Page 88 of The Big Race
I smiled, genuinely pleased. “It’ll be good to see them again.”
The production assistant led us to a waiting SUV, explaining the rules for our sequestered stay. We couldn’t contact anyone from home—no calls to Leo, no social media updates,nothing that might reveal who had been eliminated before the show aired. In exchange, we were being treated to luxurious accommodations and daily excursions around Vancouver.
“Think of it as a paid vacation,” she said brightly. “Just with cameras occasionally following you around for reaction shots and interviews.”
Ray squeezed my hand as we drove through downtown Vancouver. “A week of relaxation sounds pretty good right about now.”
“After being attacked by monkeys and then stressing over dance routines? Yeah, I’d say we’ve earned it.”
The Fairmont Pacific Rim was every bit as impressive as its reputation suggested—a gleaming waterfront high-rise with stunning views of the harbor and North Shore Mountains. As we checked in, the front desk clerk slid an envelope across the counter.
“This is your schedule for the next two days,” she explained. “The production team would appreciate your participation for filming purposes.”
We were scheduled for a cruise around the harbor the next day, with relaxing time in the afternoon and evening. Then the day after that we would be expected to line up at the finish line starting at approximately three o’clock. There was no guarantee how long we would be there, so we were advised to be prepared for a long wait.
Our room was on the twentieth floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor. After weeks of racing around the world, sleeping in everything from luxury hotels to communal tents, the elegant simplicity of the space felt almost jarring.
“I could get used to this,” Ray said, testing the bed with an appreciative bounce.
I moved to the window, watching seaplanes take off and land on the water below. “It doesn’t feel real yet, does it? Being out of the race.”
“I know what you mean.” Ray came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Part of me is still thinking about the next challenge, the next destination.”
“Or who’s going to be eliminated next.”
He rested his chin on my shoulder. “Do you regret it? Coming on the show?”
I turned in his arms to face him. “Not for a second. Even with all the stress and exhaustion and, yes, monkey poop, I wouldn’t trade what we’ve found again for anything.”
We were interrupted by a knock at the door. Ray answered it to find Ernie and George standing there, grinning widely.
“There you are!” Ernie exclaimed, enveloping Ray in a bear hug that lifted him off his feet.
George gave me a more restrained but equally warm embrace. “Welcome to the losers’ club,” he joked. “Best damn club in Vancouver right now.”
“We were just about to head down to the hotel bar,” Ernie said. “The NBA wives and the professors are already there. You guys in?”
Ray looked at me questioningly. After weeks of competition and rushing, the thought of simply sitting in a bar with friends—friends we’d made on this strange journey—sounded perfect.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Give us ten minutes to freshen up.”
The bar was housed in a striking space with soaring ceilings and an impressive wall of backlit bottles. As promised, several of our fellow competitors were gathered around a large table. Desiree and Cherisse, the NBA wives, waved us over enthusiastically. Cherisse had her broken leg in a bright blue cast, already signed by the other players.
“Finally!” she called out. “We need more men to balance out the table.”
Professors Walter and Vivian, the oldest team in the race, were sipping martinis and looking far more relaxed than the last time we’d seen them. Vivian patted the seat beside her.
“Jeffrey, Ray, come tell us about Southeast Asia. We’ve been dying to know who knocked you out of the race.”
As we settled in, a waiter appeared with a tray of champagne flutes. “Courtesy of Mr. Ernie and Mr. George,” he announced, distributing the glasses.
George raised his glass. “To the race that kicked our asses but brought us together.”
“Hear, hear,” came the chorus of responses as we clinked glasses.
“So,” Vivian leaned forward, her academic curiosity evident, “what was it that finally got you eliminated? From what we’ve heard, you two were on quite a streak.”
“A torrential downpour and a Buddha shop,” I explained. “We got caught in a torrential downpour in a small town outside Luang Prabang, in Laos, and by the time we were able to make it to the Stop’n’Go, we were in last place.”
