"Prep talk?"

"The final briefing before you embark on your mission." He nodded at Shelby Lynn who sat to his right. She gave him an are-you-sure look. Stan nodded. Shelby Lynn shrugged, picked up a sheet of paper in front of her, and cleared her throat.

"TribRide. The open road frontier," she recited. "These are the stories of Team Trekkie. Its seven-day mission. To explore strange new vistas. To seek out news stories and increase circulation. To boldly go where no Calamity has gone before!" Shelby hesitated.

Stan nudged her.

Shelby Lynn cleared her throat again.

"Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh. Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh. Da duh-" Shelby performed the TV show theme. Poorly.

I made a slashing motion at my throat.

"All right, you can cut the mood music, Shelby Lynn," I said. "I get the point."

She pointed a long finger at our boss. "He made me do it!"

"Sounds about right," I muttered. "And for the record, Stan, although I'm moved by your touching send-off, all things considered, I'd rather have a b.u.mp in my paycheck than a private performance of Star Trek, the Musical." Unless, of course, the private performance included trekkie hotties Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto. Hubba hubba.

"You're up to speed on the event itself, right?" Shelby asked.

I winced. Up to speed? Not so much.

"I've done research," I hedged.

"Then you know the schedule, the stops-"

"The rules," Stan inserted.

I licked dry lips.

"Refresh my memory," I said.

Shelby Lynn sighed and shook her head. "You never studied." She shuffled her notes. "Start times are staggered. You know. Like with marathon runners. This is done to avoid traffic congestion resulting in bicycle mishaps."

I frowned. Note to Tressa: Crashing and burning at the starting gate? Not cool.

"There is a designated host city for each mid-day break and lunch and another designated city to host the ride overnight. These overnighter cities provide various food venues and entertainment options along with camping sites and housing options."

"Go on."

"Historically, these overnight host cities try to outdo each other in terms of hospitality and recreational opportunities," Shelby explained. "For example, one year a town actually brought in snow-making machines. Their theme was Christmas in July. They had all kinds of holiday booths and crafts. Another town put on an old-time fair and carnival. This year you'll see things like street dances, sand volleyball tournaments, talent compet.i.tions, and donkey softball."

"Donkey softball?" I snorted. "The town can stop looking for a shortstop," I said. "I'm sharing a bicycle with the perfect jacka.s.s."

"Would you get serious, Turner?" Stan said.

"I am serious!"

"Can we get back to the pertinent details?" Shelby asked.

I did a mea culpa number and held out my hand, palm up.

"You have the floor, Yeoman."

Shelby shook her head. "The daily ride distance will range anywhere from a minimum of roughly thirty-nine miles to the longest day total of around sixty-six miles."

I felt my throat pa.s.sage thicken and my breathing pa.s.sages narrow.

"Wait a minute. Did you say sixty-six miles? Sixty-six miles in one day?"

"I thought you said you'd done your homework," Shelby said.

"I've never been good with numbers." Especially big numbers that translated into enormous pedal revolutions.

"Let's move it along," Stan said, looking at his watch.

"The ride concludes with the traditional dipping of the rear tire in the Mississippi River at the final host city," Shelby concluded. "I understand you already have your cycling shoes."

I nodded. "I'm not altogether satisfied with the color," I began. "You see, they're black and blue. Not feel-good colors considering the circ.u.mstances."

Stan ruled on my objection with a barked, "Next!"

"Now, you have gone over the checklist. Right?" Shelby asked.

"Checklist?"

Shelby slid a list across the table.

"It's a pretty generic list. You'll need to individualize it to suit your needs. I've taken the liberty of adding several items that I've learned, via word of mouth, can be helpful."

I scanned the list closer.

"Extra large trash bags, shower cap, baby powder, nose kote, ear plugs?"

"Trash bags are handy to use as a rain poncho. The shower cap goes on your bike seat, not your head, to keep it from getting wet in case of rain. The ear plugs are to help you sleep in a noisy campground."

"And the baby powder?"

"Trust me. You don't want to know, Turner," Stan said.

"Baby powder or talc.u.m powder can be used to prevent...shall we say, diaper rash?" Shelby offered.

