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sabotage my bike?” Joe asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”
    Frank nodded. “You’re right. It’s not like we’re big-name competitors or anything.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a bad break—no pun intended. C’mon. Let’s get your bike fixed so we can get back into the race.”
    The brothers walked back through the woods toward the checkpoint. As they went, several out-of-breath race staffers ran up to them. “Are you all right?” one asked.
    â€œI had a problem with the brakes,” Joe said. “But I should be able to fix it and continue.”
    â€œYou really had us worried,” said the other official. “Vince Bennett saw the video feed and calledto check on you. We’re glad you’re okay.” As he talked, the other official radioed in the news that Joe hadn’t been hurt.
    The four of them returned to the checkpoint in time to see Roger Baldwin pedaling off down the cross-country trail. Michael Lupin arrived at the bottom of the hill as the brothers unpacked their emergency repair kits and began working on Joe’s bike. Lupin spared the brothers only a glance before finishing his check-in and biking down the trail.
    It took the Hardys only a few minutes to make the needed repairs. They tested Joe’s brakes vigorously, then completed the checkpoint routine and headed into the forest. The cross-country trail was more suited to hiking or skiing than bike racing. Pine needles made traction difficult and the course wound up and downhill frequently.
    Joe soon began to feel the effects of his ordeal. His muscles ached and his breath came in labored gasps. “Go ahead of me, Frank,” he said. “You can make better time than I can.”
    â€œNo way,” Frank replied. “I don’t care if we’ve both got emergency radios. I’d rather stick close and rely on each other.”
    A few racers passed the brothers as they rode in tandem through the forested hills. The Hardys passed several competitors as well. Some were merely going slow, others had troubles of their own. One woman had a broken bicycle frame and was using her radio to call for help. Another manwas sitting by the side of the trail, taking an early break to drink some water.
    â€œBet that guy doesn’t finish in the top ten,” Joe said with a tired grin.
    Several helicopters passed overhead as they labored up and down the terrain.
    â€œMedia?” Joe asked.
    â€œOr race monitors or medical personnel,” Frank suggested. “I thought I spotted the Red Cross and the LaTelle Medical logo on a chopper earlier. Either way, I’m glad someone’s keeping an eye on things.”
    â€œThe choppers kind of spoil the pristine atmosphere, though,” Joe said.
    Frank chuckled. “Like a bunch of people on mountain bikes don’t?”
    They stopped only briefly for a packed lunch, to stretch, and to recheck the gear on the bikes.
    â€œThis course is jostling things all out of whack,” Joe said, tugging his handlebars back into proper alignment.
    â€œIt could have been your earlier run off the mountain, too,” Frank replied.
    â€œNot the best start,” Joe said, “but we’re making up some ground—even if my whole body aches.”
    â€œJust wait until day six,” Frank said.
    Joe smiled. “You’ll be eating my dust by then, bro.”
    â€œWe’ll see about that,” Frank replied. He mounted up and rode off. Joe did the same, only a second or two behind.
    The beauty of the woodland scenery took some of the monotony out of the rolling hills. Soon the pines of the mountain slope gave way to a mixed forest: maples, oaks, and other deciduous trees.
    Toward the end of the day they passed Michael Lupin, who was wrestling with a flat tire. “Need any help?” Joe called. Lupin merely scowled and waved them on.
    Just before sunset the brothers broke out of the woods