Page 45 of The Big Race

Ernie shrugged modestly. “Some things you don’t need to broadcast. Besides, he’d have done the same for me.”

“In a heartbeat,” George confirmed.

As the evening progressed, other eliminated teams drifted in and out of the gathering. The chefs, Jenny and Carlos, did indeed seem to be avoiding each other, sitting at separate tables across the bar. The gay friends were subdued, still processing their elimination.

Around midnight, as the group began to disperse, Ernie pulled Ray and me aside.

“You know about the boat tour tomorrow, don’t you? They’ll want you two there for filming.”

“We’ll be there,” I said.

As Ray and I rode the elevator back to our room, a comfortable silence settled between us. The adrenaline of the race was finally wearing off, leaving behind a deeper sense of contentment.

“Those guys are something else,” Ray said as we got ready for bed. “We should have them visit us in Florida when this is all over.”

“Absolutely. Leo would love them.”

Ray paused, toothbrush in hand. “Do you think he’s worried about us? Leo, I mean. We’ve been gone for weeks with no contact.”

“Production would have told him we’re fine,” I assured him. “They don’t leave families completely in the dark.”

“Still, I miss him. Can’t wait to tell him about everything we’ve done.” Ray hesitated. “Everything we’ve figured out.”

I joined him at the bathroom sink, our eyes meeting in the mirror. “He’s going to be happy for us. Relieved, too, I think.”

“Yeah.” Ray rinsed his toothbrush. “So am I.”

We fell into bed, exhausted but at peace. For the first time in weeks, there was no pressure to wake up at dawn, no challenge waiting to test us, no elimination looming over our heads. Just us, finding our way back to each other in the quiet hours of the night.

The morning brought clear skies and calm waters—perfect conditions for a harbor cruise. Ernie and George were waiting in the lobby at nine, dressed in matching Vancouver Canucks hockey jerseys.

“Don’t ask,” George said before we could comment. “They were on sale in the gift shop.”

The rest of the teams showed up within minutes, and it reminded me of how we’d all been together the night before departure. Except three teams were missing, the three that were still racing.

A production crew of four, two camera operators and two sound techs, followed us to the marina where a large, sleek boat awaited. The captain, a weathered man named Jim, greeted us warmly.

“Perfect day for a tour,” he said, helping us aboard. “We’ll cruise around the harbor, pass under Lions Gate Bridge, and circle Stanley Park. If we’re lucky, we might spot some harbor seals or even orcas.”

As the boat pulled away from the dock, the four of us settled on the rear deck with cups of hot coffee.

Other teams found their own places on the ship.

A cameraman positioned himself discreetly nearby, capturing our conversation for what would likely become part of the show’s “where are they now” segment.

“So,” Ernie began once we were underway, “what’s next for you two when you get back to Florida?”

Ray and I exchanged glances. We’d discussed this briefly but hadn’t made any concrete plans.

“Continuing our therapy,” I said honestly. “The race gave us a jumpstart on reconnecting, but we’ve got work to do.”

“And we’re going to make time for each other, every week. Like we did when we started dating.”

“What about you guys?” I asked. “Back to garbage routes in Detroit?”

George nodded. “For now. But we’ve been talking about starting our own waste management company. The race showed us we make a damn good team, even under pressure.”

“Especially under pressure,” Ernie corrected. “Besides, after falling off those paddleboards in Panama and climbing mountains in France, dealing with Detroit trash doesn’t seem so bad.”

The boat curved around the harbor, offering spectacular views of Vancouver’s skyline against the backdrop of snow-capped mountains.

The captain pointed out landmarks as we passed—Canada Place with its iconic sails, the historic Gastown district, the lush expanse of Stanley Park stretching out before us.

“It’s funny,” I said as we glided under Lions Gate Bridge, the massive structure casting momentary shadows over us. “A month ago, we were all strangers competing against each other. Now look at us.”

“Race family,” George said simply.

“I like that,” Ray smiled. “Race family.”

As the boat circled back toward the marina, our conversation turned to the teams still racing. None of us knew where they were in the world, but speculation was part of the fun.

“My money’s on those military kids,” George said. “They were like machines.”

“The influencers are smarter than they let on,” I countered. “I wouldn’t count them out.”

“What about the models?” Ernie asked. “Those guys were physical specimens.”

Ray shook his head. “They struggled with the mental challenges. Remember that puzzle in Panama? Alex almost had a meltdown.”

“So who do you think will win?” George pressed.

I considered the question. “Honestly? The influencers could surprise everyone. Zara and Maddox fly under the radar, but they’re observant and adaptable.”

“Plus they’re young,” Ray added. “That counts for a lot when you’re racing non-stop for weeks.”

The boat docked, and we disembarked, thanking Captain Jim for the tour. As we walked back toward the hotel, I fell into step beside George while Ray and Ernie led the way, deep in conversation about some athletic topic.

“Can I ask you something?” George said quietly.

“Of course.”

“How did you know? That your relationship was worth saving, I mean. After whatever happened between you two.”

I was surprised by the question’s directness but appreciated its sincerity.

“I guess I didn’t know, not for sure. But I knew what we had built together over twenty-five years—our home, our family, our history.

And I knew Ray was genuinely sorry, that he wanted to make things right as much as I did. ”

George nodded thoughtfully. “My brother’s going through something similar with his wife. Fifteen years of marriage, and suddenly he doesn’t know if they’re even the same people anymore.”

“Tell him it’s worth the effort,” I said. “Not every relationship is, of course. But if there’s still love there, still respect beneath the hurt, then it’s worth fighting for.”

“I will.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “And thanks. For being real about it. A lot of people just paste on smiles and pretend everything’s perfect.”

“We’re way past that,” I laughed. “Nothing says ‘authenticity’ like breaking down crying in a cave while cameras capture every moment.”

Ray and I went for a long walk around the harbor in the afternoon, then met George and Ernie for dinner.

“I wonder what they’ve got the last three teams doing,” George said. “I have to say I’m happy to be here in luxury instead of out there wearing myself to the ground.”

The next morning, Ray and I sat on our hotel balcony, watching the sunrise paint the mountains in shades of pink and gold, when a production assistant knocked on our door.

“The last three are completing the final challenge today,” she informed us. “We’ll need all of you at the finish line to cheer the winners on. A bus will be here at three o’clock. Be sure to be wearing your team colors.”

Reality rushed back in. The race wasn’t over yet—not for everyone. And soon, we’d see who would cross the finish line first and claim the million-dollar prize.

“Are you ready for this?” Ray asked. “To watch someone else win?”

I considered the question, thinking back to how devastated I’d felt when we were eliminated in Laos. But something had shifted during our week in Vancouver. The competitive drive had faded, replaced by a deeper appreciation for what we’d accomplished together.

“You know what?” I said, zipping my suitcase closed. “I am. Because no matter who wins that money, I think we got the better prize.”