AUTHOR'S NOTE: Melissa is in grave danger, what with Arnold Layne, who beat up his prom date in high school, trying to take her to the Valentine's Day Dance. It looked like there was nothing Ralph could do to save her from this madness, but then, he had an idea based on the words his father told him at the bar. What shall he do? Find out in this chapter.

Legal Disclaimer and Crap: I still do not own the rights to the Raccoons and as far as I am aware, that is NEVER going to change. Let me see if I can find some inspirational words…

Okay, here we go: "When will I learn? The answers to all of life's problems aren't at the bottom of a bottle, heh heh, they're on TV!" From the great philosopher Homer Simpson, from one of the very first ever episodes of the Simpsons. Granted, the first season of the Simpsons was far from the best one (It had a lot of…growing pains. But then again, name me one show that didn't). But, it still has a few highlights and some great quotes. Could I ask for any less?

CHAPTER TWELVE: Sheer Heart Attack

It had dawned on me. I knew exactly what I needed to do.

I needed to challenge Arnold at something he excelled at and defeat him at it.

"And I know just what he's good at," I chuckled to myself. "Motorcycle racing."

I felt confident in myself. I knew what I had to do. I had to beat Arnold at his own game-his own natural element.

As I said, it was such a ridiculous idea, thinking back about it now, but at the time, it made absolute perfect sense.

Just before I drifted off to sleep, I whispered to myself, "Tomorrow I'm going to see if I can find any competitions he might be having and then I'm going to challenge him to one. I'll save Melissa from him."

I drifted off to sleep that night feeling a lot better with myself.

Next morning was uneventful. It was a Saturday and I woke up close to noon. For once, Bert was already up and he was already practicing his guitar. Actually, he woke me up playing that racket, which he always seemed to do on the weekends.

I crawled downstairs to have myself some breakfast. A little breakfast cereal would do. It was a good thing we had some corn flakes-otherwise I'd have had to eat Bert's "Peanut Butter Sugary Crisp". He was the one usually buying the cereal.

I was lightly humming to myself as I fixed my bowl of cereal. I felt in a pretty good mood today. Bert noticed I'd woken up and put down his guitar.

"Hey, good to see you're up there, Ralphie boy." He laughed. "I was beginning to think you weren't gonna get up."

"I blame it on your heavy metal," I said simply.

Bert scowled. "What's wrong with my music? Is there really anything wrong with it?"

I shrugged. "Technically and artistically, no, I just think it's too loud."

Bert glared at me. "Well, better that then the stuff they want me to perform at the dance!" I could tell he wasn't going to enjoy having to play soft rock.

"Hey, you asked if you could do the music. You should have expected that." He really should have. If he didn't, then he should have never signed on to do the music.

"Well, wait 'till you see the list of songs they want me to perform. I got it around here somewhere, let me go look for it…" While I finished my breakfast, Bert started rooting around the living room, tossing stuff all over the place.

I sighed. Bert always had to be the messy one, and it was usually my job to clean up after him. It was a good thing he never threw any wild parties in our Raccoondominium (he always went to other peoples' parties, though)-it would have taken ages to clean up his mess. Our rooms showed it, too-mine was neat and organized, while Bert's was more…discombobulated.

At last he found what he was looking for. "Ah-HA! Here it is," he shouted, as he pulled a piece of paper out of the couch cushions and marched towards the table.

"Is that your…set list?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, "now take a good look at this. Tell me how ridiculous this is."

"Alright, let me see."

"Here ya go." Bert handed me the paper.

I looked through the paper. As expected, the Beetles and King dominated the list (there were about 25 songs, and there were about four apiece from the two of them), but there was also some Moody Newts, Elton Brawn, and even…

"Bert, they have you playing a song by the Thankful Dead." The Thankful Dead were an old rock group around since we were kits. Their obsessed fans were called "Dead-heads" and they would follow the group on the road everywhere they went. I was really surprised at the people who were fans of them-Cyril Sneer was actually a fan of them and tried to get them to sign to "Sneer Records" in the mid-'70s! But that's another story. I thought they were alright, but not really fitting for a dance since as far as I know, they didn't have any real love songs.

"Oh yeah. I hate the Thankful Dead, that music is too damned hippy-dippy for me, if you know what I mean." Bert never really cared for psychedelic music much at all.

"And they've got you playing…" I laughed. Lady Baden-Baden actually wanted him to play that song. Either she knew very little about popular love songs, or someone had just picked a bunch of songs at random.

"Oh yes," he cringed. "My Ding-A-Ling. Woodchuck Berry's only number one hit. And it was that sellout garbage. I can't believe that just before he disappeared off the face of the world, he sold out."

Bert and I both remembered this song very well; it came out when we were kids. It most definitely was a complete and utter sellout-it sounded nothing like his classic repertoire Bert loved when he was a kid. Not to mention it was a song full of some naughty double entendres…

"Maybe someone suggested it as a joke," I mused.

"Gee, I sure hope so," Bert said lowly. "Nobody with good taste would ask me to perform that."

"I understand, but Bert, you have to perform what they said you could perform or that you had to perform."

"I know…" Bert moaned.

He then laughed.

"Seriously, I'd love to just be able to burst in and play 'Stairway To Heaven' right there. That'd show everybody!"

Of course Bert would want to do that. Bert had said that that particular Steel Airship song was the greatest song anyone had written in the history of ever, and I know he would want to bust out and perform it right up there on stage in front of a crowd of people. That would be just like him.

"I'm sure everyone would appreciate that, Bert…" I said, in a rather sarcastic tone.

"Hey, c'mon now. It really is only the greatest song anyone's ever written!" Bert had seen Steel Airship live in 1975 when they came to Vancouver, and he saw them play that particular song live. He had gone to that concert with a friend and his older brother. Needless to say, he was hooked for life and no sooner had he come back then he went right down to the local record store and bought every album they had out to date. He would play their music loud as can be and more than once his father yelled at him to "stop playing that demon music", which he, of course, ignored. He literally wore out their debut album (from '68, I believe?) from playing it so much and he had me trying to learn half the songs off that album on drums. Needless to say, he was very saddened when they broke up in our first year of college when their drummer literally drank himself to death.

"If you say so, Bert." I said trying to humor him. To be frankly honest, I had very little interest in that group. I couldn't really understand how Bert could have such interest in them. Sure, the Airship had been huge (and that was an understatement-every album seemed to go straight to number one on the charts when they were released) when Bert and I were growing up, and they made big news every time they came to our local area, but to me they were just another loud and annoying heavy metal group. But Bert, he basically would have gladly traded places with Jimmy Crane and Robert Elephant. Bert tried so hard to get me into them by having me sit down and listen to that debut album. Needless to say, I could never find myself appreciating a band with lyrics such as "I have a bird that whistles, and I have birds that sing. I have a bird that whistles and I have birds that sing. I have a bird, it won't do nothing. Oh, ah, buy a diamond ring!" (a personal favorite of Bert's), the rather sexist "Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true. Wanted a woman, never bargained for you. Sweet little baby, let them say what they will. Will your tongue wag so much when I send you the bill?", and, by far the worst of all, Bert's favorite from that album, "Well, they call me the hunter. That's my name! They call me the hunter. That's how I got my fame! Ain't no need to hide. Ain't no need to run. 'Cause I got you...in the sights...of my...GUNNNNNN!" Poets these guys were not.

