"Christopher Pike - The Immortal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pike Christopher)

Helen was amused at my confidence. "Well see," she said.

We changed into fresh shorts and T-shirts and bade my father and Silk goodbye. They were already half
asleep. Hora was ten minutes on foot. Walking into town along a bumpy asphalt road, we passed what
looked like a worthy beach. I still couldn't get over how clear the water was. But Helen reassured me
that the beach was nothing compared to what we would see on our motorbikes.

The surrounding houses were all white, dazzling in the sunlight, their balconies festooned with glorious
geraniums and pots of basil. Closer to the city, the houses grew thicker together, and I could see that one
facade blended into the next, with narrow flagstone
16

THE IMMORTAL

alleys winding between them. Helen stopped at a bike shop at the edge of this wonderful town.

She was familiar with the bikes, and I suspected she-had used the place on her previous trip. A pleasant
young Greek woman with spotty English helped us pick out bikes--two new Hondas. She demonstrated
how to shift gears, kicking successively down with the left foot. It didn't look hard, but Helen warned me
that I would need practice to get the hang of it.

"Wait till you're going uphill," she said. "Then you'll have fun."

Helen's prophecy came to rapid fruition. Our bikes were low on fuel, the Greek woman warned us. We
had to go straight to the gas station, and by luck the place was straight up the hill from the shop. I got the
bike going well enough and was out on the road, but I quickly lost speed as the incline steepened. Helen
was in front of me, pulling away, as cars and other motorbikes roared past me. I thought I was in first
gear, the best one for a steep hill, but I must have been in second. I kicked the gear lever, and still I
continued to slow down. The bike slowed to the point that it was in danger of falling over. Then it stalled.
I coasted over to the side and dug my sandals into the asphalt. The bike was trying to roll back down the
hill.

"Damn," I said.
The scooters had kick starters. I fiddled with the gears before giving it a kick and discovered I had been
in third gear. Using the heel of my left foot--the front of the foot upped the gears, the heel lowered
them--I

17
CHRISTOPHER PIKE

ground myself back to what I hoped was neutral and then, with my right foot, gave the starter pedal a
good swipe. Apparently I wasn't aggressive enough. Starting a bike is a real macho thing, I realized.
Putting a slight sneer on my lips, as if I were James Dean, and gritting my teeth, I gave the pedal a real
he-man slap. It roared to life.

I rode all the way up the hill in first gear. I was taking no chances on stalling out. Helen was waiting for
me at the gas station, a smug expression on her face.

"Having trouble?" she asked.