I flinched. Diaper rash? What the h.e.l.l was I letting myself in for?

"You forgot jock itch," Stan chipped in. "But you don't have to worry about that, Turner. Just the rash. And maybe athlete's foot fungus."

Oh, h.e.l.l, no.

"What kind of bike ride is this?" I asked.

"One where an ounce of prevention is well worth the pound of cure when you're talking diaper rash, Turner," Stan said.

"Baby powder. Gotcha," I said.

"Did you tell her about the underpants thing?" Stan asked Shelby.

I stared at Stan. "What underpants thing?"

"Exactly," Stan said, with a grin that brooked no good for an uneasy rider.

I looked at Shelby. "What underpants thing?"

Shelby took a deep breath. "Well, you do know with bike shorts-I mean, I don't want to be indelicate here, but-"

"But what?"

"You don't wear underpants when you wear bike shorts."

I looked at Stan. "Is this another one of your sick ideas of a joke?"

"Who? Me?" Stan raised his hands, palms out. "h.e.l.l, no. I didn't have a clue either. Shelby Lynn told me about it."

I turned back to Shelby. "You're joking, right?"

She shook her head back and forth. "You pretty much negate the benefits of biking shorts if you wear underwear," she said. "Something about aerodynamics and the motion of sliding back and forth on the bike seat."

"Less friction," Stan said with an evil grin.

I winced and looked back down at the list with a sense of dread.

"Toilet paper?"

"Self-explanatory," Stan said.

Could it get any worse?

"Do you have a f.a.n.n.y pack?" Shelby Lynn asked, and I felt my left eye begin to twitch. I have a f.a.n.n.y pack aversion. I had a very bad experience with one at the state fair last year. Since then, I have avoided them religiously.

"Why?"

"Because a f.a.n.n.y pack is essential in the overall biking experience."

"The h.e.l.l you say?"

"You obviously can't carry a purse on the ride. You can wear a backpack, but it will be bulky and uncomfortable. What's the big deal anyway?"

The big deal was I vowed never to be caught dead in a f.a.n.n.y pack again.

Okay. Given my impending bike trek over hundreds of miles of pavement, perhaps I should amend that last statement.

This cowgirl don't wear no stinkin' f.a.n.n.y pack.

"Everyone will be wearing a f.a.n.n.y pack. Suck it up."

"I'm sure Drew Van Vleet has matching ones made up with the Star Trek emblem on them," Stan said. "Won't that be special, Turner?"

I mumbled a few words that wouldn't survive radio or TV's seven-second delay and promised myself a good, old-fashioned f.a.n.n.y pack campfire the last day of TribRide.

"What about food and lodgings?"

"A tent will be provided."

h.e.l.l. Stan hadn't been kidding.

"A tent? One tent?"

"One for each of you," Shelby elaborated.

Thank G.o.d.

"You do know how to pitch a tent, right, Turner?" Stan asked.

"I've been camping before," I said. Besides, how hard could it be? "Now about meals and necessities-"

Stan rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Oh, G.o.d. She's gonna bankrupt me."

"Now, about the waiver-" Shelby said.

"Waiver?"

"We're heading into uncharted territory here, Turner," Stan said. "And we can't be too careful."

I made a face. "What do you mean 'we'? Are you planning to hitch a ride on the handlebars, Stan? Last I knew I was the only one at this table heading into the great unknown on a flimsy, two-wheeled contraption with zero airbags and Khan at the helm."

"Khan?"

"The super villain from Star Trek. You need to get out more, Stan. See a movie once in a while. Something other than Dragnet reruns."

"Funny, Turner. Now sign the waiver."

"What exactly am I waiving?"

"It's a generic waiver of liability," Stan mumbled. "Standard stuff. It holds the Gazette harmless from liability stemming from any incident-man-made, woman-made, Mother-Nature made, act of G.o.d originated, that results in injury, loss of life, property damage, etc. As I said, pretty standard stuff."

I raised an eyebrow. "I see." I looked over at Shelby. "Would you sign it?"

She hesitated. "I probably would, but I don't have your...predisposition for...uh, mishaps to consider."