GASP

Spitfire was at the top of the bike track with Soarin. Spitfire was here to watch, but Soarin was ready to ride down the track. She was giving him moral support.

“Alright, you’ve done this before, right?” she asked.

“Of course I have!”

“Are you gonna crash on the way down?”

“Of course not!”

“Are you gonna win?”

“…maybe?”

“Maybe?! What kind of weak-ass commitment is that?”

“I’m a flyer, not a biker! This is just for fun!”

Spitfire grabbed him by the cheeks and squeezed. “Son, we are Wonderbolts, and that means we don’t half-ass things! You will either win, or you will crash this bike in a glorious mess of twisted metal! Understood, soldier?”

Despite himself, Soarin saluted. “Yes, ma’am!”

She clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit! I’ll be watching from above with the others, so do me proud!”

She flew up above to watch with all the other pegasi. Some had brought in clouds to recline on with their foals, while others were flitting back and forth, trying to find the best spot to watch in between all the trees and rocks. Spitfire was going to follow along above, so she stayed low, ready to fly along with them.

Soarin readied himself, wings twitching in anticipation. He lowered his goggles over his eyes.

The rules were rather loose for the race. Because there were three different types of ponies, almost anything was allowed. The only major rules were that you weren’t allowed to carry the bike with magic, or with your wings, and no intentional knocking any other pony off their bike.

Earth ponies had to pedal, of course, while pegasi could push with their wings, and some enterprising unicorns powered their bike with their magic, but the obstacles on the track, and the fact that every pony had to traverse them, kept it even.

A sudden hush came over the crowd. Soarin turned to look at what they were so excited about and saw the covered ‘motorbike’ being carried up the mountain by a group of pegasi. Soarin had to congratulate the creator on their showmanship. They knew how to work a crowd. Wait until everypony was gathered, then bring in the device.

Spitfire and Soarin found themselves both transfixed as the covered machine was lowered. A hush fell over the assembled bikers, waiting to see what they would be up against.

A pony, wearing a full face-covering helmet and bodysuit walked out of the woods nearby. Soarin thought it looked like a mare, but he couldn’t be sure. The pony’s horn glowed, and the sheet was drawn off to reveal…

…a bike with a weird box on the back.

“Is that it?” somepony said.

There were a few awkward chuckles, but nopony seemed impressed, until the driver climbed on it. The pony kicked at a pedal and suddenly there was a dull roar coming from the machine. Some ponies covered their ears, and others applauded. Soarin didn’t know what to think of it, but Spitfire was impressed.

“Now we get to see what it can do besides make noise,” she said.

The pony walked the motorbike to the starting line and waited. The ponies next to it looked at each other, but focused their attention downhill, waiting for the flag.

There was muttered confusion and a little bit of mention of the rules, but that all stopped when the flag mare hovered the flag out to the center. Her horn glowed from the side, but she, too, stared at the motorbike. She waited just a little bit too long before the countdown, and flung her head down as she swung it, signaling the start of the race!

To everypony’s surprise, the motorcycle didn’t start as fast as they’d expected. A unicorn-powered bicycle was the first one off the starting line, rocketing forward silently across the dirt. It was followed by everypony else, with the motorcycle stuck in the middle of the crowd.

Soarin wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it sure wasn’t that. He was easily outpacing it, racing ahead of the rest, chasing after the lead unicorn.

It was easy for him, being a Wonderbolt, he was physically fit enough that a simple bicycle race wasn’t enough to phase him too badly. His legs weren’t as good as his wings, but he needed to maintain his fitness somehow so that he could get away with eating so much.

He soon forgot about the motorcycle entirely and focused on hounding down the leaders. He was behind a few ponies: The unicorn, a pegasus using his wings to power his bike instead of his hooves, and a beefy earth pony on a simple and perfectly normal bicycle. He was just pedaling harder than everypony else to keep up.

Soarin raced after them, struggling to keep up, and trying to pay attention to who was on what side of him as the stragglers raced up behind.

Spitfire was up above cheering Soarin on as they reached the first major curve of the race and all three of the ponies ahead of him banked easily around it. She watched him skid a little on it and shook her head. He always did that, and still hadn’t learned.