Bert was sighing, obviously reminiscing about his experience at that concert. "You should have been there, Ralph. It was something to see, I tell you!" Bert had tried to get me to go with him to see the Airship live (Cedric would have no part of it), but I declined. It wasn't something I regretted, either.

"I'm sure it was." I said, not really interested in the slightest at what he was saying. I was already looking forward to challenging Arnold and figuring out a way to do it. Saving Melissa was much more important than some silly heavy metal group.

"Oh, you should have seen it, Ralphie, when Jimmy Crane was playing that double-necked guitar, and when he pulled out that violin bow…" I wasn't even paying attention to him.

"Sure, whatever you say."

Some time passed and it was now the afternoon. Bert was off presumably playing in the snow or something or other. I was busy looking through some papers I had to see if Arnold Layne had any upcoming motorcycle competitions.

"Hmm…" I said as I studied the papers. "Nothing so far. I'm sure I'll find something in here if I look hard enough…"

But every paper I was looking through listed his past competitions. They had already happened.

"Dammit," I said, getting frustrated. "I guess he doesn't have any upcoming competitions…"

Then at last I found it.

"Ah-HA!" I said to myself. "Here it is. A local one on one competition between Arnold Layne and Keith Tippett at Milton Midas' Motorcycle Arena Extraordinaire. Four days from today. CANCELLED…due to Keith having suffered an injury."

This was perfect. I had my opportunity to challenge Arnold to what he was best at-and finally prove myself to Melissa once and for all. This would work out perfectly.

All I had to was call Keith Tippett up and ask him if I could take his place in this competition. It didn't matter to me that I had never actually drove a motorcycle before, all my experience on two wheels was with a bicycle. I had an opportunity and I was not about to pass it up.

I pulled out our phone book and began thumbing through it, looking for Tippett's number. It took a while, but I finally found it.

"Here it is," I said, proudly, to myself. "Keith Allen Tippett. Now to call him up…"

I rushed downstairs excitedly and dialed up the number from the phone book. I waited for Keith to answer.

The phone rang several times.

Then it picked up.

"Hello, who is this?" I was surprised, Keith sounded nothing like I expected him to. I expected to sound rough and burly like Arnold; instead, he had a nasally and stuffy, almost weak sounding voice.

"Mr. Tippett?" I asked.

"Yeah, that would be me," he replied.

"Mr. Tippett, my name is Ralph Raccoon."

I heard him grunt and say, "Eh, that's great but why exactly do you got my number?"

I replied confidentally, "Mr. Tippett, sir, I read the little paper that said your competition with Arnold Layne was cancelled due to you being injured."

Keith sighed. "Oh yeah. Shame really-he utterly humiliated me last month and I was challenging him to a rematch. Unfortunately I went out riding in the snow and I slipped on some ice and crashed. Now I've got a broken leg. I'm in no shape to even attempt to challenge him."

I grinned broadly as I spoke, "Well, Mr. Tippett, I've seen this paper and I have decided I'd like to take your place in this contest."

Keith sounded pleased. "Ah, really now? I didn't expect anyone to call up asking to take my place, that's why I cancelled it. But that's great, uh, what did you say your name was again?"

"Ralph, sir." I answered.

"Oh yeah. This is great, Ralph. Really great. I'll have to go to the arena and tell 'em the competition's on again. Why don't ya drop by my place tomorrow afternoon and we can start practicing."

"I'll be there pronto, sir," I replied.

"I live near that Lassater's Café. Can't miss it. Meet me there at my garage." I knew this place, I'd been past there before. Keith had been the guy with all the motorcycles.

"Alright, Mr. Tippett, see you there tomorrow."

"Sure thing, see ya." Keith hung up the phone.

I put the phone down as well. I grinned. Everything was all set up. I felt confident I could beat Arnold Layne at his own game. Winner would get to take Melissa to the dance.

I went back upstairs and happily hummed along to the oldies station on the radio as I was typing up some assignments for my classes.

I was interrupted by Bert coming in. He walked upstairs and entered my bedroom.

"Ah, figured I'd find you up here, Ralphie boy," he chuckled. "Should have known you'd be up here doing college work instead of having fun playing in the snow outside. You missed it, I got into a great big snowball fight!"

"That's terrific, Bert." I said, smiling as I continued typing up my assignments. I didn't really pay any attention to him.

"Gee, Ralph, you seem to be in a pretty good mood today." Bert seemed pretty curious as to why.

"So?" I said, shrugging as I continued to type away. "I can't be in a good mood?"

"I'm not saying that," he said plainly, "I'm just saying it's kinda odd that you seem really happy today. I mean, you've been really depressed the whole past week, I think. Why the change in mood?"

I grinned. "Oh, nothing Bert." I didn't want to let him know about this motorcycle competition until the last possible moment (I didn't want him or anyone else to try to stop me). "It's just, life is short. I've realized I have to enjoy it while I can."

Bert looked suspicious. "Are you sure that's it?"

"Sure as sure can be." I said as I went back to my work.

"C'mon Ralph, you're not telling me something…"

I figured I'd half tell him the truth.

"Alright, I give. I figured out how to win Melissa over from Arnold Layne."

Bert grinned. "Ah, I knew you'd think of something, Ralphie boy! So what are ya gonna do?" He seemed insistent on knowing.

I figure I'd better keep that a secret, since Bert did have a habit of running his mouth too much. If I told him, there was no doubt he'd tell everyone else. "Well, that's a secret," I said quietly.

"Well, you can share it with me. C'mon, pal, what are you gonna do to win your girl back?"

"It wouldn't be a secret if I told you. You'll see…"

"Ah, I wanna know!" Bert was disappointed.

"You'll find out soon enough, trust me on that…"

Bert slunk off to go watch some TV. As he left, though, I heard him mutter to himself, "I'm gonna find out what Ralph has got planned, one way or another…"

The next day, Bert was again out having fun in the snow. As soon as I was sure he was out of sight, I crept out the door and headed off to Keith Tippett's home.

It wasn't long before I found the place-there were a few motorcycles in the driveway.

I knocked on Keith's door.

I heard his nasally voice call out, "Just a minute there!"

Slowly the door opened. There before me stood a wolverine, whom I guessed was in his early-to-mid 30s, somewhere close to George's age. He had his right leg wrapped up in a cast (I remember he'd told me he'd broken it in a crash) and he was hobbling on crutches.

"So, you must be Ralph." Keith said, as he gingerly reached out to shake my paw.

"That would be me, sir," I eagerly replied.

"Well, do come in." He invited me into his home and we sat down on the couch.

"So, kid, you want to take my place in that competition at the Arena?"

"Milton Midas' motorcycle arena? Absolutely." I replied. Milton Midas, at that time, was the joint operator of the indoor motorcycle arena, which contained a winding, twisting, clay racetrack inside. Although he almost never oversaw operations, it had his name on it and he was the owner, but not the promoter. (The arena no longer stands today, though, it was torn down about five years ago because Midas sold it and no one wanted to purchase it from him. Turned out, it was all part of a big scam.)

