Shred Girls: Jen's Bumpy Ride

By Molly Hurford and Pip Claffey

In the third Shred Girls adventure, ultra-perfectionist Jen has to make a big decision: Should she stick with the Shred Girls, or join the team that promises to make her faster? She'll have to decide soon, since the clock is ticking down to the next race... But first, Jen, Ali and Lindsay will need to make it through their first ever bikepacking

• Language: English
• Publisher: Strong Girl Publishing
• Release date: May 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781778205750

Molly Hurford

Molly Hurford is the founder of Strong Girl Publishing and has been called a chronic book writer by her friends. She's a journalist by trade, writing and speaking about all things cycling, running, nutrition and movement-related. She's the author of multiple books including 'Fuel Your Ride' and the Shred Girls series. When not actually outside, she's probably writing about being outside and healthy habits of athletes and interviewing world-class athletes and scientists for The Consummate Athlete podcast and website. She runs and rides in Ontario, where she lives with Peter, her husband, and DW, her mini-dachshund, who she definitely used as a character in the Shred Girls books. She's a little obsessed with getting people-especially girls-psyched on adventure and being outside. Those passions combined are what prompted her to start Strong Girl Publishing, in order to reach more young girls and help them find and stay in sports and outdoor adventuring.

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cover-image, Shred Girls ebook

Shred Girls: Jen’s Bumpy Ride

by Molly Hurford

Copyright © 2021 by Molly Hurford

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner what- soever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First edition, 2021

More Information: Shred-Girls.com

For Shred Girls of all ages and all over the world.

Table of Contents



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 12

Acknowledgements

About the Shred Girls

About the Author

Chapter 1

One Year Earlier…

Does anyone know the answer? my science teacher asks. Instantly, my hand shoots up. It’s like I don’t have control of it sometimes, it goes so fast. I would kill on a game show like Jeopardy.

She calls on someone else this time, but I get the next one. And as she clicks on a video, I start doodling in my notebook. No, I’m not scribbling a name or drawing hearts like the girl next to me does. I’m drawing a race course, remembering every single turn and corner.

I know I should be watching the video, but I never get lower than a 95 on tests in this class anyway. Besides, this is the last day of school, so it doesn’t really matter if I’m daydreaming or not. Our teacher is just trying to waste time until we’re free for the summer.

And the real reason I’ve stopped paying attention to the teacher at this point is because as I’m thinking about the race course, I’m reliving The Moment, which happened two weeks ago. 

Race Day.

The timer ticking down. The tape pulled away. A man with a stopwatch and a whistle saying that he could blow it at any time, and I know what that means. My hand twitches on the handlebars, clutching the brakes, poised to let go. My eye twitches too, but I barely register it, the rest of my body is so tense. Around me, I know girls are still giggling, making last second adjustments. They’re not ready like I am. They’ll be too late. 

This is my race to win.

I’ve never lost one yet. 

The race is a big one. It’s our state championships, and while there aren’t that many girls in my age category—around 25 of us in total—I’m still nervous because I’m racing girls older than me for the first time. That means they’ll be bigger, stronger and more experienced. But that’s okay, I’m not really worried.

I want it more. 

When the whistle finally does sound, I smash down on my right pedal, and with a clear path in front of me—of course I was in the first row of girls racing—I’m off like a shot, now with both feet pedaling for all I’m worth. 

We hit the first corner, and I’m in the lead (of course). Everything is going according to plan. I feel like a total champion. And that feeling lasts, even as my legs get more and more tired, as the clock ticks down. It’s a 30-minute race, a criterium, so we’re racing around the same short loop over and over again: We’ll go around eight times before we’re finished. By the fifth time around, I’m starting to feel tired, but hearing my dad shouting from the corner helps perk me back up. I haven’t been able to shake most of the group—a few of the other girls fell off after two laps, but there are about seven of them left, all patiently sitting behind me. My coach would tell me that this is A Bad Thing, since it means they’re enjoying riding in my draft and not sitting out in the wind. In other words, they’re going as fast as me, but I’m working harder. 

But I like it at the front. I like being the one working the hardest, the one who deserves it the most.

As we come into the finishing stretch, I know I have it. I just need to push for a few more seconds. I’ve come this far, another few yards shouldn’t be hard at all. I can see the tape in front of me, it’s getting closer and closer.

A blur comes whizzing through my peripheral vision, but it barely registers. I grit my teeth and give it everything I have, coming through the finish line and throwing my hands up in the air.

Victory is mine.

I cross the line with a huge grin on my face, ready to celebrate. And then, I see it. I see her. That blur that I barely noticed. She’s looking at me, a mixture of a need to laugh and a look of pity. And I realize what it means. 

She was the blur.

She went past me.

She won.

And that means… I lost. Which doesn’t make sense, since I never lose. But it seems that way, judging by the looks on everyone’s faces. It dawns on me that I just celebrated a win in front of a crowd of people… and I wasn’t the winner. My face turns beet red, and I can feel my stomach churning. This is the worst moment of my life. 

The post-race chatter doesn’t even register with me. I’ve lost, and that’s what matters.

My dad comes up and puts his hand on my shoulder. You did great, he says enthusiastically. I look at him, baffled.

I lost, I say slowly, making sure he didn’t just miss those horrific moments at the finish line.

He gently shakes my shoulder. Jen, you’ve never raced against girls this old before. And you were second. That’s great, he says. 

