Nano

CHAPTER 37

The air felt great to Zach Berman at 5,000 feet above sea level in the Jura Mountains of France. After years in Colorado, he felt very comfortable at this altitude. Weather-wise it was a beautiful, promising day, with a warm, bright sun and a faraway blue sky, and Berman’s body tingled with anticipation. This was the day when the years of hard work and sacrifice would pay off. He was confident but not overconfident, because he still had a nagging, anxious feeling that something could go wrong, as had happened over the last few months.

But that was in the past. Since that disturbing morning when he’d gotten the call that the rider Han had ruptured his Achilles tendon, Berman had enjoyed nothing but good news. Bo and Liang, the new tandem in the Azeri race team, had meshed well with the team. Through the coach, Victor Klaastens, Berman had circulated a couple of stories in the cycling trade press about these two young Chinese riders who were showing such great promise in training. By the arrangement of the government, a Chinese newspaper had interviewed the two men, and a transcript in English appeared on the Internet and had been followed up by a few Western sports outlets. The success of Chinese cycling wasn’t going to come as a complete surprise to those in the know.

And the success was coming. Berman’s scientists believed they had cracked the problem that had caused the athletes’ cardiac failures, associating it with a kind of oxygen toxicity that in turn created a hypermetabolic state, a problem that turned out to be amenable to subtle changes in dosage, actually lowering the loading dose. Ever since those changes had been incorporated into the protocol, no one had encountered any problems whatsoever. What’s more, performance levels had gone up further, adding to Berman’s sense of comfort that what had been planned for this stage of the Tour de France was about to be realized.

Liang was the stronger of the two cyclists, physically and mentally, and it was decided that he should enjoy the honor. The team was positioned so that Liang’s triumph would be a surprise but not a complete shock. He showed himself to be a good climber, and in two earlier medium-difficulty mountain stages, he had picked up points, leading the pack up major climbs, earning a good standing in the “King of the Mountains” race, a prestigious competition within the larger Tour itself.

At each stage, Berman and Jimmy Yan had spent a little time with the team. A few days earlier, they set up a base in western Switzerland from where they could drive into France and catch up with their riders. Berman had never spent so much time with one person, and he doubted that even the most devoted married couples ate every meal together like they did, not to mention nearly all their other waking moments. Berman liked Jimmy, but he knew the man wasn’t being paid to be his friend. But now, as the two men stood amid a crowd at the top of the brutal eighteen-kilometer climb to the summit of the Col du Grand Colombier, Berman felt he could confide in Jimmy.

“I’m very nervous, Jimmy, I don’t mind admitting it. There’s so much at stake.”

“I am also nervous.”

“Really?” said Berman. It was unlike Jimmy to admit to such a weakness.

“Sure. I know what you have on the line. And I know how serious my superiors are about seeing proof that your methods will work. They have a lot at stake as well. But you are a sincere man, so I am hoping you succeed, and when you succeed, China succeeds. It is, as you Americans say, a win-win situation.”

“Sincere?”

“You believe what you say, and it is hard to argue with that confidence. But a lot of what you promise is outside your control, so your sincerity may not always help you, as it raises expectations.”

Berman was unsure how to respond. Should he be less sincere? Or make fewer promises? Jimmy helped him out by speaking again.

“You’re sure you really want to be here, not at the finish?”

The stage finished in the small town of Bellegarde-sur-Valserine, more than forty kilometers past the mountain, with another, less vigorous climb between the riders and the end.

“No, this is the spot I want to be at. If Liang is leading here, I know he’s strong enough to win the stage. This is what this race means to me, the rider struggling to the top of the mountain, on his own, fighting his pain and fatigue as much as he is taking on the other riders.”

“I know you like the sport,” said Jimmy.

“It’s a metaphor for me,” said Berman. “I’m a competitive guy.” A moment later a cheer went up from the crowd as the people pressed forward.

“They are coming,” said Jimmy.

The police were now fighting to contain the crowd so that they could keep the road open. In the next instant a police car summited the peak with siren blaring, then another car, then a car from the Azeri team and a motorbike with a cameraman facing backward, training his camera practically in the rider’s face. Berman strained to see through the flags — he saw the rider being patted on the back and heard the cheering for the leader. It was Liang, he was leading the stage! Berman had been following the race online, so he knew what was happening, but he needed to see it for himself. It was sweet victory.

Liang looked strong, his face set in rugged determination, breathing evenly. He was standing on his pedals, straining for every last ounce of effort, then sitting as he rode a short flat before the descent began. He reached down and took a water bottle, zipped up his shirt, which he’d opened for ventilation on the climb, stuffed his mouth with some food, drank, and then was out of sight, followed by more team cars and motorbikes fighting through the crowd that had closed up behind Liang.

A loudspeaker was booming news of the other riders in French, but Berman couldn’t make out any of the information. He looked at Jimmy, who gestured with his head for the two of them to leave. Berman followed him and looked down below as the road snaked away. He could see Liang and the caravan following behind him, rounding a bend far below. Jimmy was looking at his watch, then at his cell phone.

“He has a four-minute lead,” Jimmy said. “The rest of the race is spread out, and there is no organized pursuit. Liang will win the stage.”

Although he had seen his rider crown the mountain in triumph, Berman now was second-guessing his decision to avoid the finish of the stage. He realized that he and Jimmy would be stuck on top of the mountain for hours. But he knew that in less than an hour, Liang would win a stage of the Tour de France, and Berman would be halfway toward his goal: unlimited funding for microbivores. An image of his mother came into his head and he shook it away. Not now. He breathed in a deep draft of mountain air and allowed himself a short, self-satisfied smile.