"Alright kid, come out to my garage, I'll meet ya there in a minute." He slowly hobbled onto his crutches.

"Yes, sir." I made my way to his garage. There were all sorts of motorcycles in there-a bunch of Pawley-Davidson racing motorcycles. Some old vintage ones as well as more recent models.

Keith slowly hobbled into the garage. "So, this is my vintage collection. Whaddaya think?"

I looked over at the motorcycles. My Aunt Gertie had quite an impressive collection them as well-quite a bit larger, actually. But this was still nice.

"Very impressive, Mr. Tippett. So which one am I gonna ride?"

Keith coughed and then spoke. "Well, kid, I figured I'd give ya my very best-my 1980 Pawley XL750." It was quite a sporty looking model.

"That's quite a nice bike, Mr. Tippett…"

"Yeah, it's my best. I'm proud of this baby!" I could tell he was-he had good reason to be.

I noticed he also had an Indy Car in his garage, a bright yellow one numbered #58.

"You have an Indy Car?" I asked. "Where did you get one of those?"

"Oh-hoh, that's not just any Indy Car," Keith said, laughing. "That's only Eldon Rasmussen's 1975 Indy 500 car!"

I was surprised. "The Eldon Rasmussen?"

"Yes, one and the same," Keith replied. Eldon Rasmussen, a groundhog, was at that time the most recent driver to represent our nation at the Indy 500. Not only that, he actually was from the Evergreen Forest himself-he'd actually gone to Evergreen Elementary with Cyril Sneer in the early 1940s! He had competed at Indy a few times in the 1970s, albiet with not very much success. But the impressive thing about him was that he'd actually built all of his cars himself from the ground up. Rasmussen was definitely a hard-working man; as such he probably deserved more success then he actually ended up getting. Cedric, Bert, and I had pulled for him when we were younger-well, you sort of had to pull for someone from your local area, didn't you? He'd recently retired and had come back to the Forest where he tended to his garage and worked as a part fabricator. The Forest considered Eldon one of their finest residents. A bit of a funny story-Bert managed to get in an interview with him a couple years ago about his racing days for the Standard. Not to mention this past year Eldon came to speak to Bentley's class offering any kids who were interested summer jobs working at his garage. But that's another story...

"Wow, that's quite impressive, Mr. Tippett. I never would have guessed you knew a race car driver." I had never personally been as big a fan of motorsports as Bert had, but I had to admit, it would be quite an honor meeting a real Indy 500 racer in the flesh.

"Eldon's an old family friend. I wish he'd have done better than he ended up doing at Indy, he worked his ass off just to get there. It's a shame his best finish was...ah...thirteenth, I believe. I wanted to become an Indy Car driver, too, it was my childhood dream. I've driven motorcycles for nearly twenty-five years, but I always wanted to drive at Indy. So, I actually competed in sprint cars for a while. But I wasn't any good, I always finished at the back of the pack. It turned out I was better on two wheels than on four. So now I just race motorcycles. It's what I'm good at. But...my true childhood dream will go unfulfilled..."

I felt a little bad for Keith. He'd never gotten the opportunity to live his dream; many people never did.

"I'm sorry to hear about that, Mr. Tippett."

"Ah, it's no problem." He then changed the subject. "So, anyways, how much riding experience do ya got? Five years? Ten years?"

I suddenly realized I had never actually driven a motorcycle before. Not once in my life. I had rode in Aunt Gertie's Old Bessie more than a few times in my life, but I had only ridden in the sidecar. Never had I actually taken the handles of one.

"I…I don't have any riding experience, sir…" I said meekly. That would definitely not please Keith one bit. He was probably expecting someone with several years' worth of experience.

"WHAT?" He said, aghast. "No experience…none? Not at all? Never?" He was indeed taken aback.

"Well, I have rode in a sidecar before…" I admitted, nervously.

"Well, that doesn't count!" Keith was furious. "May I ask, what the hell are you doing offering to take my place then? No way in hell can I let some kid who's never drove one of these babies before out there, you'll get your ass killed and I'll get ridiculed for allowing such a thing to happen! Explain yourself right now, Buster."

I replied confidently (I didn't want to appear to be nervous), "I may not have any riding experience, Mr. Tippett, but there is a good reason I want to take your place in this competition."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" He was frowning.

"I have a bone to pick with Arnold Layne."

Keith suddenly grinned. "Ah, I see…So YOU have something against him too. Nearly everyone in this Forest does, too. I really can't stand that smug faced bastard. He's already a three time local champion, and he bested me for the crown last month. I can't stand him, he's always bragging. You know," Keith now tried to imitate Arnold's voice, "'I'm Arnold Layne! I'm the greatest there's ever been! Nobody can ever beat me, because I'm the best!' Gets on my nerves all the time." I did chuckle at his impersonation of Arnold.

"I went to high school with him, Mr. Tippett, and he made my life a living hell all the way through it," I told him.

"He humiliated me last month, so I challenged him back so I could beat his ass into the dust once and for all. Then I broke my leg."

"Sorry about that, Mr. Tippett," I said sympathetically.

"Ah, no problem Ralph. So what did Arnold do to you?"

"He's trying to take a girl I really like to the big Valentine's Dance at Lady Baden-Baden's place," I replied.

"Ah, now that is a damned good reason to want to challenge him. That asshole's trying to make a move on your girl?"

"Indeed, sir. I can't just let that happen."

"Well, I fully understand. I heard what he did to his date at his high school prom, you got a lot of good reason to be worried about her."

"So, what do you think, Mr. Tippett? I want to be the guy that takes your place in this competition. I'll do anything to save Melissa from him. This is the best thing I can think of."

"Well, Ralph, are you really willing to learn? It's only three days you would have to practice."

"Absolutely!" I said emphatically.

"Very well, you got the job, kid." Keith shook my paw.

"Now," he said to me, looking me straight in the face, "we only got three days, but with practice, I think I can make you into a championship-level racer."

"You really think so?" I was impressed. That would be spectacular if he could do that.

"Sure I do. You see, I've always secretly wanted to train somebody from scratch, and now I have that opportunity." Keith grinned.

"I guess you got what you wanted," I chuckled.

"Yeah," he said, smirking. "Plus, I think it'd be damned funny if Layne lost to a rookie rider with three days' experience to him. That would show his bragging ass something. It'd open up his eyes big time. Oh man, he'd never live it down."

"We can do this," I said.

"I think so," Keith said. "Now let me get my wheelchair and call up my girl Shirley so we can get down to that arena to practice."

Soon enough, Keith's girlfriend Shirley (a red wolf) dropped by and took us down to the motorcycle arena.

It was rather difficult at first (the course had a few jumps on it, and as thus, I almost crashed several times), but after a couple of hours, I thought I was starting to get the hang of it.

"There ya go!" Keith called out to me as I stopped. "I think we're starting to make some progress with you. You seem to be starting to get the hang of it. I think with two more days of practice, we'll have ya ready to beat Arnold's ass!"

