Jon and Nightcrawler: Part 1, the Jump

Nightcrawler and I arrived at the Grand Canyon and were immediately greeted by Evel Knievel.

“Wow,” I said while shaking his hand. “This is really cool. Remember that one time when you brought your tour bus to Fox River Grove, Illinois to have it worked on? We were driving past and I saw you and I yelled ‘Hey Evel!’ out the window and you waved. That was so awesome.”

“That was you?” he asked. “Wow, I remember that like it was yesterday.”

“Really?” My eyes grew wide. “You remember seeing me?”

“No,” he replied. “Now are you ready to make your jump across the canyon?”

“Yes I am.” I pulled my helmet over my head and sat down on the rocket bike. “This thing is safe, right?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “I checked it out myself. That little lady is ready to take you for the ride of your life.”

“Really?” I asked. “Because up until now, the ride of my life was when I chased space pirates through the Cone Nebula in my Danger Sled. That was quite a show in there.”

Evel stared at me blankly for a minute.

“Just get going.”

I slapped the windshield down on my helmet and revved up the engine. I threw the necessary switches and with a roar of rocket engines, the machine hurled itself up the tracked ramp.

The skycycle flew into the air and over the canyon. Adrenalin pumped through me as I looked and saw the landing ramp in the distance. Evel was right, the majestic beauty of riding on top of a flying bomb over a mile-deep chasm is entirely without peer.

My joy was interrupted when I heard a loud popping noise. I turned and looked down and saw a small flame coming out of the side of the rocket. Clearly, this is not supposed to do that, I thought to myself as my momentum began to slow.

The fire in the side gave way to smoke, but then so did the rocket engines in the back. With my main means of propulsion snuffed out, the rocket bike began its decent into the canyon.

“Oh man, this is gonna hurt!” I yelled, but then suddenly I felt queasy as if my insides were being thrown around within a rock tumbler. When the dark spots in front of my eyes dissipated, I saw that I was on the other side with Nightcrawler standing over me. The rocket sled, without my additional weight, had just enough inertia to make it as well. It had skidded across the rocky surface and lay crumpled on its side.

“You are lucky,” Nightcrawler said. “I almost could not reach you. Zat vould have been your last ride, mein freunde.”

“Take a look at this!” the senior statesman of dangerously daring daredevils called out from near the cycle. My teammate and I rushed over to take a look. “This fuel valve ruptured shortly after takeoff.”

“What could have caused this?” I asked. “Do they normally break down during use?”

“See, that’s the thing,” Knievel answered. “There’s no way that this would fail in such a way. That valve was fine when I checked it. The chances of that breaking right then and there when you needed it the most would be one in a million.”

“Vhat’s zis?” Nightcrawler pointed to the scorched surface of the rocket part. “Zat residue looks odd.”

I sniffed it and made a face. “Smells a lot like gunpowder. Clearly, I am the victim of sabotage.”

“But who?” asked Nightcrawler.

“That’s a good question,” I said determinedly as I whipped off my sunglasses. I placed my hand on my hip and thrust my shoulder forward. “Someone just tried to take us out of the race. I want to know who… and why.”

“Wow, you looked just like Horatio Caine vhen you said zat.”

“Really? ‘Cuz that’s what I was totally going for.”