One Word Erased Every Pain - Clark Mahoney (feel good novels TXT) 📗

mile after mile after mile. But, this is where she ended her ride, at the “Poison Ivy” sign. She dropped her bike on its side, took off her helmet and gloves, and sat in the shade, catching her breath and letting her heart slow down to normal. Normal for her was about seventy beats per minute, at rest. But her active heart rate could get above one-hundred twenty, and sometimes higher, as it raced to push oxygenated blood into her muscles. They needed oxygen, and that was the only way to do it. Breathe deeper and faster, allowing more oxygen to infiltrate the lung’s blood vessels. And then out to the body it went, just as fast as it could go.
She’d just traveled 3.7 miles uphill. It took almost an hour to get to this point, with the slow uphill riding, and the frequent stops to catch her breath. The ride downhill would take less than twenty minutes, as her speed would increase from four miles per hour to about eighteen miles per hour. It would be a tremendous roller-coaster ride, and she couldn’t wait for it to begin. This was why she rode up here. This was why she braved the heat. This was why she dared to ride the trail alone today.
 

Part VII

He was worried. It was almost dark. It was that time of the day when the sun dipped behind the distant treetops, past the houses that lined the horizon, and was setting somewhere beyond in the Pacific Ocean. Dusk, when mosquitoes where about, streetlights were turning on all over the city, and the headlamps of newer cars automatically came on.
Where was his daughter?
He closed his laptop and walked to the living room. He tried watching television, clicking from channel to channel, stopping long enough to hear a few words, then on to the next show. News. Drama. A cartoon. Baseball. Comedy. Weather. “Where is Elisa?” he grumped, as he hit the power button and went out to the garage.
“Elisa?” he called, as he opened the door, but saw only darkness. This was the third time he’d come out here, thinking that he heard her, only to be disappointed again. He looked on the shelf that held the biking tools and supplies. Her helmet was gone, as were her gloves. She never stayed out this long. He remembered their last conversation, and her comments about “running away.” No way, he thought, as he also remembered the smile, the kiss on the cheek, the water bottle, and the talk of going to a movie. She couldn’t have run away in anger. Could she?
Upstairs he went, to her bedroom. He knocked, hoping to hear her voice say “Come in, Daddy,” or the pitter-patter of her steps as she walked across to open the door. Nothing. He turned the knob, walked in, and looked toward her bed. Maybe she’d be asleep on top of the covers, tired from her bike ride, a frequent occurrence on hot afternoons. It was empty.
He took his cell phone out of his pocket and called her cell phone. “Ring-ring, ring-ring.” It was coming from her backpack, sitting on the floor next to her desk. He hung up.
Glancing about, he noticed just how neat she kept her room. The bed was made. The book shelves were neat. Her desk top was empty, except for one thing, her diary. He walked over to it, intending to read the last few entries to see if she was okay, or mad, or sad, or scared. Placing his hand on the pink cover, he hesitated. This was HER journal. It was private. What would she think if he invaded HER privacy. He removed his hand from the journal and decided to wait.
He walked downstairs, and sat on the couch, the very place that they both often sat, blanket over their feet, popcorn in a bowl, and laughing at the silly movies they’d rented. Where was she? His mind played through all the grim possibilities. She could’ve gotten a flat tire, and is now walking the bike home. No, she would’ve been home already. Okay, she could’ve taken the wrong trail, and gotten lost, going farther and farther from her home, the wrong way. Maybe. Or, she could’ve been attacked by a mountain lion, or a pack of coyotes. No! He tried NOT to think of other possibilities, but he failed. She could’ve been kidnapped by a deranged lunatic, and be scared for her life. “Stop!” he told himself, and he got up to walk around.
Leaning against the wall, he looked into the photo of two girls, best friends, holding their biking helmets and smiling, with a beautiful mountain in the background. “That’s it,” he shouted. She could’ve returned from biking and gone to her friend’s house. That’s what happened. Yes. He ran upstairs, got her cell phone, and re-dialed the last person she’d called. It was her best friend.
“Hey, girlfriend. What’s up? How was your ride?”
“Hello, this isn’t Elisa. This is her father. Do you happen to know where she is right now?” he asked, hoping to end his night’s worries.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Good,” he breathed, happy to hear the magical word. That word had never sounded so good. Wheh! “Could you put her on the phone, please?”
“I’m sorry. She’s not here. She’s out riding her bike on the trail. She wanted me to go with her, but I had too much homework to do. And, it was way too hot,” she said in that sing-song happy voice that children often use.
“Did she say anything about going somewhere afterwards?” he asked, sounding disappointed, which he was.
“Ummm, no. I don’t think so. Shouldn’t she be back by now?” she asked, sounding a bit confused.
“Yes, she should be home by now. Look, if she shows up at your house, would you please have her call me. It’s getting dark and I’m very worried about her.”
“Okay. Will do. Bye,” she answered, and hung up the phone.
Setting his daughter’s phone down, he knew what he must do. He walked down the hall, and opened the door to the garage.