Shirley spoke to me, "Ralph, you sure are an honorable guy trying to save your crush from Arnold."

Words like that meant volumes to me. "Thanks, Shirley. I sure hope I can beat him…"

Keith slapped me on the back. "Hope you can beat him? You'll do better than that, you'll beat him so bad he'll never show his face around here again!"

It was soon time to leave and Keith and Shirley headed back home while I made my way back to the Raccoondominium. When I got back, Bert was waiting there for me.

"There ya are!" Bert was obviously worried. He grabbed me and bear hugged me.

"Ah, no need to be so excited, Bert! I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine!"

Bert grinned. "Sorry, Ralphie, I was just wondering where the hell you'd gone off to! I was getting ready to call the Evergreen Police to look for ya! I was expecting you to be upstairs working on that big assignment. So where've you been?"

"Oh, uh," I lied, "I was just…I was just out taking a rousing stroll! Yeah. That's right, I was just taking a stroll around the forest. Nice to get some fresh air, you know."

Bert sniffed. "Huh, that's funny. Ralph, you smell like…like…like grease. You sure you were out taking a walk?"

"Positive," I said, not confidently, as Bert quickly noticed that.

"You don't sound sure…"

"Really, Bert, it was nothing. Can't I just go out and take a walk?"

Bert relented. "I suppose, but you ought to tell me about it first or next time you might come home to the cops!"

We both chuckled. "Will do, Bert."

I went upstairs and continued working on my big assignment. But presently, there came a phone call.

I hollered down at Bert, "Bert! Can you get that?"

He hollered back at me, "Sure thing, buddy!"

I heard him talking for a while and then he called to me.

"Hey, Ralph! It's Cedric! He says he wants you to talk to him!"

I stopped typing and walked downstairs.

"Here ya go, pal," Bert said, handing the phone to me.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hi, Ralph!" Cedric said. He usually called us once a week.

"Hello, Cedric. So what have you been up to at UBC?"

"Oh, not much. I'm still doing well in my studies, accounting is a breeze! It's a good thing I have a lot of practice with my pop!" He chuckled to himself. "So anyways, I heard you and Melissa had a bit of a falling out. Did you two make up?"

"Kind of," I said. "Though I'm sure Bert told you about Arnold Layne…" I cringed.

"Oh yes," Cedric said, unenthusiastically-it was clear he had some bad memories of Arnold too. "I'm really sorry to hear about that."

I decided I'd tell Cedric about my grand plan to win Melissa over. Bert was out of earshot, and I trusted that Cedric could keep a secret.

"I've got a plan to win her over and get her to go with me to that dance, though," I said, laughing to myself.

Cedric sounded interested. "You have? What's that, Ralph?"

I said somewhat quietly, "I'm challenging Arnold to a motorcycle competition at Milton Midas' Motorcycle Arena Extraordinaire. The winner gets to take Melissa to the dance. I can't wait to beat him at his own game!" I was eager to show him up, I didn't care how, I was just ready to finally show up Arnold.

Cedric seemed surprised. "Ralph, I don't think it's a good idea…"

"Why not, Cedric?"

"Ralph, you've never driven a motorcycle. Arnold's an ace at it! What if he demolishes you? What if you get wrecked? You know Arnold doesn't like to play fair…"

I remembered, Arnold always had been a bit of a cheater. "I practiced today with my new riding coach, Keith Tippett. I've only got two more days left to practice, but I think I might just be able to learn enough to take him down!"

Cedric still sounded concerned. "Ralph, I hope you do well, but I don't think this was the smartest thing you've ever done. You could have just worked something out with Melissa, she's pretty nice, I think she would understand."

"Cedric, that's not an option! Arnold said he was going to pulverize me if I tried talking to her."

"Well, Ralph, I hope it all turns out well, and I wish you the best of luck." It was nice he was encouraging me, but it was clear he didn't like the idea one bit.

"Bert doesn't know about this, does he?" he asked.

"No, I'm trying to keep this a secret," I admitted.

"Ralph, you need to tell him. I think everybody needs to know about this ahead of time."

He was probably right, but I didn't want Bert to know yet.

"I'll tell him when I'm ready, Cedric. I don't want him to know about it just yet."

Cedric was thinking more rationally than I was, in retrospect. "Ralph…you need to tell him. Do I have to tell him?"

"No!" I did not want Cedric to tell him about the motorcycle contest, I'd rather tell Bert myself. "No, don't tell him, Cedric."

"Well, alright Ralph…"

"Thanks, Cedric."

"No problem…" he said, not too happily. "Ralph, you ought to let Melissa know about this. I'm not sure she would like having two guys fighting over her to take her to a dance. You really need to talk to her about this."

I couldn't tell her that in person. "Cedric, I can't let her know, it's a secret!"

"Well, alright…" Cedric sighed.

"I gotta go, Cedric. Hear from you again soon?"

"Sure thing…" Cedric said lowly.

"Bye then."

"Bye."

I called for Bert. "Here, you can talk to Cedric again!"

"Alright, pal!" Bert winked as he took the phone again.

I went back upstairs and went back to working on my report. I knew I could trust Cedric not to tell anyone.

…Or not. Soon enough, Bert came rushing upstairs and threw my bedroom door open.

"Ralph, Ralph! Is what Cedric tells me true?" He was quite excited.

Oh no. Cedric had told Bert about the motorcycle competition. He must have figured I wasn't going to tell Bert myself, so he apparently decided to tell him the story instead.

I groaned and slapped myself in the face. "Yes, Bert…" I didn't want to talk right now.

Bert was still excited. "Wow-eeeee!" He was amazed. "I don't know what to say, Ralphie! That's quite a plan you got there!" He slapped me on the back, I winced.

"I suppose so." I suddenly wasn't so excited about this. Everybody would now surely find out about this and I would probably end up looking completely ridiculous.

"I'm sure she'll be impressed!" He grinned mischievously.

"Yeah. Bert. I'm sure she will be…" I didn't really know what to say.

"Uh, but wait a minute Ralphie boy," Bert said, suddenly confused. "You've never driven a motorcycle have you?"

"No," I said solemnly. "But Keith Tippett is coaching me and with luck, I'll learn enough to be able to take on Arnold and beat him."

"In only three days?" Bert was quite impressed. "He must be a damned good coach then!"

"I sure hope so," I sighed. "If I don't, there's nothing I can do for Melissa. Arnold'll take her to the dance, and God knows what'll happen to her then…"

"Well, I believe in ya buddy!" Bert gave me a thumbs-up. "You go out there and you show Arnold what-for, and then you take your girl off to that dance and live happily ever after. C'mon, Ralph, I know you can do it!"

As much as I was embarrassed that Bert was probably going to let everybody else know about this competition, it was nice I had his support on this. "Thanks," I said quietly to him.

"Hey, no problem Ralphie. I'll be there this Wednesday afternoon to see ya take him on one-on-one. It is this Wednesday, isn't it?"

"Correct, it's this Wednesday." I was nervous now, not sure I'd made a good decision at all.

"Wish ya luck, pal!" Bert winked as he went back downstairs.

