managing fine," he said evenly.

"Of course you are," Gemini said quickly. "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise. It's just that Blaine and I have been friends since freshman year, and even we get snippy with each other when we're tired."

"Everyone handles pressure differently," I said diplomatically.

Blaine nodded sagely. "So true. Some people get quieter, some get more aggressive. Some start making little mistakes they wouldn't normally make." She paused delicately. "But experience usually wins out, don't you think?"

The conversation continued in this vein for another ten minutes—probing questions disguised as friendly chat, compliments that felt like intelligence gathering, observations that seemed designed to gauge our reactions.

When boarding was finally called, the sisters excused themselves with effusive thanks for the "lovely conversation."

As they walked away, Ray leaned close to my ear. "Did we just get played?"

I watched Gemini and Blaine's retreating figures, noting how their casual chatter resumed the moment they thought they were out of earshot. "I think we just got thoroughly scouted," I said quietly. "Those two are a lot sharper than they let on."

"Great," Ray muttered. "So much for Southern hospitality."

The flight to Caracas was uneventful, though the competition's undercurrents were palpable throughout the cabin. Upon landing, we all raced through customs and toward the rental car counters.

At the Hertz counter, the agent looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, we only have manual transmission vehicles available today. All the automatics are rented."

Ray and I exchanged glances. “Can you manage?" I asked. “I haven’t driven a stick in twenty years.”

"Been a while for me, too," Ray said to me. "I’ll give it a try. You navigate."

Several teams around us groaned. Blaine said confidently, “Good thing my daddy has a bunch of stick-shift trucks on the farm.”

We quickly completed the paperwork while other teams debated their options. "This could work in our favor," I said as we located our small white sedan in the parking garage. "Half these teams probably can't drive stick."

Ray settled into the driver's seat and immediately stalled the engine trying to reverse out of the parking space. "Okay, rustier than I thought," he admitted, his face flushing slightly.

"Take your time," I said, spreading the map across my lap. I noticed Cody turning in the front seat to focus on me. "Henri Pittier is about two hours west of here, near the coast. We need to get on the autopista toward Valencia, then take Route 1 north toward the park."

Ray tried again, this time letting the clutch out more slowly. The car lurched back but didn't stall. "There we go. Which way out of here?"

"Follow the signs for Autopista Regional del Centro," I said, studying the airport layout. "That'll get us onto the main highway."

As we navigated out of the airport, I saw other teams struggling in the parking garage. Alex was behind the wheel of a blue compact, grinding the gears as Ross tried to give encouragement from the back seat.

"Left here," I directed as we approached the highway entrance. "Then merge onto the autopista heading west."

Ray downshifted for the on-ramp, the engine revving as he found the right gear. "Not exactly like riding a bike, is it?"

"You're doing fine. Just remember to use the clutch when you shift."

The highway led us through the crowded city streets and urban sprawl of Caracas, where Ray had to focus on shifting gears as the traffic started and stopped.

The road finally opened up as we left the sprawling outskirts of Caracas behind, cutting through Venezuela's coastal mountains toward Henri Pittier.

The scenery transformed dramatically – lush green hills rising on both sides, dense cloud forest clinging to the mountainsides. But Ray was too focused on managing the clutch and gears on these winding mountain roads to appreciate the view.

"According to this map, we stay on this highway for about an hour, then take the exit for Maracay," I said. "After that, it gets more complicated – smaller roads winding up into the mountains."

Ray nodded, settling into fifth gear as traffic thinned out. "How far behind do you think the other teams are?"

I glanced in the side mirror. "Hard to say. Some of them might still be figuring out how to get their cars out of the parking garage."

As we drove deeper into Venezuela's interior, the road began to climb into the foothills of the Cordillera de la Costa. Ray downshifted for the steeper grades, the engine working harder in the thin mountain air. He had to concentrate to keep from stalling.

"Exit coming up," I warned, checking the map. "Route 1 toward Choroní and the national park."

Ray took the exit, immediately encountering a much narrower road that wound through coffee plantations and small villages. He had to shift constantly as we climbed and descended the rolling hills. It probably was even harder for him knowing that Cody was filming his every mistake.

"This is definitely more challenging than the highway," he said, gripping the steering wheel as we navigated a particularly tight curve.

"You're doing great. Just another thirty kilometers according to this sign."

The road became increasingly rural, with potholes that forced Ray to slow down and carefully maneuver around them. Occasionally we'd get stuck behind a heavily loaded truck crawling up a steep grade, forcing Ray to downshift to first gear.

"There!" I pointed ahead as we crested a hill. "Henri Pittier National Park – Venezuela's oldest national park. Founded in 1937."

"Where's the ranger station?"

"Should be near the main entrance. Follow those signs for 'Administración del Parque.'"

We pulled into a small parking area beside a modest building surrounded by towering trees. The air was immediately cooler and filled with the sounds of tropical birds.

George and Ernie were just leaving the ranger station, clue in hand. We'd managed to maintain second place despite the challenging drive.

The ranger handed us our envelope with a warm smile. " Bienvenidos al Parque Nacional Henri Pittier, " he said.

Ray tore open the clue as we walked back toward the car, Cody trailing behind us. "Complete the Blind Trust challenge," he read. We looked up to see a series of platforms constructed in the trees ahead, connected by rope bridges and zip lines.

"At least we don't have to drive any further," I said with relief.

"Yet," Ray replied ominously, pocketing the car keys. "Something tells me this isn't our final destination."