Spitfire turned her attention to the motorcycle she had been so interested in. It hand’t performed the most amazing start, but it was still running without any effort on the pony’s part. It just… moved.

The rider’s horn wasn’t glowing, nothing needed pushed, pulled, or twisted to make it go, it just went, letting off what looked like smoke behind it. Was it hot? Was there really a train’s engine in that tiny box? That was crazy to think about.

The motorcycle pony easily turned the corner, no mistakes, no fuss, and even managed to cut off somepony else. The pony that was cut off wiped out in a cloud of dirt and dust, and the motorcycle pony continued without even looking back.

While spitfire watched, the pony picked up speed. They raced down the hills, carrying themselves down hills, around rocks, between trees and through the single stream that trickled down the mountain. Spitfire kept up, flying overhead as she watched.

Soarin wasn’t doing so well.

He’d lost fourth place to another unicorn that was puttering along next to him. The pony was running another bicycle that just needed magic to go, which Soarin had always felt was a terrible bit of cheating.

He finally got his spot back when the unicorn lost his grip on his bicycle while going over the river. He couldn’t keep on his machine with the rattling of the rocks, and he fell into the water. Soarin had to stifle a laugh and just keep his focus. He had an opportunity to catch up when the pegasus ahead fishtailed on a patch of pine needles.

The earth pony roared ahead of him after the unicorn, and Soarin was catching up, when the motorcycle roared up behind him.

The sound was nearly enough to send him rolling on his ass. The BRRRRRRT of the engine sent a chill down his spine, and he had to spread his wings to keep his balance. He hadn’t flapped, so he had to pray the judges weren’t going to disqualify him. His tires hadn’t left the ground during it. He spared a glance to the side to look at the motorcycle and gritted his teeth.

The machine was running just like a unicorn machine, but the unicorn’s horn wasn’t lit up. There was no magic involved, and the pony was just focused entirely on the path ahead.

He really hoped the pony was a mare, because that suit was criminal. No matter what, though, the motorcycle was going to pass him. He was pedaling as hard as he could as they went over jumps, fell down small cliffs, and rode over small wooden bridges.

They were coming up on the deadly curve named The Bike-slide soon, and Soarin didn’t think he could deal with this unicorn at the same time he went through it. He’d have to brake if the unicorn didn’t, and that would cost him his lead. Was he willing to risk it?

Spitfire looked down from above. The Bike-slide was coming up, and the motorcycle, much to her delight, had caught up with the lead pack. The unicorn had broken away from the rest and roared ahead on the straight paths, having hit its stride after a short warm-up. Not too impressive, but an interesting concept, nonetheless.

She watched as the motorcycle reached fourth, running up alongside Soarin. She had to congratulate the pony on having guts, because they were forcing Soarin into making a choice.

If the unicorn was confident in taking the Bike-slide with Soarin next to them, they would be able to beat him in the straightaway, but they were betting on Soarin not crashing into them. They didn’t know Soarin wasn’t confident. Spitfire did. They were forcing him to make a choice.

Soarin knew it too, and he knew that if he let the motorcycle pass him he would never get back into position. He had to make the effort and be ready to accept the fall if when it came.

Soarin shook his head. No! Not when he fell, ‘IF’ he fell. It wasn’t guaranteed. He wasn’t confident about his ability to manage a curve like that, but he wasn’t incompetent, either! He licked his lips and pedaled faster, trying to keep pace.

Spitfire watched as Soarin leaned down. His wings were partway out to help him balance as he tried to stay neck and neck with the motorcycle.

The corner for the bike-slide came up ahead, and she watched with bated breath as they approached. The lead unicorn easily swept around the corner, the earth pony skidded around the tightest part, gaining a significant amount of ground with his physical prowess.

Immediately following came Soarin and the motorcycle. The motorcycle had slowed down for it, but Soarin had picked up speed. Spitfire pumped her hooves, biting her lip to keep herself from screeching orders at him. He needed to focus, and her yelling wouldn’t help.

