Campy took a quick look at Vic to see how bad he was hit. His helmet took the brunt of the bullet but there was a trickle of blood running down the side of the domestic's face. The crest was near, not too far. Still the cars were behind them but because of the steep climb they too had a hard time as well.
"Vic, push it man, give it all you got!"
They did and when the crest came up and eased their labor, they both sucked in air and with sped up their bikes, quickly shifting gears and gaining speed to tuck in and become as air-streamed as they could. They heard the cars crest but now they had distance between them once again, their speed with the decent, gained quicker by the second.
They were going thirty then fifty miles an hour down the crest of the mountain and banking in each curve, something the cars had difficulty with. And they knew it too for now the vehicles in hot pursuit realized their mistake and the squeals of their tires sounded like sirens at each curve. Campy was keen on curves and downhill racing. The domestic was safely tucked in behind him in the vortex of Campy's draft. The automobiles, with their weight and inability to bank in the curves were at a disadvantage and Girlymann knew it. With a smile on his face he decided to taunt them.
Raising up he caught the wind and it slowed their speed down, just enough to give the men in the cars the idea that they could catch them. In one sharp corner, the screech of tires ended in a crash and car one of the cars going over an embankment. That left two a bit wiser.
Girlymann knew he had only the mountain to give him a chance. Once on the flats, they would be dead ducks. But at the moment the two reveled in their power over the gun toting thugs on their tail. The thugs had backed off enough to make the curves but at the cost of slowly falling behind. It was a cat and mouse game and they did not want to be the losers.
Campy Girlymann scoured the countryside on their fast decent. With each curve, his gaze would canvas for something ahead he could use, some kind of advantage. The thick forest gave way, here and there for a mountain stream or waterfall. In some gorges, a bridge was used to cross over the water and at one, there was a dirt road that ran off to the side just before the bridge.
Campy was hoping that luck would be with him. He signaled to Vic to keep his head up for a maneuver, with his target in mind, Campy lowered his body and tucked in to make himself as aerodynamic as he could. Their speed picked up. With Vic in the draft it made the slip stream even more powerful. They were going into curves at sixty-plus miles an hour. One slip, one mistake, flat, mechanical error could be the end of them without the bullies having fired a shot.
It was hair raising but with bravery, good biking skills and some luck, an experienced biker could practically fly in a mountain decent. The thugs fell far behind and this forced them to speed up just to keep an eye on where the bikers were in the decent. It took them some time when they realized the distance the two were making on them but when they did it forced them to take chances too.
Campy was tracing the curves in his mind, not knowing this road brought its own dangers but he couldn't afford to overshoot the target. With Zen like determination, Campy pictured what he viewed from above to where they were at the moment. He knew in a few minutes, they should be at the bridge......
To be continued....
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