I try to respond, but to my embarrassment, my eyes have filled with tears and my voice would break if I said a word. I give a sniffle, and he pulls me into a hug. Is it really that bad? he asks.

I just nod.

Three days later, school is over and I’m out of science class, but I still can’t stop thinking about that moment. I can’t make sense of the silver medal hanging on my shelf, looking dull next to all the shiny gold ones. My bike is sitting in the garage, tires slowly deflating as I ignore it and opt to stay inside watching TV instead of riding. 

I missed practice last night, for the first time ever. I told my dad I had a headache, but I just didn’t want to go. 

We have to talk, my mom says, as we sat around the dinner table that night.

That’s never the way you want a conversation with a parent to go. 

I was the one in preschool who wanted to be the queen, so I was. I also wanted to be the one who climbed to the top of the playground first, and I was. My dad says I have ‘gumption’ and ‘drive,’ and mostly he’s happy about that. Unless we’re arguing about something I want to do, then I’m just ‘being stubborn.’ (Parents are weird, aren’t they?)

What is it? I ask, shoving peas around my plate.

We think you need a vacation.

Now, that was unexpected. I perk up immediately. There’s this really great race series in Chicago I’d love to go to, I say. Or there’s this big week-long race in Italy that would be so cool! (I have a list of races always ready to go, of course.)

They exchange a look. We were sort of thinking that you need a break from racing, my mom says slowly, and my dad nods in agreement.

I thought he was on my side. I glare at him. What? Absolutely not. I’m fine. I just need to train more before my next race! I say, my anger starting to blend with panic. My voice is higher than normal and I’m embarrassed that I almost feel like I might start crying. I’m afraid to ask what I really want to know, which is, Is it because I lost?

You won’t be off the bike entirely. Your grandparents live right down the street from a big indoor bike park, Dad says. And we signed you up for a class there.

I throw my fork down. I don’t need to learn to ride a bike, I exclaim. That’s the last thing I want to do, spend a vacation with my grandparents stuck in some kiddie bike class learning to play nice with others and brake when I need to. I already know I don’t play well with others, and I’m great at braking, thankyouverymuch.

It’s not a road bike class, he says patiently. I thought you could use something fun, something non-competitive, for a change. I signed you up for this program at a bike park that does a lot of cool stuff like jumping and tricks. There’s a girls group starting there this month and I thought you’d like it.

I huff out a breath of air. No way am I going to enjoy this. But curiosity gets the better of me.

What’s it called? I ask, suspiciously.

Shred Girls, my mom says, beaming. They both look so happy that all of my anger seems to whoosh out of me, and I’m left feeling a little deflated.

Great, Shred Girls, I mutter. But even though I want to be annoyed, just saying the name—Shred Girls—makes me feel a little bit better.

I don’t want to go, I still whine. But I admit, my stomach is churning with something that feels like a little bit of excitement. 

Well, you’re going and that’s final. I’m sure you’ll love being one of the Shred Girls, my dad says firmly.

The Shred-iest, Mom says, and I roll my eyes. At least while I’m at my grandparents, I’ll be able to sneak in some training, since apparently, my parents are suddenly anti-racer here.

I don’t want to be excited about it, but as I write out my training plan for the summer so that I’m ready for the fall races, I get distracted and start doodling again. This time, instead of a race course, I end up drawing a bunch of logos that all read Shred Girls.

Weird. I leave for my grandparents’ tomorrow and I’m already packed, with a few of my favorite cycling-themed shirts and books stashed where my parents can’t find them. I don’t expect to like the girls I’m going to be stuck with, but hopefully I can learn a few skills that will translate to when I get home and can finally start racing again.

Dear Diary,

First of all, I’m sorry I forgot about you for so long. When Mom and Dad sent me to Joyride to train with the Shred Girls and I met Ali and Lindsay, I left you behind along with the rest of my serious training stuff. I didn’t think I’d miss you—I was already annoyed that Dad locked me out of my training calendar app, so I decided I didn’t want to record anything.

Whenever I used to introduce myself to someone, I would say that I win bike races. I loved the feeling: the wind in my neatly braided hair, the speed when I fly down a hill, the exhilaration that I got right before I crossed the finish line before anyone else. And then, I lost.

Now, I don’t really know how to introduce myself. I used to play other sports, but since I started seventh grade, I realized that team sports just weren’t as fun for me. It’s not that I really mind sharing the trophy—I mean, who likes doing that, really?—but more, I like depending on myself. It’s why I don’t like group projects at school either. I’d rather just do the whole thing myself. That’s what’s great about racing my bike: it’s just me and my beautiful, beautiful bicycle against everyone else. But mostly, between you and me, it’s about me versus me. And that’s even harder to win. I want to go faster, go harder every single time.

Since I met the Shred Girls last summer, I became best friends with Lindsay and Ali. I don’t think they liked me much at first, and honestly, I didn’t really like me (or them) either. But after a few weeks together, we started realizing that we were more similar than we thought.

And while my parents told me I needed a break from competing, they were finally convinced, thanks to our coach, Lindsay’s cousin Phoebe, that it was OK for me to do these fun competitions with the girls. So far, it’s nothing like road racing: I don’t get to race in a pack with the other riders, so really, I’m finally actually just competing with myself during the events, and it’s only afterwards that I get to see my