Breakaway specialized in midrange, supported trips. Their tours weren’t as luxe as what some of the high-end outfitters offered. The riders wouldn’t find four-star hotels, Michelin-starred restaurants, or wine pairings with their meals when the day’s riding was done on this trip. They’d be staying in midrange hotels and bed-and-breakfasts, which were comfortable and clean but would not be mistaken for the Four Seasons. The food would be tasty and plentiful, but not gourmet: more pizza and fried chicken than foie gras and sweetbreads. Breakaway attracted lots of families, younger riders on budgets, and seniors on fixed incomes, who wanted to see the world but who did not have ten thousand dollars to drop on an eight-day jaunt around Lake Como.
“By now, you all should have met Jasper,” Abby said, and pointed him out. Jasper gave an amiable wave from his spot toward the rear of the group. “Jasper is our chef and our mechanic. He’ll be preparing breakfasts and lunches. He also drives the sag wagon. He transports our baggage, and cyclists, as needed. He’ll give you a ride if you want one. He’ll fix your bike if it’s broken. You will want to make Jasper your friend.”
“Hi, everyone,” Jasper said. “Welcome.”
“Hi!” chorused the group, except for the same aged gentleman, who asked, loudly, “What?” Jasper was in his early thirties, lean and fit in a Breakaway tee shirt and cargo shorts. With his slender hips, the steely-looking tendons in his forearms, and calves that could have been used as an illustration in an anatomy lesson, he looked much more like most people’s idea of an athlete than Abby did… but, because Jasper was Black, with locs that hung halfway down his back, he, like Abby, was not necessarily what people pictured when they imagined a bike-trip leader. There’d been efforts, in recent years, to make the sport more inclusive, but in general, Abby knew, cycling was still a pastime of the white and the wealthy.
“I know you’re all eager to hit the road,” Abby continued. She gave her sweaty palms a quick wipe on her bike shorts. “I’m going to go over the route and the rules of the road. Today we’re covering the most urban portion of the ride as we make our way out of New York City. We’ll be riding along the Hudson River Greenway out of Manhattan and into the Bronx, over the Broadway Bridge and into Van Cortlandt Park. In case anyone was worrying, we are riding under, not over, the George Washington Bridge.” Abby thought she saw one of the ladies looking extremely relieved at the news. “We’ll stop for lunch in Yonkers, about twenty miles in. Then we’ve got another thirty miles or so until we’re done for the day. Some of the signage leaving the city gets confusing, especially around Manhattan College, so I am going to ask that we all stick together for the first thirteen miles. I’m also going to ask each rider to wear a reflective vest. They help with visibility, which you’ll want, especially on days when we’ll be riding in traffic.”
Jasper was making his way through the group, handing each rider an orange mesh vest with a triangle outlined in reflective tape on the front and back. The enthusiasm with which the riders accepted these items decreased along with their age. The older folks took them with good grace and, sometimes, enthusiastic thanks. Meanwhile, both of the young guys had their backs turned, but Abby was pretty sure she heard one of them mutter What’s the point under his breath, before folding up the pinny and shoving it into one of the pockets in the back of his jersey. My first troublemaker, Abby thought, and narrowed her eyes, thinking, I hope your bicycle seat chafes you somewhere really uncomfortable.
While she waited, Abby’s thoughts wandered to Mark, who hadn’t been happy to see her go. He’d told her it was fine, that she should go for it, that he was happy for her, but Abby had seen his expression—puzzled, disappointed, maybe even a tiny bit angry—after she’d given him the news.
“It’s good money,” Abby said. “And two weeks isn’t forever.”
“I know. I just wish—well.”
“What?” Abby made herself ask.
“I wish I’d had a little more notice. I could have signed up for more shifts. But I understand this just came up,” he said, before Abby could interrupt to remind him of that very thing.
“It’s just two weeks,” Abby said again. “And when I get back, we can figure out the apartment situation.”
Mark nodded, but his expression made him look off-balance, confused, and very young. It made her heart ache. “If we’re going to find a new place, we really should start looking soon.”