The next day after I had gone to practice and come back (which was after my classes), I ended up getting a number of phone calls. The first was from Mike Mulligan.

"Hello?" I asked the gruff voice on the phone. Mike was likely still pissed about me turning down Melissa's offer to go to the dance with her, so I expected his words would not be too kind.

"Hey, kid, it's your old 'friend' Mike."

"What do you want, Mike?"

"I heard about that little motorcycle competition you're having with that Arnold Layne guy, bub." He sounded grouchy.

"So? What about it?" I was worried what he would have to say.

"Well, I know ya rejected my little angel's offer to go to that big dance whatchamajigger with her. Shame on you, kid. Shame. On. You. How could you do that to her? Have you no heart?"

I figured he would say something like that. "I'm really sorry Mike…" I hoped he would listen to me.

He didn't. "Not good enough, kid. Lemme just say this though, between you and Layne, you're the less despicable of the two, so, I guess I hope you win." That was…encouraging?

"Gee, uh, thanks, Mike."

"Eh, don't mention it. But you're not taking my daughter to that dance, you hear me? You are not going to take her anywhere near that dance, you turned her down once. By my book, you don't deserve a second chance with her. You had a chance and you blew it, you got me?"

I felt saddened. Mike wasn't really going to forgive me for being so insensitive. "I understand."

"See ya later, bub!" Mike said as he slammed up the phone.

Shortly afterwards, I got another phone call.

"Hello there?" I asked.

"Hey, sonny boy!" Oh boy, it was my father. This would be fun.

"Yes, Dad?"

"Hey, boy, I heard about that little motorcycle dealie you're having with the Layne boy!" It figured Bert had already let almost everybody know about it. Word had already reached my parents.

"Yeah, it's this Wednesday, Dad."

"Heh-heh. So you finally took your old man's advice, eh?" He laughed heartily.

"I suppose I did!" I really had. My dad had told me to go out there and beat Arnold man-to-man, and that was exactly what I was going to do the day after tomorrow.

"Hey, atta boy Ralphie! Atta boy!" He seemed quite proud. "You're gonna do great, son. You're gonna win and get that little lady you have the hots for once and for all! This is gonna be quite a sight to see! I knew you would make me proud someday, boy."

That was at least fairly encouraging. "I'll try my best, Dad."

"That's my boy!" My dad was practically gushing about me already. "I can't wait to head down to that arena. You know what I heard?"

"What did you hear?" What could my dad have possibly heard about?

"I heard they have these little cocktail wieners down there that go for seven bucks or so! Can't wait to get my greedy little paws on 'em! Mmm…cocktail wieners…" I could hear him drooling on the other end of the line. Of course my father would be most excited about the food the arena had.

"I'm sure they taste good." I said, trying to humor him.

"Oh, I bet they do. Good grief, I'm getting hungry just thinking about it…well, I'll let ya go there boy. Don't want to get you all worked up for your big race when you go out there and beat some tail!"

I chuckled. "See ya there, Dad." I said as we both hung up the phone.

Maybe I really could do this. Maybe I really could win this big race and prove myself good enough for Melissa once and for all. I had Bert's support, Mike's…erm…half-support, and my father's support.

But then I thought about the little things that could go horribly wrong. What if Arnold cheated and crashed me out of the race? What if I got badly hurt out there? What if I lost to Arnold head to head? How would I be able to live that down? Worst of all…what if Melissa wasn't impressed at all? What if all I did was scare her away for good? How would I be able to live with myself then?

"Oh boy," I said, shaking my head as I buried it into my paws. "What a fine mess I've gotten myself into…"

Soon Wednesday afternoon came and it was the day of the big race. Arnold and I were both on the starting line at the arena, it was almost time for the start. Within ten minutes, we'd be racing around this twisting, winding, indoor course. It had fourteen turns and had at least three jumps on it.

Keith Tippett was talking to me as we both got ready. The both of us already had our helmets strapped on and were ready and raring to go.

Keith whispered to me from his wheelchair, "Well, kid. This is it. I've taught you all I can in three days' time. I really do hope it's enough for you to bust Layne's tail out there-I want to see him get humiliated!"

I chuckled as I laughed to him. "Well, we'll see. I'll do the best that I can."

"That's all ya can do," Keith said as he popped me on the back. "Good luck to you, Ralph. You're gonna need it with him."

"I understand you loud and clear."

"It's almost time for them to introduce the two of you, I better head to the sidelines. I'm counting on you."

"Thanks, Keith," I said as I waved to him as he rolled off the track to the side.

Soon the announcers of the event spoke. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen of all ages, to the motorcycle competition of the ages! All for the chance to take one lucky young lady to a big dance for Valentine's Day! Calling this event today, I'm Dick Ermine." Dick Ermine was a local aspiring broadcaster who frequently commentated on local sporting events. It wasn't too surprising to find out he would be announcing this event.

"And alongside me today is my partner, the one and only Keith Stackson!" I was aghast. The Keith Stackson was co-announcing this event? Stackson, a moose, was a legend of the commentating world, he had been a long, long time commentator of college football (longer than I'd been alive, I believe), and numerous other sports-I remembered him calling the Super Bowl and at least one Indy 500. What in the world was he doing here? How did Milton Midas manage to afford him?

Sure enough, the distinctively recognizable voice of Stackson came over the PA system. "Thanks, Dick, and I'd like to introduce the crowd to our two competitors. On the left, from the Evergreen Forest, a three-time local champion at this very arena, a thirty-six time winner in competitions here, an all-around star when it comes to the sport of motorcycle racing, Arnold Layne! Give it up everybody for Arnold Layne." Arnold bowed to the crowd as about half of the maybe 300 or so spectators cheered while the other half booed him. I looked to the crowd at this moment. I could see many familiar faces. Bert was there, both of my parents were there, my dad's friends Henry and Peter were there, a few of my high school classmates and a few of our college associates were there, Mike Mulligan was there (a frown planted upon his face), and I could even see Melissa. She looked concerned about something, I wondered what.

Keith then spoke again over the PA, "And on the right, also from the Evergreen Forest, a rookie rider with absolutely no experience whatsoever in this sport save for three days of practice, trying to overthrow Arnold, the young Ralph Raccoon! Give it up for Ralph Raccoon, folks!" I heard all of my friends cheer, and I could actually hear what they were saying.

Bert was jumping in the air. "Go Ralph! We're rooting for you, buddy!" It was nice to have his encouragement.

My father was stuffing cocktail wieners into his face (as would be expected) as he shouted with a full mouth, "Go son! Remember, if you don't win, we're disowning ya!"

My mother slapped him, causing him to spit out some of the wieners. "HEY!" I heard him shout.

My mother called down to me. "Don't listen to him, Ralphie! You know your father's only kidding. We both love you no matter what and we wish you the best of luck at this. But please, do be careful!"

My father then remarked, "Who said I was kidding?"

I heard Melissa calling out to me, her voice sounding the utmost concerned. "Rallllpphhhhh! Can you hear me?" I could hear her, but she most likely wouldn't be able to hear me, so there was no use in answering her. I just waved.

