The Girl, On The Bike

Then it hit, somebody broke the name suppression, and it was Sarah who had been accused.

The country blew up. Yes the guy who broke the order was arrested and charged, but that didn't help Sarah. She was now being roasted by the whole country, judged by everyone. Nobody seemed to have any sympathy for her whatsoever. What I couldn't understand was, she had never returned a positive drug sample. Even now, her tests were clean. Why the hell would she import them if she wasn't using them? She didn't need the money. She was the media darling, everybody loved her. She was on every magazine cover, every news show, radio. You name it, she was there.

It had to be a mistake. Now, though, she was hounded and harassed by the media, all searching for a story. Her only saving grace was the name suppression. The media, as much as they sought her out for interviews, couldn't ask her about the incident.

Sarah, who usually courted the media, had gone underground. It was like she wasn't even in the country. I tried ringing her, but it just went to answer phone. I tried her parents, her friends. Nobody would talk. Some of her so-called friends had obviously dumped her, because their remarks were pretty scathing.

Not that I could do much, I just wanted to try and support her. I had no luck; she was well and truly in hiding. At least my conscience was clear, I had tried. All I could do was watch the story unfold in the media. An application was made to lift the name suppression, on the grounds it was public knowledge, anyway. Sarah could have kept her secret, but she chose not to defend it, and the story went full noise. Her face was again on every magazine and newspaper, but now it was for all the wrong reasons. There were photos of her in tears trying to avoid the paparazzi. She was being hounded to death. No wonder she was scared to show her face.

The evidence was pretty damning. She had returned from her Europe mission, her bike packaging was checked by customs and a large number of steroids were found in bags hidden inside the crate.

She denied any knowledge of their existence, but there was no hiding from the fact they were found in her property.

The accusations, of course, increased. There was a raucous clamouring for her ejection from the New Zealand cycling team. Her sponsors dumped her, one after the other.

We didn't finish on great terms, but I did feel sorry for her. I still didn't believe it; she wasn't that sort of person. It just wasn't in her psyche.

I was busy loading my shopping bags into the boot of my car when I heard the screaming. The supermarket was full, as was the car park. The screaming grew in intensity, and it was obvious a woman was being harassed. Not knowing what to expect, I ran quickly in the direction of the yelling.

That's where I found some guy screaming vitriolically in Sarah's face as she tried to do as I had: pack her groceries in her car. The guy towered over her and had his finger pointed at her face as he spewed out all sorts of vile unnecessary shit. Without hesitation, I jumped between them facing him.

He reeled back shocked at my intrusion. He was taller and bigger than me. "Mate, I think you've said enough, all right?"

He stared angrily at me. "Who the fuck are you, arsehole?" he snarled.

"Nobody, but I don't care who you are, you don't talk to women like that. I think you should just walk away."

A woman behind me quickly grabbed Sarah, who was bawling her eyes out. "Come with me, honey. You don't have to put up with that." She pulled Sarah into a consoling hug, holding her head against her chest.

The big guy stood looking around at the growing crowd, then back at me. "She's a fucking cheat and a drug dealer. She deserves everything she gets."

"Nobody deserves that shit, mate. If I were you, I would walk away and crawl back under your rock,"

"Fuck you, dickhead. Weren't you fucking listening; she's a fucking drug dealer."

"I don't care, all I know is, you have no right to talk to anybody like that."

He pushed me hard in the chest before storming off, screaming at me over his shoulder." The crowd dissipated once he walked off. Sarah returned, shielded by the other woman. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks wet and tear stained. She looked up at me with a look that said thanks. The elderly lady who had shielded her spoke up. "Thank you, young man. That was very brave. That man, goodness me. What a belligerent nasty chap."

"Yeah, he was indeed." Glancing down at Sarah, I asked, "Are you all right?"

She nodded slowly as she wiped away tears with her knuckles clenched. "Are you going to be all right to drive?" I asked.

"Yes, I think so. I'm a little shaken, but I'm getting used to it."

"You don't look like you're okay at all. I'll drive you home."

The old lady said, "I think that's a good idea. You do not look very steady, Sarah."

Sarah looked up at me, pleadingly. "Are you sure, I mean, what about your car?"

"I'll get a taxi, or maybe your dad can drive me back to get it."

