"Only after you promoted it like a Hollywood agent promotes his star of the moment," I said thinking of Keelie Keller's rum ball of an agent.

Van Vleet shrugged. "You have to admit, it's brilliant PR. Especially considering this year the ride goes through Riverside."

"Yeah? So?"

"Don't you know anything?" Van Vleet tsked and grabbed his water bottle. It also carried the Star Trek insignia. "Riverside is the birthplace of Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise."

"Birth place? I hate to break it to you, dude, but Star Trek was a fictional television show. None of the characters are real, including your Captain Kirk."

"Okay. So the fictional James Tiberius Kirk was born in Riverside, Iowa."

"You actually know what the 'T' stands for?"

Van Vleet shrugged. "Doesn't everyone?"

Oh, Lord. Give. Me. Strength.

"The Star Trek connection has actually been a windfall for the city of Riverside. They've hosted a number of Trekkie events, some even with the series' actors," Van Vleet informed me.

I put my fingertips together like Mr. Spock was so fond of doing. "Fascinating," I said, borrowing his oft-used adjective. "Quite fascinating."

"You're hopeless," Van Vleet said with a shake of his head.

"Let me guess!" I snapped my fingers. "Lucy! Peanuts!"

"Good grief."

"Charlie Brown!" I yelled.

"Would you stop that?" Van Vleet snapped.

I grinned. It's official. I'm a little stinker.

"So, when do we take the show on the road?" I asked.

Van Vleet shook his head. "Obviously you didn't read the TribRide for Dummies info provided."

"I read it. I'm aware they stagger departure times. After all, they can't have over eight thousand cyclists taking off at the same time. You'd have riders running into the back of each other right and left. Not to mention the traffic nightmare for the motoring public," I parroted Shelby Lynn's lecture.

But seriously, dude. Who knew a person had to bone up for a bike ride?

"You look like h.e.l.l," Van Vleet observed out of the blue. "Are you even awake enough to ride?"

"I was up late. Taking care of last minute a.s.signments-"

"Drinking beer and line-dancing," Van Vleet finished. "Oh yes. I saw you trying to use your buddy DeMarco to get you an 'in' with Keelie Keeler. Didn't look like it worked. In fact, I'd say it was one of those epic fails."

"You'd know one," I responded.

"Just what did your sister say to Keelie that got her all reality raging on social media anyway?" Van Vleet asked.

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Keelie's network feeds. Let me guess. You haven't been keeping up on your social media obligations either."

Wow. Mark this down, folks. I, Tressa Jayne Turner, had just been formally declared not a twit. Or is that not a tweeter?

"I've been- "Busy. Right."

"So what's this about a raging reality diva, and what's it got to do with my little sis?" I asked.

"I'm pretty sure it was your sister Keelie called a-" Van Vleet suddenly stopped. "What the h.e.l.l am I doing? Why should I tell you squat? You're the one who supposedly has the nose for news. Sniff it out on your own-stroker." Van Vleet snarled.

Might be a good thing I had the backseat, after all. Drew Van Vleet had shown he wasn't above a little back-stabbing in his quest for journalistic glory. No sense giving him an easy target.

Especially one clad in Star Trek dispensable red. Gulp.

"Well. If you're going to be that way," I said, pulling out the new Smart phone I was supposed to be utilizing for my social media networking.

I hit my phone's power b.u.t.ton. Fortunately, I'd charged the battery the night before. During Shelby Lynn's Technology for Tressa Tutorial, she'd stressed the fact that the phone drained the juice from a battery quicker than a fat baby with a bottle of chocolate milk.

Okay. What Shelby really said was quicker than I suck the filling out of a creme Bismarck, but you get the point.

Shelby had set the phone up to be as easy for me to operate as possible, downloading apps that would get me to the social media outlets with the push of a b.u.t.ton. In theory. It took me longer than it should have to get to Keelie Keller's page. But when I did- "Oh! h.e.l.l, no! She didn't! She couldn't!"

"Is there a problem?" This came from Van Vleet.

"A problem? Uh, yeah. For Keelie Keller," I said. "I can't believe she posted that!"

"I know. She really ripped your sister a new one. Ouch!"

"My sister?" I hesitated. "Have you seen the picture she posted?"

"Yeah. Your sister's hot."

"I'm in that picture, too." I pointed out.

"You are?" Van Vleet walked over and checked out the phone over my shoulder. "Oh Jeez. Talk about your blackmail photos." He hesitated. "What exactly are you doing?"

Belching.

But I wasn't about to tell him that.

"What kind of s.a.d.i.s.tic, sick, twisted psycho puts up pictures like that of complete strangers?"

"Obviously, you've never been to WhoShopsWallysWorld.com," Van Vleet said.

I shook my head. "No. Why?"

"It's a freak show of garish outfits, disgusting b.u.t.t cracks, messed-up mullets, and nasty-a.s.s nose-pickers on parade," he said. "And I gotta tell you. That photo? It would fit right in."

