Gallery TDF
| Welcome to the Swift-Arts Gallery TDF This Gallery highlights the first work from the novelist Hg Almaden, Ten Dog Fog. |
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Tower 5 was also where he witnessed a crash that he thought had killed a downhill
rider. He remembered it was a busy day on the hill – a race day that brought more
riders to the trails. He was taking his time, picking alongside the trail, right about
where two other trails converged. Two riders came up behind him. David
immediately identified them as yahoos on rental bikes, trying to kill themselves.
David would steer clear of these two. David pulled to the side of the trail at the
convergence to let them pass, but they stopped too. He looked at them, and could
see they were looking uphill at the trail that followed the gondola. That piece of trail
was called Lift Line, and David had ridden it a lot back in the day. He followed their
gaze in time to see a rider hurtling down across the crossing, off a ten foot rock. The
bike hit the rock, and then turned sideways on the rider. The rider hit the ground with
a “whumpf’ as all the air was ejected from the lungs. The bike somehow kept going,
and ended up down past the first turn of a set of switchbacks.
David and the other two were frozen by this, but from a passing gondola, he heard,
“Dudes, help him!”
That brought them all to life, as they threw down their bikes and scrambled down to
the rider. The rider looked dead, a slight body sheathed in body armor. The body
armor was plastered with patches and stickers – this rider had a lot of sponsors.
The full face mask and goggles concealed most of the face, except a frozen smile
and wispy brown hair that straggled eerily out in every direction. The rider was facing
up; head tilted toward the sky, and David’s first thought was to keep the body
stabilized – in case of spinal injury or internal damage. David put his hand on the
chest, which was heavy-set, even in the armor. He felt a pulse; that was good.
“Dude, are you ok? Dude?” he recalled himself saying to the lifeless rider. The body
was slight, a teenager, he figured.
The other riders were also leaning over the prone body. There was a pause where
David thought, maybe he’s dead?
But David Miller was wrong.
She wasn’t dead.
First her smile widened, then she took a hand and wiped the goggles off her face.
Using both elbows, she raised herself up.
Jeez, it’s a girl. Shit, I was grabbing her and didn’t even know it. And she’s all right!
After a fall like that, David thought he would be in traction forever. The face was
familiar. He knew her.
“I’m fine. Fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.” The voice was familiar, but he
couldn’t seem to place it. She was now on her feet, heading towards her bike,
which was a crumpled mess in the rocks downhill. David walked alongside her,
doubtful that the bike was rideable. The girl (or woman, he couldn’t tell) was much
shorter than David. She reached it first, and with a twist, straightened the seat and
pulled a foot over the frame. “David, I’ll be OK. Thanks.”
With that she was gone, the white race number flapping on her back. The back of
her helmet had the letters “E Z” on them. As she sped down the hill, he realized who
she was. It was Elizabeth Zabriskie.
rider. He remembered it was a busy day on the hill – a race day that brought more
riders to the trails. He was taking his time, picking alongside the trail, right about
where two other trails converged. Two riders came up behind him. David
immediately identified them as yahoos on rental bikes, trying to kill themselves.
David would steer clear of these two. David pulled to the side of the trail at the
convergence to let them pass, but they stopped too. He looked at them, and could
see they were looking uphill at the trail that followed the gondola. That piece of trail
was called Lift Line, and David had ridden it a lot back in the day. He followed their
gaze in time to see a rider hurtling down across the crossing, off a ten foot rock. The
bike hit the rock, and then turned sideways on the rider. The rider hit the ground with
a “whumpf’ as all the air was ejected from the lungs. The bike somehow kept going,
and ended up down past the first turn of a set of switchbacks.
David and the other two were frozen by this, but from a passing gondola, he heard,
“Dudes, help him!”
That brought them all to life, as they threw down their bikes and scrambled down to
the rider. The rider looked dead, a slight body sheathed in body armor. The body
armor was plastered with patches and stickers – this rider had a lot of sponsors.
The full face mask and goggles concealed most of the face, except a frozen smile
and wispy brown hair that straggled eerily out in every direction. The rider was facing
up; head tilted toward the sky, and David’s first thought was to keep the body
stabilized – in case of spinal injury or internal damage. David put his hand on the
chest, which was heavy-set, even in the armor. He felt a pulse; that was good.
“Dude, are you ok? Dude?” he recalled himself saying to the lifeless rider. The body
was slight, a teenager, he figured.
The other riders were also leaning over the prone body. There was a pause where
David thought, maybe he’s dead?
But David Miller was wrong.
She wasn’t dead.
First her smile widened, then she took a hand and wiped the goggles off her face.
Using both elbows, she raised herself up.
Jeez, it’s a girl. Shit, I was grabbing her and didn’t even know it. And she’s all right!
After a fall like that, David thought he would be in traction forever. The face was
familiar. He knew her.
“I’m fine. Fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.” The voice was familiar, but he
couldn’t seem to place it. She was now on her feet, heading towards her bike,
which was a crumpled mess in the rocks downhill. David walked alongside her,
doubtful that the bike was rideable. The girl (or woman, he couldn’t tell) was much
shorter than David. She reached it first, and with a twist, straightened the seat and
pulled a foot over the frame. “David, I’ll be OK. Thanks.”
With that she was gone, the white race number flapping on her back. The back of
her helmet had the letters “E Z” on them. As she sped down the hill, he realized who
she was. It was Elizabeth Zabriskie.
| Review of Ten Dog Fog from Amazon.com: ...more than "a cautionary tale" of a mountain biking trip through the Sierras gone awry, as the author puts it. We get inside David's head - his desires, troubles, history. It's a portrait of a person on a lonely trip into his life, much like any adrenaline-filled ride. The author captures the thought process well. Along the way, we learn about the man, his loves. Lola, (named after the Kink's song), is faithfully by his side, while David's encounters with the female of his species is more humorous. Buried in the trip, there's also a poignant personal account of the dangers of mercury poisoning. Great music references to the Black Crowes, Kinks and others, this is a fun read. |
| Excerpt from Ten Dog Fog |
| Vist the Author's Blog: http://tendogfog.blogspot.com/ |