She just nodded, handing me the keys. She looked so different. The cocky confident woman was gone, replaced by this beaten shell. I opened the car door for her, the old lady giving me a hug and a thank you kiss on the cheek.

"You are still living with your parents then?" I asked as we headed for Point Chev.

"Yeah, still at home. Thanks for doing this, and thanks for jumping in. You didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did. Sarah, nobody deserves to be treated like that. The guy was being an arsehole."

With downcast eyes, she sniffled. "I suppose you had a big old laugh at my expense when you heard."

"Don't be ridiculous. I was shocked. Why the hell would you think I'd do that?"

"You didn't have a very high opinion of me last time we spoke."

"Sarah, I never wanted bad things to happen to you. I still hold you in the highest regard. All I wanted was to see more of my girlfriend."

She grimaced. "Sorry, I'm a little defensive about everything at the moment."

"Yeah, I can imagine, it must be tough. When's your trial?"

"The date hasn't been confirmed. My barrister got a deferment so we could get information from the Italian Authorities. Trying to get packing info. That sort of stuff."

"You think somebody tampered with your baggage?"

"I know they did," she hissed vehemently. "I bloody know who it was as well. All I need to do is prove it."

"You know who it was?" I gasped in shock. "If that's the case, it should be easy."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You'd think so, wouldn't you? Knowing who it is and proving it, are two entirely different things." She snarled caustically.

We pulled into her parents driveway and I turned off the key. "Do you think you were framed?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No, I think the bastard wanted the drugs. He just set it up so he wouldn't get lumbered."

"So, you think this guy was trying to import the shit, and used you as a cover?" I tried to keep the disbelieving tone out of my voice, but it was hard. It sounded like some weird movie plot.

She sighed sadly. "You don't believe me?"

"I never said that, Sarah, it just sounds implausible."

"I know it does, but it's true."

"Who is this guy?"

She winced, her eyes looking at the floor. "Selwyn Roberts."

That stunned me. "The track cyclist?"

"Yes."

"Why would he do that? I thought he was a good bloke."

"Ross, he and I used to hang around together. We met up in France when I was there. He organised for the gig in Italy. I didn't find out until after I got there that he's involved in some dodgy shit."

"Drugs?"

"Yeah, and some other stuff. He hangs with some very unsavoury people."

"Did he ask you to do this?"

"Not in so many words, but he hinted at it. He was pretty pissed at me when I said no. It seemed like the only reason he organised the invite to Italy for me was so he could get me to be his bloody drug mule."

"Those are pretty serious accusations, Sarah. You need to be sure of yourself before you start making those thoughts public."

"You think I don't know that?" she huffed.

"How do you know him? Were you team mates?"

She winced again, this one more painful. "We used to date," she whispered sheepishly.

We had never really spoken about former partners before. I have to say that shocked me. "You were girlfriend, boyfriend, Lovers?"

She nodded uncomfortably.

"When you went to Italy with him, were you like a couple?"

"Ross, you and I broke up almost a year ago. Yes, we were like, dating."

"And you think he did this?"

"I know he did. Look, I didn't know he was into all this shit until I got to Italy. Even then, I only found out by accident. I wouldn't have believed it, but once it was out in the open, I saw a different side of him."

"He is back in the country now, isn't he?" I asked.

"Yeah, he's back." Her response was spat out caustically.

"Have you tried to talk to him about it?"

"Yeah, he made it abundantly clear that I better keep my mouth shut."

"Shit, he sounds like a real charmer."

"A real prick, that's what he is," she snarled. "The bastard is trying to lumber me with this, but I'm not having it. If I can get some evidence, then I'm going public."

"Bloody hell, Sarah, be careful. If he's as bad as you say then he is actually dangerous."

"Yes he is, and I think he's linked up with some pretty shady people here, as well."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Ross. All I know is. If I can't find some evidence to prove it, I'm going to be in trouble."

"It's only steroids right?"

Her painful grimace told me otherwise. "No, there were other synthetics in there as well. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not into drugs." Her eyes clouded over, there was desperation in her voice now.

"You're right, none of your friends will believe it. What about Cycling New Zealand, what do they say?"

"My friends have been horrid. Some are hardly even talking to me now. Cycling has cut my funding, most of my sponsors have dumped me. I feel so alone."

