Martina tapped the monocycle into first and released her grip on the clutch like it was a branding iron hoping she’d timed the gas well enough. It was a slick move she executed all the time from second to third on her bike, but first from a stand still on the mike. Her maneuver worked, and she throttled up afraid she would wobble out on the sand if she didn’t get some speed. The acceleration pulled her seat forward and she found herself watching the horizon past her thighs till her velocity flattened out and she settled back to level. Martina didn’t hear Franklin calling after her.
She expected steering to be impossible or at least hard, but once she was rolling she found keeping the hoop on a straight course was the challenge. She leaned into a wide right circle without dropping speed, sat up straight, then leaned to the left to bring the monocycle back to her original direction. Martina wanted to skid the thing to a stop but already had enough experience to know doing so wouldn’t end well. Instead she slipped her hand off the throttle and felt the momentum suck her up into the wheel to where she was looking at the ground past her toes this time.