I let out an annoyed sigh as I watched the mystery rider pull up to the starting line on what looked like a vintage piece of junk. The bike was old, probably at least ten years, and while it seemed well-maintained, it was clearly outclassed by every other machine on the line.
Who the hell is this amateur? I thought, pressing the communication button on my helmet.
"Rico, you copy?" I spoke into my headset, addressing my crew leader who was positioned with the spectators.
"Copy, boss," Rico's voice crackled through the speaker. "What do you need?"
"That new rider, bike number seven. Do we know who it is?"
There was a pause before Rico responded. "Negative, boss. None of us recognize the bike or the rider. Completely unknown."
"Well, find out," I snapped. "I don't like surprises."
"Bos