 


Part VIII

Elisa loved riding downhill. Ahead of her lay three and a half miles of pure joy. Twenty minutes of fun. Most of it was downhill, and all of it was full of twists and turns, around trees and over their roots, past big boulders and small pebbles, through streams and over slippery rocks.
In one stretch of a minute or so, she would go cross the stream five times. Powering her way down the short hill, she’d splash through the water, then ride up the other side and try to catch some air. Five times. She loved this part, and often tried NOT to pedal as she made her way downward.
In another stretch, the path was full of dips and curves. This was where she pushed herself to the limit, going as fast as she could. Pedal, pedal, faster. There were blind corners, where you couldn’t see the trail ahead of you. There were several little jumps, ones she’d taken so many times before. She tried to peer through the trees around each curve, to make sure that there weren’t any horses on the trail, or bikes coming up the path, or walkers with their dogs.
Little kids often wandered along the path ahead of their parents, and she’d round a corner to find them in the middle of the path. In the middle. Her ringing bell often served as a warning, but the parent would yell their child’s name once they saw her bike, and the child would turn around to see what their parent wanted. They’d turn their back to her, look at their parents, then turn back around in fear as they saw the concern on their parents’ face, heard fmear in their voice. This wasn’t safe, but the parents never seemed to figure out that they were creating a more of a problem instead of solving it by getting their child to step to the side of the trail.
She’d encountered horses too, and scared them and their riders. That wasn’t such a safe thing as horses might stamp sideways in panic, into the brush, or rear up, causing their rider to fall. Often, she’d come across a group of five or six riders, young teenage girls, out on a ride with an instructor. She’d stop her bike, move to the side of the path, and wait for them to proceed by her. This was the rule of the trail. Horses have the right of way, then hikers, then bikers. Bikers had to yield to everyone. Share and enjoy the trail is what the signs stated. Share.
Elisa didn’t see the deer until the last second. Her eyes were focused downward, as she was trying to avoid the larger rocks in the path. She was barreling down the trail, feeling the cool breeze on her face, and turning her wheel this way and that way, finding the path of least resistance. In the distance, the sun was setting, and she knew that she should be returning home soon. Sometimes she rode at night, with a light attached to her handlebars, aimed at the trail ahead of her. And, she’d wear a headlamp, attached to her helmet, to light he path, or trees, or wherever her head turned. But, not tonight. She didn’t expect to be out late.
She rounded a corner, pedaling fast to gain more speed, and her focus was on her bike, and the pedals, and NOT on the trail. Not on the deer. She swerved to the left, hoping to go around it quickly, but the deer was startled too. It didn’t hear her coming. It didn’t expect to be hit by a bike. It panicked, as deer often do. As Elisa turned her wheel to the left, it bolted, jumping to the left of the trail, hoping to make it up the hill.
Elisa thought she was going to hit it full on, but turned her handlebars just in time, pulling to the right. But, the sudden change of direction threw her bike into chaos, and she realized that she was going to go over the edge of the trail and into the ravine. It happened so quickly that she never had time to apply the brakes.
Trees raced past her and she felt the branches tearing at her skin. Vines tried to grab her as she flew down the hill. The last thing she remembered before blacking out was a mighty oak tree racing toward her, reaching out with its mighty limbs and wrapping itself around her in a mighty hug that squeezed the breath out of her lungs in its painful embrace.
 

Part IX

His bike was in the garage. It was a Specialized full-suspension Rockhopper. The components