Part 18 (1/2)
”We're almost there!” Van Vleet yelled back to me.
”Where?”
”Glenwood. Our noon stop.”
I felt a surge of adrenalin. I'd done it. I'd completed the first leg-er, half leg-of TribRide. Hoo-rah!
We pedaled towards the city limits. People lined the street, waving, clapping, yelling, and handing out water to the cyclists.
”How cool is this?” I said, grinning and waving to the crowd. ”This is some welcome!”
Several ”squirts” with pistol-sized squirt guns aimed modest streams of cooling water at the riders as we rode by.
”Ahhh!” I said, savoring the cool spray on my heated skin. ”Go ahead!” I joked to a bunch of kids with pistols. ”Make my day!”
”Whatever you say, Miss Ratfink.”
I opened my mouth to say something along the lines of ”Nooo!” when a torrent of water just this side of a fireman's hose, blasted me full in the face, filling my mouth with a liter of tepid water and knocking my sungla.s.ses askew. Water dripped from my helmet like rain through a faulty gutter during a downpour.
Through a waterlogged haze, I spotted Keelie Keller armed with a Super Soaker that looked as big as a rocket launcher. I pursed my lips and expelled the water from my mouth, hitting Van Vleet in the back of the head in the process.
”Hey!” Van Vleet protested.
”Hit her again, Keelie!” Tiara shouted. ”Hit her again!”
Another blast from Keelie's weapon of choice nailed me-once, twice, three times-dousing me from head to toe.
”Look at that girl, Mommy. She looks funny!”
”Hey, Captain Kirk. Scotty doesn't look so hot.”
”Now you see why you'll never get me on a bike.”
The comments stung my saturated psyche like tiny light sabers.
Zing. Zing. Zing.
h.e.l.lo. Hadn't these people ever heard of Iowa nice?
We battled our way through a squadron of locals armed, suspiciously enough, with Super Soakers identical to the one a demented diva had unloaded on yours truly. It felt like we were riding through the falls of Niagara. By the time we made it past the a.s.sa.s.sins, I was soaked to the skivvies.
My only solace? Van Vleet hadn't been spared either.
”Why did you have to go and make an enemy of the biggest celebrity to come on TribRide?” Captain Wet Underpants harangued, as we walked our bike into town.
”Excuse me? I'm the innocent party here. Can I help it if some publicity hungry Hollywood type has me playing Darth Vader to her Leia to boost ratings? There I was, simply minding my own business-”
”Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,” Van Vleet interjected.
”Well, you did say you wanted to get Keelie's attention,” I reminded him. ”You got your wish.”
”Funny.”
We walked in silence for the last block.
Squeak. Squish. Squeak.
I thought about Stan's foot fungus warning and winced.
”I'll need to stop by the Mini-Freeze and get some dry clothes out of the Suburban,” I told Van Vleet.
”Whatever,” Van Vleet said. ”What the heck? Wonder what's going on.”
I looked up. A crowd of people carrying signs on sticks had formed a circle in front of a vendor. They seemed to be chanting.
”Looks like a protest of some kind, but I can't read the signs from here.”
The closer we got, the slower and shorter my footsteps became.
Squish. Squeak.
”Come on! Hurry up! There might be a story here!”
Yeah. The story of my life.
”Wait. Frank's Mobile Mini-Freeze? Isn't that your uncle's ice cream stand?” Van Vleet asked.
By now my steps had slowed to a near stop, offering stubborn resistance as Van Vleet applied more pressure to the handlebars.
”Stop dragging your feet!” he ordered.
”Okay! Okay! Can you see the signs?” I asked, preferring to receive the bad news secondhand in the vain hope some of its sting would be lost in translation.
”Let's see. There's 'We Love Keelie.'”
I let out an audible sigh of relief. Thank G.o.d. Just groupies, after all.
”Wait. Here we go. Another one reads, 'Dairee Sleaze.' Then there's 'Rat Rights' and 'Fresh Roadkill Served Here Daily.' Should I go on?”
I winced.
”No. I get the gist of it,” I said.
”Looks like you got your basic boycott going on,” Van Vleet observed. ”Democracy in action. It's a beautiful thing.”
Easy for him to say. What wouldn't be so red, white, and beautiful for me was when Uncle Frank found out his ice cream windfall was in a total free fall.
”Keelie rules! Mini-Freeze drools!”
I made a face. ”Oh, brother. Is that the best they can come up with?” I asked. Even for reality TV writers, it was pretty awful.