She shouted, a bit of fear to her voice, "Ralph, please don't do this! We can work something out, Ralph, I don't want you to get hurt!"

She obviously was afraid something would happen to me. It was as I feared. She didn't want this to happen. I would have backed out right then and there, and apologized to her for this whole bloody mess, were it not for Arnold speaking to me.

"Oh boy, you little wuss," he laughed evilly. "You've made the biggest mistake of your life, bub! You dared to challenge me in my natural element! Boy, are you in for the ass whooping of a lifetime-on the track and off! I'm gonna enjoy this," he chuckled in a very nasty tone. Those words were all it took for me to convince myself I had to go through with this. There was no way I would back down now.

I cracked at him, "Oh, we'll see about that, pal." There was a heavy tinge of sarcasm to my voice. "Don't get your hopes so high, buddy, you never know when you'll fall."

"You're doing this all for her? Never have I seen a guy go to such lengths all for a girl. Very honorable of you, Ralph, I must admit. It's too bad your lack of skill here won't serve you well! She'll see how pathetic you really are when I run your ass into the dust!"

"Wait and see," I said snickering to myself.

The starter stood by the side, holding out the green flag. "Are you two ready?" he asked.

The both of us answered, "You bet your life."

"Alright then. Three…two…one…GO!" as he waved the green flag. Arnold got started faster than I did and he jumped me at the start, leaving me behind already. This might not turn out so well…

"And they're OFF!" I heard Dick shout over the PA system. "Looks like Arnold is off to a great start, Ralph is going to have to motor hard to catch up to him! Arnold always tries to get the jump on competitors, it's his trademark!" Figured as much.

We soon completed the first of the twenty-five laps that would make up this race. Arnold was already considerably out in front. If he kept this pace up, there would be no way I would ever catch him, barring him making a mistake or him crashing out.

Soon seven laps were complete.

"And seven laps are down now, that's eighteen to go," Stackson announced. "Arnold Layne has built up a sizable lead over Ralph Raccoon, and unless something happens it looks like Arnold may have this thing in the bag already." That was not good news at all. I was going to lose and look bad and pathetic. Melissa would be very upset.

Then it happened.

Up ahead, Arnold failed to take one of the corners well at all and almost crashed. He managed to keep control of his bike, but during the time he fought to keep from falling, I managed to catch up to him.

Arnold was aghast. "What the, there's no way you're supposed to be catching me! I can't lose this race to a wuss like you!"

I laughed, "I'll show you what a wuss can do," as I managed to pass him. It was a good thing he didn't crash-that was not how I wanted to win. I wanted to beat him fair and square on the track.

"Look at this, Keith!" Dick announced excitedly. "Ralph has managed to pass Arnold, taking advantage of Arnold's mistake in corner number five! What an upset this could be! The rookie with virtually no experience might beat the established competitor! Have you ever seen anything like this, Keith?"

Keith responded to him: "Not in a good number of years, Dick."

The laps continued to click away. Arnold was having some kinds of problems with his bike, and he was going considerably slower than me. I was actually way out in front of him now. There were less than five laps to go.

Arnold was within sight of me again as I was actually coming close to lapping him. If I lapped him, it would be over for him for sure. I would have this thing won. We passed the starter as he gave me a signal indicating just two laps were left. Arnold was grunting as he was struggling with his bike, it seemed apparent he was starting to realize he might actually lose and was getting frustrated.

Soon, we reached the starter again as he pulled out the white flag.

Dick announced excitedly, "And there it is ladies and gentlemen, the white flag is out, one more lap to go for Ralph Raccoon! What a story, what an upset! This rookie without any experience is going to triumph over the local champion! All he has to do is get around him and lap him, and it's all over!"

Keith announced, "We'll see if he can handle the last lap, Arnold is not going to make it easy for Ralph to lap him."

I smiled broadly. I was so proud of myself-I was actually going to beat Arnold! The look on his face when he lost would be a priceless memory, that's for sure.

I could hear Keith Tippett cheering for me from the sidelines, "Atta boy, Ralph! Atta boy! You got him, baby, you got him!"

I could also hear my father and Bert cheering it up in the stands.

"Ralph! You did it! You did it!" Bert was already celebrating.

My father was presumably talking to other people proudly. "See him down there! That's my boy! Dammit, I'm proud of him! Goddammit, that's my boy!"

We were halfway through the lap and I was pulling alongside Arnold. Arnold shouted angrily. "NO! This can't be. How can I lose? Lose to you of all people? At my own game? Unacceptable! This should not be!"

I laughed. "Can't handle losing, Arnold?" This would be a moment to remember for all of my life.

Arnold growled. "No, but can you handle…THIS!"

Suddenly, Arnold let go of one of the handles and shoved me. I suddenly found myself losing balance.

Arnold had cheated. He hadn't had a problem with his bike. He'd been going slow on purpose, just waiting for me to catch up to him so he could do this.

"WOOOOOOOOAAAAAHHHHHHH!" I shouted as my bike suddenly caught a rut and flipped over violently. The crowd gasped as I went flying through the air.

"Oh my goodness!" Dick shouted. "Ralph Raccoon has crashed! Ralph Raccoon has crashed! This is gonna hurt!"

I went flying through the air and hit one of the tires hard. I almost got knocked out by the impact. My helmet had come off, it must not have been strapped on well. I could already feel a sharp pain in my paw and I knew I had bumped my head pretty hard.

"Ohhhhhhhh…." I said. I just realized. I'd lost.

"Do you think he's okay, Keith?" I heard Dick ask aloud over the PA.

"I don't know Dick, but what I do know was that that was a rather nasty accident," I heard Keith say solemnly over the PA. "Let's just hope he's okay and that he's not been hurt too badly. I've seen my share of serious injuries in my time, it's always something you don't want to see. But they happen; it's a part of sports."

Arnold laughed as he roared around me again. "Haha, loser!" He cheered as he took the checkered flag, while I just lay there, clutching my paw. I thought I might have broken my wrist.

"And the winner, ladies and gentlemen, is Arnold Layne!" The audience booed him resoundingly, and some even threw their trash over the wall at him. It seemed clear the announcers hadn't seen him cheat, but a good number of the crowd had.

"Haha!" I heard Arnold laugh, not caring about the large number of jeers he received. "As always, I'm number one! The best that's ever been and ever will be! I am the champion!" I heard him starting to hum King's "We Are The Champions." Which coincidentally was playing throughout the arena.

"Oh, my wrist…" I groaned. My worst fears had come true. I had lost, Arnold had cheated, and I had gotten hurt doing this whole competition. And Melissa was sure to go with Arnold now.

"Oh, what a fool I was to ever challenge Arnold Layne…"

I saw my friends jumping over the wall from the spectator area and rushing over to me. Bert reached me first.

"Ralph, Ralph!" He sounded concerned. "Ralph that was a nasty tumble you took! I can't believe that asshole wrecked you! Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine, I think…" I sighed. "There are only two things hurting right now. My wrist, and my self-esteem…" I felt like I was going to cry.

Melissa came dashing up to me, looking extremely terrified and worried. "Raaaaallllppppph!" I heard her shouting as she got to me. "Oh, Ralph, are you alright? How bad are you hurt?"