We had been sitting in the driveway for nearly an hour talking when her father walked out to see what was going on. He looked confused when he saw me sitting in her car. "Hello, Ross, what are you doing here?"

"Dad, its all right. Some jerk accosted me at the supermarket and Ross jumped in to help. He drove me home."

He and I shook hands as I climbed out of the car. "Do you need a hand with the bags?" I asked.

"No, there's only a couple. Thanks again, Ross. I really appreciate you helping out."

"No worries, Sarah. I'm glad I was there."

"Do you want to come in for dinner?" her father asked.

"No, I have a boot full of groceries in my car at the supermarket. I need to get them home and into the refrigerator."

Sarah and I hugged as I turned and walked out the gate. My mind was in turmoil, going round and round. It was weird seeing her like that, beaten, diffident, timid. That wasn't the Sarah I knew.

This thing had taken its toll, that's for sure. As I walked back to my car, I tried to find a way to help. Not like I knew any of the people she talked about. I had no experience with those sorts of people.

As I walked, I realisedthat was actually the way I could help. Nobody knew me. That dick, Roberts, didn't know me from a bar of soap. Maybe I could find a way to get close to him, then I could hopefully pick up some dirt.

That night, I spent hours researching Roberts: where he lived. Since his return, he had been training at a kick-boxing gym, owned by Naylor Glover.

Doing some quick research on him soon uncovered some dark facts. There were plenty of newspaper headlines where the police had raided the gym. He definitely had underworld connections.

Any thoughts I had about Sarah's story were quickly vaporising. This Glover character was dodgy as all hell.

I developed a quick plan. I would join the gym and pretend to want to learn kick-boxing. I'd get as close as I could, see if I could unearth some proof.

The next day after I finished work, I walked into Kick-Boxing World. The front was relatively nice. A very attractive young woman fronted the reception desk, she took all my details, called for a trainer to come and meet me and take me through to the gym.

Tom met me, and he seemed okay. Friendly enough. He led me out back, and the gym workout room looked well kitted out. The equipment looked new and top of the line.

That all changed when we went through into the kick-boxing room. It was dark and dingy. Two boxing rings were set up and in use, as boxers sparred.

"This is where it all happens." Tom said proudly as we walked around. There were half a dozen punching bags, all in use, speed bags, a frame for testing kicks.

It wasn't just the room, and lighting. It was the people. I had never seen so much body ink. Every single person was inked to the max. They looked dodgy. Nobody would hold eye contact, apart from the macho guys who stared me down as I walked around with Tom.

"Ross, reading your application, it says you've never trained in martial arts or fighting of any kind?"

"No, this is a first for me."

"Then why, Bro? You don't look like this is your scene."

"Yeah, well, recently, I've been mugged and got into a fight at a night club. I hated the fact I couldn't really do anything. I made myself a promise there and then. That was the last time. I want to be able to defend myself."

"Yeah, okay, Bro, but why kick-boxing; why not Karate, or some of that shit?"

"Honestly, this looks more like something I could do. I watch those Kung Fu movies on TV, and think, No way is that shit real. This, at least is real."

"Yeah you got that right man. Here we fight. There's no showy shit here. Everything is real. You gonna get the shit kicked outa yo, so I wantcha to know that up front. If you ain't up for that, then yo should find somewhere else to train."

"I'm up for it, at least I think I am. If it's too tough, I can go somewhere else."

He looked sceptical, but I guess they weren't saying no to the three hundred bucks membership.

I stayed and watched some of the sparring, and it was pretty brutal stuff. A whole new world to me. After watching for an hour where not one single person other than Tom approached me, I wandered off home.

The next day I packed a kit bag with training clothes and gym gear. After work, I headed straight for the gym. Tom met me, and did some work in the gym. He wanted to monitor my cardio and general fitness.

He was actually pretty impressed with my level of fitness. Years of cycling meant my cardio was good, but I knew I would get found out when it came to fighting. That was a whole different muscle group.

Tom got me onto the weights, where he assessed my core strength. Surprisingly, it was reasonable. My reflexes were good, my recovery was good. After an hour assessing me, we walked into the boxing gym. That's where my fitness was exposed. Ten minutes on the punching bag, and I was gasping and panting for breath. Much to the mirth of the bystanders.

