Jayson’s Weblog

I usually prepare my bike and gear early the night before any big ride, then spend the remainder of the evening relaxing with a book to keep from daydreaming of the trails, to the point where I will not sleep because of it. This evening, after the ritual preparation, I decided to finally start reading from a pile of journals I found in my grandfather’s attic after he passed. There are a lot of these, and as they were left unmarked and simply stacked in piles, I just choose one at random to start. However, the very first entry in it turned out to be interesting, and surprisingly timely, so I thought I would share it. Here is the entry I read:


France, July 1908It was three years ago this month, and I was on a forced shore leave, when it all started. Now, regarding this leave of absence, I still say it was not I that … well, the tale was put down, exactly as it happened, and no doubt you have formed your own opinion by now, so I will not go into it again, but know it was because of it that I got mixed up in that of which I now write. This time, it started as I awoke at a table in a café I had been drinking at. I was about to sit up when I overheard a portion of a most singular conversation among a company of men at a table close to my own. There were three men in this group, and even from my poor viewpoint, amidst a pile of empty containers, it was obvious each character was quite peculiar in a way. One was small and wore a wool shirt and cap not unlike those popular with cyclists of the day, while the other two were disproportionately larger, wearing heavy coats and hats, in July, and it was one of these large ones was speaking.


“If you cannot delay him we will use the girl, though the boss says he prefers her undamaged.”


After this, and from my knowledge of the types that frequent the waterfront at this time of night, I thought it might be best to listen a bit more before stirring, and as I was not feeling all that great anyway, I happily continued to lay there playing dead while the big man spoke.


“The rest of the gang will recognize you by the red cycling shirt; and you, them by the same means. You know the target and the race starts tomorrow. See that you are there when it does.”


Presently, the two large fellows stood and disappeared into the other room and soon re-emerged, though between them now walked a girl. I say walked, but it was really more of a shuffle, as the big men each held an arm and urged her on. They thus exited the café, while the cyclist sat staring. However, as soon as the they were gone, this man also stood and entered this room of which I have spoken, and closed the door behind him.


Up until then, it appeared the bunch thought me dead drunk or just plain dead, as I lay there, though I was certain this attitude would change should I appear otherwise. However, there was something about that girl, even from my poor vantage point, laying on the table, and though her face was partially covered, there was something fascinating about her. She walked with her head high, shoulders back, and with confidence, even while being ~assisted~ by the two gentlemen. This and thinking her honor, life, or both were to be taken from her eventually got to me, and with complete disregard, I rose and approached the other room.


Whenever I decide to act on something I should not, a series of obstacles increasing in difficulty, always seem to be placed between me and the goal of my scheme. I know this is the case and I usually recognize it when it happens, yet I always battle my way through to the end I originally had in mind, for good or bad. Nine times out of ten, the outcome of is bad, and I tell myself “you knew it would turn out like this!”, but I persist until I learn it over again, the hard way. This time, as you will see, was no exception.


My intention, as is usually the case, was good, simply to persuade this cyclist to abandon his assignment and to go to the authorities regarding the unfortunate maiden. But the execution, as it usually turns out to be, left much to be desired. I first knocked on the door, hoping my fellow would invite me in so I could make my case. However roadblock number one was silence from behind the door. Failing the polite approach, I tried the door nob, to enter unwanted, and state my case, whether he wished to hear it or not, but obstacle number two meant, yes, the door was locked. To overcome this one, nothing short of smashing down the door would work and fearing my fellow had possibly gone, and therefore my chance to help the girl, that is exactly what I decided to do.


I drew back a step or two and through all of my weight against the door. The great crash and the splintering of wood, I had imagined, ended up being nothing more than a loud clicking sound, as presumably the ancient lock broke, but none the less, the door swung open and I rushed inside. However, no sooner had I crossed the entry than the next obstacle, I knew would come, did. The door slammed shut, the light was extinguished and I was knocked to the floor. This was done with such a surprising force I first assumed there must have been someone, besides he I sought, in the room, for it was inconceivable the lithe cyclist, I had observed earlier, could have had such strength. Nevertheless, down I went, with the wind completely knocked from me by the impact. Then, before I could raise a hand in defense, blows rained down upon me, during which a heavy object slammed into my head and I began to loose consciousness. I was recalled to life however by blows elsewhere and rotating to shield my face my hand fell upon, presumably, the object recently employed on my head. This I grabbed and blindly struck upwards with all of my remaining strength producing an amazing result: stillness. Then shortly after, the crumpled body of my assailant crashed down on top of me…. to be continued