"My wrist…" I sighed sadly. I knew she was upset at what she'd seen. I'd let her down for good, it seemed.

My dad looked alarmed. "Dammit, son, can you believe that Layne kid? He knocked you off your damn bike! My god! What a piece of scum!"

"I know..." I sighed.

My mother was also there now. "Oh, my little Ralphie! You're hurt!"

"My wrist is…" I just felt like dying right then and there.

Mike Mulligan was the last to reach me. "Damn, kid, I may have been mad at you for what you said to my daughter, but…just…damn. I would never wish this upon anyone."

"Thanks, I think…" I just wanted to go home now and never show my face again.

Melissa immediately started hollering at me. I knew she was angry and upset I went through this whole competition with Arnold all for the right to take her to a dance. I couldn't blame her.

"Ralph Raccoon, I can't believe you! I thought you were a good guy, Ralph! You never had to go through all this for me! If you really wanted to go to that dance with me after all, you should have worked something out with me! I just cannot believe you would do something so utterly stupid for me! You could have been killed, Ralph! Do you think I would have wanted that? No! Ohhhhh….." She clenched her paws, as she started shaking. "I'm so angry I think I'm seeing red now!"

"Yeesh," my dad muttered. "Don't know why Ralph's interested in her, not a good idea to get on her bad side…"

Melissa glared at my father angrily.

"I said nothing, nothing, I swear!" He had an innocent look upon his face. "Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll try and see if I can get me some more of those nice little cocktail wieners." My dad slunk off, whistling to himself.

Melissa was getting ready to yell at me some more (I felt I deserved it, too-I knew I'd lost her respect for sure) when Arnold came strutting up to us, holding his trophy. He laughed.

"Look at this. Another trophy to add to my ever-growing collection. Not a suprise at all! That makes 37 amateur victories for me now." He tapped Melissa on the shoulder and smiled his devilish grin at her. "So, whaddaya think, baby? Aren't I the greatest?"

Melissa frowned. "Sure," she said, sarcastically.

Arnold laughed. "Well, doll face, I presume you'll go to that dance thingy with me now?"

Melissa shot a death glare at him. "As if! I saw what you did to Ralph, you cheated! You knocked him off his bike. Arnold, you have no honor!"

"Wasn't me, I swear," he said, feigning innocence. "It was just an accident, dollface. In the world of racing there's lots of accidents, some intentional, some not. This is one of the latter. It could happen to anyone, ya know?"

She shouted at him some more. "I saw you do it, Arnold! You are a dishonorable man, and I will not give you the pleasure of taking me to that dance! And Ralph, you are a spineless man, not having the courage to tell me about all this! There's no way I'd go with either of you-oh, you're both as bad as each other!"

"Ouch." Bert said, looking sorry for me. "Sorry, pal…"

I was already starting to cry, realizing I had definitely lost any chance at getting the girl I loved. I'd pretty much destroyed her opinion of me-Melissa thought I was no better than Arnold. At least she wouldn't go to the dance with him. But I knew now she'd never want to be with me, ever. I really blew it. This was the dumbest thing I could have possibly done.

"I'm sorry…" I said meekly.

Melissa shouted at me again. "Ralph, stop crying, you! You should just lie there and think about what you've done! I still can't believe you did this, you imbecile! Why, I ought to-to-to..." Suddenly, her voice softened in tone and a look of sympathy appeared in her eyes. "Ought to…Oh, who am I kidding? I can't stay mad at you, Ralph." Much to my surprise, she stooped down and wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a really tight hug. I could see tears coming out of her eyes. I was so confused.

"Huh. What do you know?" Mike said, to no one in particular. "I guess she really is all yours, kid."

"What's going on, Melissa?" I was so confused. She went from being so angry at me to suddenly comforting me.

"Oh Ralph, I'm sorry I said all those things. I was just upset, you should have told me about all of this beforehand. Really, Ralph, I'm terribly sorry, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?" I was still rather confused, but I could not be upset with her for too long.

"Of course I forgive you, Melissa."

"I forgive you too, Ralph. I can't stay mad at you for too long. I'm not angry anymore."

"Way to go, pal," Bert said winking at me. I laughed.

Arnold looked furious. "What the hell's all this angel eyes? You feel sorry for him? After what he did? Simply brushed you aside when you asked him to that dance and then tried to compete at something he had no skill at to make it up to you? What a reckless idiot! I don't get it. You ought to ditch that newspaper writing zero and go with me, a motorcycle racing hero!"

Melissa glared at him. "No way, Arnold. You tried to hurt Ralph. I saw you do it, how can you do that to him? Ralph's too nice of a guy, I can't believe you would do that."

"Hey, he cut me off…" Arnold fibbed.

"He did not! By the way, I think I've figured out why Ralph had a black eye and all those bruises…"

"Really now," Arnold said, idly. "What do you think happened?"

Melissa sneered at him (I hope Cedric and Cyril don't mind me using that word). "I have a good reason to suspect you hit Ralph."

"Really, now. What would ever make you think that, sweetheart? I'm just too damned nice a guy to ever do that, after all, Ralph's my buddy, aren't you Ralph?"

"Not in your lifetime." I said.

"I just have this sneaking hunch. You're not all you appear to be Arnold. I don't ever want to see your face again! You, go away with your meaningless trophy!"

Arnold looked like his pride had taken a considerable hit. "Grr, very well, you! But you haven't seen the last of Arnold Layne! Hahahahahaha!" Arnold laughed an ominous laugh as he headed out the arena.

Bert laughed as he called out mockingly to Arnold, "It's not the same, Arnold Layne..."

I heard Arnold shout "Shuddup!" as he left.

With that, Melissa turned back to me. "Alright Ralph. Now how bad are you injured?"

I grunted, still clutching my paw. "My wrist hurts pretty badly. I think I might have broken it…"

"Let me see it, please." I gave her my paw. She took a good look at it.

"No, it's not broken," she said, "it's just sprained. It'll heal with time, but if I were you I would try to not use it so much for a while. Oh Ralph," she said hugging me again. "I'm so glad you're not hurt any worse than you are."

"I am too." I laughed. "Boy, that was pretty dumb of me to go through this whole competition, wasn't it?"

Melissa chuckled as well. "Hah hah, you weren't that bad. Ralph, you would have beat him if he hadn't have cheated. I'm surprised they let him keep the trophy. Still, you were really doing quite well."

It was nice of her to praise me.

"Well, er, thank you." I said.

"It's no problem," she said smiling.

Mike said, "Well, nice to see the two of ya on good terms. I think I gotta go tend to my bar. See ya tomorrow, honey," Mike said.

"See you then, Dad!" Melissa waved as Mike left.

My father came back, his mouth full of cocktail wieners once again.

"Hey, looks like you two made up!"

"They sure did," my mother said, smiling as she put her arm around my dad.

"I guess you really got her, son." My dad winked at me.

"Way to go Ralphie!" Bert cheered for me.

"Gee, thanks, everyone."

Then someone came whizzing towards me in their wheelchair. Someone I'd completely forgotten about.

