Epilogue           Three weeks later . . . .           Wearing shorts, sneakers, and a Smith and Ferguson tee-shirt, J.R leaned low over the bike�s handlebars and pedaled faster.  His eyes were fixed intensely on the one bicyclist that remained ahead of him, a strong, powerfully built student, several years younger than him.  Born into a moderately well-to-do family, he guided his sleek, expensive bicycle with confidence and expertise.  J.R. did not know his name, but he had seen him training, and knew that he would be a strong contender.  He was seeing that athleticism now, and was suitably impressed.  Approximately four lengths separated the two bicycles, and the other student was not giving an inch to the older student who tailed him.           After obtaining a clean bill of health from his regular doctor, J.R. had quickly resumed his training on the newly repaired bicycle.  For his own sense of completion, he had asked Betty to drop him off at the Desert Oasis once more so that he could finish the trip he had started, but Betty had insisted on driving along behind him just to assure herself and Barnaby that this time, everything would go smoothly.           Meanwhile, Doyle Jessup had been returned to prison, where he would await trial for the murder of the prison guard during his escape and the young inmate he had killed, whose identity had been tracked down via the prison officials.  He had been moved to maximum security and the privileges he had been granted during his previous incarceration had been revoked.           But these thoughts were far from J.R.�s mind as he tucked his head lower and focused on pedaling, watching as his knees, protected by the knee pads, moved rapidly up and down in steady rhythm.  His legs were getting tired, but the breeze that was generated by the rapid speed was pleasant.  It cooled the sweat on his body and whipped the dark curls that peeked out from beneath the helmet.  He could hear the new tires humming softly against the concrete, and his old bicycle was performing like a champion.  Who said new and expensive was better?  When he looked up again, the gap between him and the other student seemed to have closed a bit.  His pulse increased with anticipation.           Faster! the voice inside his head shouted, encouragingly.           His brow was furrowed with concentration as they flew past the marker which designated the final mile of the race.  He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, gauging the proximity of the riders behind him.  The nearest bicyclist was nearly a quarter mile back and losing ground.  He was no longer a threat.  All the others were in the distance.  It was J.R. against the wealthier student.  One or the other would win the race, and J.R. wanted nothing more at that moment than to be the first one across the line.           The gap continued to close as J.R. advanced along the right side of the other student, who looked over at him in surprise when the smaller man pulled alongside.  They were side-by-side as they went around a curve in the road, and they could see that the crowd of spectators was larger near the finish line.  A cheer rose up from the students, faculty members, families, and bystanders as the two competitors came into view.           Standing just behind the rope that kept the spectators safely off the street, Betty�s heart pounded with excitement when she saw the familiar helmet coming around the bend.  �Is that J.R.?� she asked, shouting to be heard above the roar of the crowd.           A pair of binoculars hung by its strap around Barnaby�s neck, and he raised them to his eyes and rotated the focus with his finger.  �Yeah!  Yeah! It�s him!  COME ON Jedediah!� he yelled at the top of his lungs in a totally uncharacteristic fashion, completely forgetting that he was typically regarded as a quietly reserved and dignified gentleman.           Betty grabbed the binoculars from Barnaby�s hands, nearly yanking him sideways with the neck strap, and raised it to her eyes.  �COME ON J.R.!� she yelled.           �Betty!  BETTY! You�re choking me!� Barnaby protested, tugging on the strap.           �Oh!  Sorry!�  She flipped the strap over Barnaby�s head and yelled again.           Beside her, John Biddle grinned at them caught up completely in the excitement of the race.  He had been surprised when J.R. had invited him to attend, and understood that it was the equivalent of an olive branch, and although it had not been his first choice of ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, he was glad he had come and was even enjoying himself.           J.R. could not have heard his family�s exuberance, even if he had been close enough.  His level of concentration had reached that pinnacle where nothing else could penetrate.  He was focused on only one thing, and that was attaining a greater degree of physical stamina.  Mind over matter.           The other student�s wheel inched ahead of J.R.�s as the other student gave one last burst of determination in an attempt to put a comfortable distance between him and his opponent, but he was unprepared for the resolve of the part time detective.  The two men fought valiantly for the lead, but a half mile from the finish line, J.R. surged ahead.           The law school�s students and faculty screamed with exhilaration, and J.R. absorbed the energy from their enthusiasm, allowing it to fuel his endurance.           A quarter mile from the finish line, J.R. glanced to his left and discovered that the other competitor had fallen back.  A quick glimpse over his shoulder revealed that nearly a length and a half separated them.  The other student had run out of steam and had apparently decided to concede the race.  He did not need the money; he had only wanted the trophy, but this time he would settle for second place.  The roar from the crowd grew louder.           Taking nothing for granted, refusing to become complacent, J.R. gave it everything he had.  He was still pulling ahead when he broke the colorful ribbon that was stretched across the road.  The long crepe paper streamer fluttered behind him as he released the handlebars and thrust his fists triumphantly into the air.  His own yell of victory was lost in the sheer volume of the pandemonium that surrounded him.  Over the loudspeaker, he heard the announcer shout excitedly into his microphone: �And the winner by five lengths is J.R. Jones!�           Betty and Barnaby flung their arms around one another, slapping each other on the back, unable to contain their excitement.  When they parted, Lieutenant Biddle, a huge grin on his face, high-fived Betty and then Barnaby in succession.           �Now aren�t you glad you decided to come?� Barnaby shouted above the din.           �I am!� Biddle shouted back.  �That was one hell of a race!�           J.R. began to allow himself to come down off his physical and emotional high. His hands returned to the handlebars, reducing speed as he guided the bike to the side of the street to provide ample room for the riders and bicycles behind him.  As he dismounted, he was mobbed by a crowd of students from his classes, who embraced him, slapped him on the back and on top of the helmet, congratulating him.           He was unable to hear any of the individual words that were spoken to him due to the enormity of the noise and the expanse of the crowd, so he just grinned happily and nodded his head in response to the voices that surrounded him.           As he unstrapped his helmet and removed it from his head, the cyclist who had fought him so hard came to a stop beside him and offered his hand.  �Well done, Jones,� he said, shouting to be heard.  �Congratulations.�           �Thanks.  You made me work for it!� J.R. shouted back, accepting the handshake.           The other student coasted away, and J.R. was escorted through the crowd of faculty and students to the microphone for the presentation, enduring their slaps on the back and handshakes with a broad grin.           Someone placed the shiny silver trophy on a table beside the podium, and a school administrator moved to the podium with the winner�s check in his hand.  With a broad smile, J.R. made his way up the steps to accept the award that would help him reach graduation.  What would come after that, he had not yet decided, but thanks to Barnaby, he had more than one option.  And he was considering each one carefully as the older man had advised.  Whatever he chose to do, he knew it would be the right decision.                                                           ~ The end~