The two ripped across the dusty track to the corner. It was barely a hump, and it was mostly loose scree covering the trail. It was always given a fresh coat of dirt, but that wouldn’t protect anypony from the flat curve, and the scree under the dirt was still a danger.

They hit the curve at high speed, Soarin on the inside, and the motorcycle on the outside. Their rear wheels skidded on the dirt, kicking up a spray of it and leaving a trail of ruined track behind them. They reached the halfway point and it was all looking good, when Soarin failed.

Spitfire slapped a hoof over her eyes. He always made that mistake there, and no matter how many times she’d warned him about it and he had practiced, in the actual race it always flew right out of his head. She’d have to give him a good dressing down about this afterward.

Soarin lost control of his bike and both tires skidded across the dirt. He slid into the motorcycle, which briefly gave him back a moment of control, but only long enough to fix his grip and prepare to fall. The two slammed together, he pushed the motorcycle into a slide as well, and the two machines slipped off the edge of the bike-slide and fell into the ravine below.

Soarin had enough presence of mind to grab the rider of the motorcycle. He tore her off her seat as they plummeted down into the chasm. She tried to catch her motorcycle with her magic, but only succeeded in holding it for a split second before she couldn’t hold on any longer. The machine fell into the ravine below, where it crashed into the rocks, twisting and shattering as it bounced down to the bottom.

The mare (now that he’d gripped her he was confident she was a mare) in his grip struggled and punched at the air.

“Celestia dammit! You had to try and challenge me, didn’t you?”

“Challenge you?”

“You were supposed to drop back if you couldn’t manage the curve! What in Tartarus is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how long that took to build?”

He’d saved her from falling and her first words were cursing him? Soarin had had better first encounters. At least she hadn’t hit him.

She punched him in the chin and he almost lost his grip.

Never mind then.

“Calm down! Let me get you on solid ground first!” Soarin said as he carried her back to the track. He watched all the other ponies race by, and sadly fluttered down to land. He set the mare down and gave her a quick nod. “Sorry about that. I thought I could handle it.”

“Thought you could handle it! You barely know how to pedal, much less take a corner!” She ripped her helmet off and shook out her mane. He found himself staring, but she seemed unfazed. She hurried back to the edge to look down at her motorcycle, twisted and broken down below. “Dammit…” She threw her helmet to the ground and started walking down the mountainside. Before she got too far away, she picked it up with her magic and it floated down after her.

Soarin was about to follow when Spitfire zipped down and grabbed him in a headlock. She rubbed a hoof on his helmet, pressing it against his head. “You damn fool! I told you to handle your weight properly on corners like that! You had the inside curve, you could have slowed down!”

Soarin reverted to barracks talk with his captain on him. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, ma’am!” He struggled to get out of her grip. “I got caught up in the moment!”

“And it cost you the race, and ruined that nifty motorcycle!” She let go and punched him in the leg. “I saw you grabbin’ at her. You’re gonna have to do a lot to get back in her good graces, there.”

Soarin looked at where the mare had walked downhill. “Yeah…”

“Buuuut, if you wanted to get somewhere, recovering her motorcycle would help.”

He looked up at her. “Chief?”

“I’ve been dying to get a closer look at it, and what better time than when it’s been ruined and fallen down a ravine, eh?”

“Do you think that’s okay, chief?”

Spitfire shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be? I don’t want to steal any of it, I just want to look at it. Besides, they’ll come down to pick up the pieces before long, anyway.”

“Well, if you think so. Let’s go ahead.”

She slapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit!” She looked around and up to make sure nopony was watching, then dove off the edge of the cliff. Soarin followed after her and they floated down to the wreckage of the motorcycle far down below.

They found the twisted wreck at the bottom of the chasm next to Soarin’s own broken bike. One had gotten messed up with the other, and it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Thankfully, the motorcycle’s engine was easy to find.

It was an amazing machine, even broken. It looked complicated, with fine, miniature parts that were all interconnected in a confusing way neither of the two could understand. It was unicorn work, plain as day.

It also seemed to be leaking some fluid. It had an acrid smell, stinging their nostrils with its scent.

“Celestia! What is that stuff!” Spitfire said, covering her nose with a wing.