"Oh shit…" I said to myself. Keith was not happy.

"What's the matter?" Melissa asked.

"I wrecked his Pawley…" I sighed. "I am not looking forward to this…"

Sure enough, Keith came up to me and reached down and slapped me in the face. "You wrecked my froggin' bike, damn you!" He didn't actually say frog, but the real word he said, well, I really don't like to say it, so I will not retell exactly what he said. I think you get it. "I told you to be careful with my frogging bike, I trusted you, kid, you know I frogging trusted you! And you went and frogged it all up!" He then grabbed me by my scarf and shook me. "Frog you, you mother-frogger!" Melissa gasped, hearing such…colorful language.

"Gee, I'm sorry, Keith…"

Keith immediately softened up. "Sorry, kid. I was just a little upset, that was my best bike you demolished. But, I realize it's not all your fault, Ralph. That bastard knocked you off your bike. Why the hell did they let him keep the win?"

"I don't know," I said honestly.

"Well, anyways, you did a good job. And you should have won that thing. You have some skill that reminds me of myself when I was younger and learning to ride. I've actually been contemplating retiring from competition, how'd you like to compete for me every week here at this arena? I can always provide ya a bike."

I was honored. He actually thought I was really good? He wanted me to do this on a regular basis? Those words meant something to me. It was a very nice offer. But, the world of motorcycle racing just wasn't for me. I had to politely decline his offer.

"I'm sorry, Keith. It's a very nice offer, but I'll have to decline. Just between you and me, motorcycle racing isn't really something I want a career in. I hope you're not offended?" If he was, well…

Fortunately, he wasn't. "I understand, Ralph. It was nice getting to know you kid, you were really something, I'll say that. I wish ya the best of luck in all your future endeavors. And hey, if you ever do change your mind, kid, come drop by me. I'll be glad to set you up." He shook my paw (the one that wasn't sprained), and grinned.

"I'll be sure to do that, Keith," I said.

"And let it be known that I wish you and your girl over here," he said, pointing at Melissa (she turned red), "the best of luck."

"Thanks, it was nice making your acquaintance." I said as he turned to go.

"See ya 'round, kid. Shirley!" He shouted for his girlfriend. "C'mon, let's go get something to eat."

"All right, honey," Shirley said as she pushed him out of the arena.

My mother and father grinned at me. "Ralphie," my mother said, "how would you like to join us for dinner tonight? It's been a good while since you've dropped by for dinner the last time."

I would be very glad to do that. "Sure thing, Mom."

"Oh boy. Guess what we're having?" My dad's mouth started to water.

"What would that be?"

"She's cookin' some nice juicy steaks with potatoes on the side. Mmm, well-done..." My dad started involuntarily drooling.

"Goodie," I said. It wasn't the best thing in the world, but it would beat Bert's peanut butter stuff.

Melissa looked at my mother hopefully, "Mrs. Raccoon, would you mind if I joined you too? I'd like to come have dinner with Ralph's family."

My mom smiled. "Of course you can, Melissa. You're welcome at our household anytime."

Melissa grinned at me. "I guess we're going to have dinner together, Ralph!" She winked at me.

"I suppose so," I smiled back at her. "Say, Bert. Would you care to join us?"

Bert shook his head. "Nice of you to ask, but I got some things I need to take care of back at the Raccoondominium. See ya whenever you get back," Bert waved as he left.

"Bye, Bert," I said.

"See you around," Melissa said, waving.

"Now then," my dad said. "Let's go. I'm starving and I could eat an elephant right now."

END CHAPTER TWELVE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Whew! That was definitely my longest chapter. I promise this will be the longest chapter. Twelve thousand words (almost thirteen thousand)! I can't believe it. There are only a few more chapters left (4-5, I think). This fanfic is starting to wrap up. It's hard to believe I'm actually going to complete a fanfic. And long chapter=long author's notes.

Eldon Rasmussen is a real Indy Car driver who really did compete at Indy in the 1970s, and at the time in this fanfic (February 1982) he really was the most recent Canadian to compete in the race. Although, he obviously wasn't from the Evergreen Forest (he actually was from Edmonton-I thought it would be slightly interesting to present the Forest as having been the home of a 500 competitor). He attempted six Indy 500s (1974-1979) and started three, 1975, 1977, and 1979, all from the last row of the field. He made his debut in the 1975 Indy 500 at in which he was one of four rookies in the field. He ran up front and was in the top 10 when he collided with Tom Sneva's car and caused Sneva to have a violent accident (which was mentioned back in Chapter 3). The incident put Rasmussen out of the race and he ended up 24th, 3rd out of the 4 rookies, ahead of Larry McCoy, but behind Sheldon Kinser and that year's rookie of the year, Bill Puterbaugh. He would go on to finish 13th in 1977 and 23rd in 1979, his final start at the speedway. Ralph's mentioning of him having built his own cars is true; he actually had his very own unique chassis (which he called "Rascar") that he ran in 1975 and in 1977; in 1979 he qualified a 7-year old Antares chassis into the field. In real life, he's 75 years old (at the time of writing) and currently lives in Indianapolis, working as a part fabricator building exhaust systems for Indy Car teams. He was inducted into the Canadian Motorsport Hall of Fame in 2001 for his contributions to Canadian motorsports.

As for the commentators at the motorcycle competition, Dick Ermine appeared in a few episodes of the show, commentating on the Evergreen Games in Stop The Clock!, and announced the skateboarding competition in Stealing The Show! As for Keith Stackson, he's a Raccoons version of legendary ABC Sports announcer Keith Jackson, who worked for many, many years in the business. He called many college football games and often announced on their Wide World of Sports broadcasts in the 1970s, calling the 1974 Firecracker 400 at Daytona and also co-calling the 1975 Indy 500 alongside F1 champion Jackie Stewart.

My Ding-a-Ling was the real life Chuck Berry's only #1 hit in both the USA and Canada. It's a rather idiotic song filled with double entendres.

And as mentioned, Steel Airship is a Raccoons' version of Led Zeppelin, my all-time favorite band in real life. (Though Stairway to Heaven is NOT my favorite song by then-that honor goes to Achilles' Last Stand). As mentioned, they really did play Vancouver in March of 1975, and that is the concert that Bert is said to have gone to. (Though he would be only thirteen at the time…) Ralph also has the date of their debut album's release slightly wrong, their self-titled debut came out in January 1969 (although it was recorded in October 1968, so technically, he still is right). Ralph's opinion of them obviously does not reflect my real-life opinion of them; I thought it would be fun to take the opposite viewpoint from my own, from a non-fan unimpressed by their music. The three songs he gives the lyrics of are all from their first album and are, as follows: You Shook Me (a blues cover of a Willie Dixon song), Dazed And Confused (a heavy rock adaptation of a folk song), and the album's closer, How Many More Times (which is almost nine minutes long and contains bits and pieces of a number of blues songs).

I am aware this chapter is somewhat similar to the episode "The Sky's The Limit!" I did take a little bit of inspiration from that episode, it's one of my favorite episodes. One of the few to focus mainly on Ralph, which is always a plus.

As always, don't forget to read and review!