Nice.

"So what happened between your sister and Keelie Keller that prompted the vitriol?"

Vitriol? Who knew I'd need to bring a pocket dictionary along on a bike ride?

"It's personal," I said.

He snickered. "Personal? Not anymore. You're everywhere!"

I winced, took one more look at my belching face, and decided that no way did I intend to be immortalized for the world to see looking like a bullfrog letting loose with a bullhorn-amplified croak.

I got up and walked over to the terrible tandem, put one hand on the rear seat, and held the phone out with the other one. I touched the camera icon and the phone clicked.

I looked at the photo I'd just taken and frowned.

"What's the deal? I so don't want a picture of you."

"If you're trying to take your own mugshot, you have to turn the phone around or press the b.u.t.ton to reverse the camera, ditz," Van Vleet informed me.

"Oh." I saw the b.u.t.ton he referred to. "Gotcha."

I put the camera out in front of me, a.s.sumed my earlier cute cowgirl pose, c.o.c.ked my head to one side, smiled, and took the picture.

I reviewed the photo. I looked like a movie poster for a Death Walks Among Us horror flick. I took another. And other.

Snap. Review. Delete. Snap. Review. Delete. Snap. Review.

"Oh, for crying out loud, enough already. Take a picture, post it, and be done with it already!"

"Sorry for wanting to produce a quality viewing experience for my followers," I said.

"If we wait for a quality photo of you, we'll miss the d.a.m.ned ride," Van Vleet said.

Is that a promise?

I settled for a mediocre picture with a "Gearing up for TribRide: Getting ready to dip my tire in the wide Missouri" cheery caption I so wasn't feeling.

"What time do we shove off?" I asked.

"Nine-fifteen," Van Vleet said.

A forty-five minute reprieve.

I watched group after group of cyclists of varying sizes, s.e.xes, shapes, and ages, dip and take off. In the midst of the organized chaos, a now familiar bus pulled into an adjacent parking lot.

"Speak of the devil woman," I muttered.

Two black SUVs and a white Econo-line van pulled behind the bus and stopped. Manny DeMarco got out of the pa.s.senger side of one of the SUVs. A sliding door on the van slid open, and several cameramen exited the vehicle, converging on the bus, cameras at the ready. A crowd flocked to the bus. It wasn't long before the bus door opened and Keelie Keller exited, her cast of cohorts close on her heels.

"Good morning, Ioway!" Keelie waved to the crowd. "TribRide rules!"

"Whoo hoo!" The crowd cheered. I resisted the urge to put my finger in my mouth and gag. Who did she think she was? POTUS stepping off Air Force One?

"I'm super thrilled to be here in Iowa and taking part in the totally radical TribRide! Whoo hoo!"

Well, well, well. Reality Red was singing a different tune this morning.

"If you're done rubber-necking, we better get lined up," Van Vleet advised, pushing the tandem down to where the traditional tire dunking would take place.

I grabbed my helmet and trotted after him, casting a curious eye to where the celeb, joined now by her entourage, clowned around with fellow cyclists. A young girl approached Keelie and handed her a bouquet of wildflowers. She smiled and took them. More flowers and tokens of affection pa.s.sed from drooling, doting subjects to the reigning reality princess.

Newsflash: This is America. The only monarchs we allow are orange and black, have wings, and only live for two months tops.

We received the go-ahead signal to dip. Poised to lift the front tire into the water, a sudden scream pierced the excited chatter around us. Stunned, I turned in the direction of the commotion. The bike tilted precariously towards the water.

"What the-!"

I self-corrected. Van Vleet counter-corrected. I could feel the bicycle begin to tip. I looked up in time to see Van Vleet hurdle off the bike, leaving this lowly red shirt to go down, down, down, into the murky depths of the river.

I came up sputtering.

"Now that's what I call a ceremonial 'dip'," Van Vleet said, whipping his camera out of his f.a.n.n.y pack to snap a picture of me in all my water-logged glory.

"I thought the captain was supposed to go down with the ship," I fumed, when I managed to haul myself out of the water.

Van Vleet shrugged. "I'm new at all this."

I attempted to shake the soppy tangle of hair out of my eyes, managing only to distort my vision more.

"Where is she? Where is that psycho sicko?"

What on earth? I frowned and shook my head again. Drops of water shot out left and right.

"Get out of my way! Where is she? Where is the rat killer?"

Rat killer?

"There you are!"

I turned. Keelie Keller advanced on me, a look on her made-up face that told me this was one encounter that wasn't gonna end up on the cutting room floor.

"Where's your sister?" Keelie asked. "Or are you the sick and twisted nutcase who's responsible? Maybe you're both in on it."

I shook my head again, and noticed Manny had taken up a position to Keelie's right.

"What is she talking about?" I asked Manny.