Soarin did the same. “I don’t know, but it’s pretty rank. I was expecting coal, like they use in the Friendship Express, but that is most definitely not coal!”

“No, it’s something else entirely. I would say that’s what powers it, though. That’s new and strange. Certainly worth something. I wonder if the unicorn is selling it?”

“She should. She’d earn a lot if it can power a machine like this. I suspect that’s what today’s show was for. Show ponies what the machine can do, and how it can do it on a scale much smaller than the train.”

Soarin picked up his own bike, extricating it from the motorcycle. “Aw, dangit. I liked this bike.”

“Maybe that will teach you to be more careful with it in the future. I warned you about that curve.”

“I know, I know. I messed up. Sorry.”

“You should be.” Something sparkling nearby caught Spitfire’s eye. “Hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what?” He followed her gaze. There was a small cave next to them, just up the wall of the chasm a bit. A rock that had been slightly out of place had been pushed completely aside by the falling bikes, revealing a small cave.

Spitfire flew up and peeked inside. “Hey, it’s a little cave, and there’s stuff in here! Come look!”

Soarin hovered up next to her and peeked inside. Within the cave were several bottles. Old, by the look of them. Covered in dust and filled with different-colored liquids.

“What are they?” Spitfire asked.

“How should I know!”

“It was a rhetorical question, Soarin. Maybe they’re booze?” She reached in and picked one up.

“Don’t touch them!”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know where they’ve been!”

Spitfire gave him a flat look and pointed at the dust-filled hole they had been in for probably several years.

“I mean they might be fragile and dangerous!”

Spitfire pulled at the stopper on one of them. It didn’t budge. “Huh. Properly sealed, too. That means whatever’s in here is probably as potent as it was when whomever put them here left them.” She looked at Soarin. “I think they’re booze!”

Soarin tilted his head. “I dunno, chief. They don’t look like the normal type of bottle you’d put booze in. They’re too small, and they look strange.”

“Oh, come on. Beggars can’t be choosers. I bet it’s homebrewed, whatever it is. And that means it’s strong!”

Spitfire went back to trying to pull the stopper out. It wiggled a bit, then finally came out with a loud POP. She immediately sniffed the top, then wrinkled her nose and gasped.

“Holy, moley! If it ever was booze, it’s not any longer! This shit is nasty!” She held it out to Soarin. “Smell that.”

Soarin leaned over and gave it a sniff. He recoiled and coughed. “Oh, Celestia’s ass, what the hell? If Tartarus had a smell, that would be it, for sure.”

“Luna’s tits! I wonder what it was supposed to be?” Spitfire sniffed it again.

“Not booze. Just plug it up and let’s go find somepony to take a look at it. Maybe it’s valuable.”

“Good idea. We can maybe get enough to replace your bike from selling it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You earned it. Truly.”

The two of them put the bottle back inside the hole and covered it up with the chipped slab of rock. Once they were gone, the sound of heavy fits of wet, raspy coughing filled the air from just down the rocky pit. A filthy, ragged pony with a medical mask covering his mouth came out from behind a rock and walked over to the hole.

He ignored the broken bikes, the dribbling liquid from the engine, and everything else, but he pushed the rock out of the way and reached inside to draw out the bottle Spitfire had opened. He hugged it lovingly to his chest.

“You could not make it, my friend, and I assume that means you have passed, but thank you for leaving me this. I hope and pray you have finally found peace, and I will endeavor to do the same. I know not how long my suffering must continue, but I will try my best to see that it is brief.” He took the bottle, opened it, and drank down the contents in one gulp.

As soon as the liquid went down his throat, the dirty stallion’s cough disappeared. He inhaled slowly, his chest expanding with air, then exhaled, letting it out in a quiet hiss. There wasn’t a single cough or hiccup in his breathing, and he smiled.

“I think this means it will be very brief, thank you, my friend.”

“He took the rest of the bottles and fitted them into a wooden case he had been carrying with him. Each bottle got its own carefully-padded shelf, and he slung it up onto his back, where he then stood, the wooden case hanging off his side. He carried it up and out of the ravine, making his way back to the festival.