The speed bag was a waste of time; I couldn't keep it in motion. Tom pushed me back to the punch bag, and he urged and encouraged as I worked through my burning arm muscles.

It was a lot harder than I suspected. My body ached in places I didn't even know I had muscles. I sat on a bench to watch some of the sparring. Watching gave me an opportunity to assess some of the people. There were some dodgy buggers all right.

There was no sign of Roberts or Glover. It took me a week of going in every night before I was assessed as ready to don the head gear and gloves. First, was just learning the different punches. Tom put some pads on his hands and asked me to punch the pads as he held them out in front of him.

He moved and I had to follow, using combinations of punches. All the while, he barked at me. "Get up on the balls of your feet, move bro, move. Never stand still, you gotta be on the move all the while. Get in close."

As i moved in closer, he lifted the pads, making me use an uppercut. Then he pushed me away, moving and barking orders. "Dance, bro, move those fucking feet."

Then, it was learning to clinch. Get in close and tie up your opponent. Stop him from swinging. Then it was knee strikes while in the clinch.

The rest of the week was all about learning the different punches, the jab, the round house, upper cut.

It was the week after, before I was considered ready for actual sparring, I was thrown to the wolves. My first time in the ring was with a guy named Tane. He was a big heavily-muscled Maori, a bit older than me, but obviously a skilled fighter.

Talk about intimidated. His eyes burned into me as we moved around the ring. Tom, leaning on the ropes, kept yelling at me. "Move, Ross, stay up on the balls of your feet, don't stop."

Taking his advice, I moved to my left, Tane, following me, throwing out a few testing jabs, which I managed to block. That's all I did, just circulating, then blocking. The punches came faster, harder, and they were getting harder to block or deflect.

He hit me, a straight jab, part of a combination, and as I tired, I didn't see the third punch. It slipped between my gloves, landing square on my chin. It sent me reeling backwards until the rough hemp of the rope was against my back.

My eyes watered, and it hurt, even with the protective head gear. It hurt, but aside from the pain, a wild red angry mist surged up through my body. I was mad. He made the mistake of taking me lightly. As he came in, I unloaded a couple of brutal body shots as he came in swinging.

They took him by surprise, and it gave me a chance to land a round house against the side of his head. That sent him spinning away. The rage that burned within me drove me forward, I followed him, and kept throwing jabs and body shots. Once his back was on the ropes, he grabbed me in a clinch, and his knees came up, striking me on the hips, looking for my ribs.

As his bony knees started landing, my anger levels escalated quickly. I flung off his hands, and stepped back to throw heavier punches.

His skill level, though, was much better than mine, he expected my barrage, and waited. He weaved, ducked and came up with a combination that sent me to the canvas.

Lying on my back, I wondered, "Who turned out the lights, and why could I see stars?"

Before I knew it, Tom was lifting me into a sitting position. "You all right, Bro?"

"Yeah, all good." I replied, spitting out my mouth guard.

As we stood up, he gave me a pat on the back. "Pretty good effort, mate. Tane, is a pro. You did good, man, real good."

Tane, came over, and we hugged. "You got some steel in them fists, dude. Keep it up, those shots hurt."

It was nice to know I could hurt him; now if I could get my jaw to stop aching.

I sparred with a few of the boxers over the following days. Each time, I felt a little more comfortable. I was getting the hang of keeping out the best shots and landing a few of my own. Most of the guys were pretty decent guys, although there were a couple who were down right fucking mean. Their whole intent was to inflict pain. I didn't enjoy sparring with them, they weren't trying to teach me anything, other than I didn't belong there.

I had heard nothing from Sarah. I don't know why I expected things to be different, or even what I wanted. I did still have feelings towards her. Assessing them was the hard bit.

The kick boxing actually took over my life. I couldn't believe how fit I was. I had a six pack developing, and I felt like I was learning the ropes. The only thing separating me was the kicks. Tom suggested I forget all about them. If all I was interested in was self-defence, then kicks were more trouble than they were worth.

As I fell deeper into the whole kick boxing ethos, I wanted to learn more. Tom took me under his wing, and we learned the basic kicks, the ones I could master quickly, like snap kicks, side kicks, leg sweeps.