Ockham's Razor: A Deductive Riddle

Chapter 1

It was the closest Ian had ever come to dying. The car missed him by mere inches, speeding the other way and showing no signs of stopping. Despite the terror in his grip and the adrenaline-fuelled heart thumping in his chest, Ian knew there was no malice in the attack. It was all part of the race.

He pedalled as hard as he could, pushing his bike and body harder than his mind thought possible. A quick look behind him showed him that his opponent was within eyesight. This was not a good sign. He continued pedalling through the rush hour traffic, weaving in and out of cars, trucks, vans, motorcycles, pedestrians and other cyclists in any attempt to put as much distance between him and his opponent as possible.

This madness had started a few hours before. Ian, a risk-taking gambler of considerable local reputation, had made a simple bet. The bet stated that he could ride through the city of Great Plains on his bicycle faster than another man could drive a car. The wager was a mere one hundred dollars. The stakes were money, reputation, and apparently, Ian's life.

Ian redoubled his pedalling, refocussed on the race and looked down the road. Traffic was becoming snarled, this was good as it would slow down the car, while offering him on his bike the narrow passages that would provide quick access to the target. He approached the gridlock hoping that it would hold for about fifteen minutes. That would guarantee him victory.

Another quick look back showed that his opponent was heading right for the congestion. This should slow his opponent up considerably. Ian smiled to himself as he was looking back at the car. He looked forward and immediately slammed into the fender of a car that was pushing its way into traffic from a side street. Ian did a double flip and landed on his shoulder and completed an inelegant roll forward into a minivan.

A growl of pain mixed with frustration escaped his mouth as he laid on the ground between the two vehicles. His thoughts flashed immediately about how many bones he had just broken. A quick mental survey told him that although his shoulder was sore, he broke no bones. Coming to a painful sitting position, his next thought focussed on how to get back into the race. He clambered to his feet and was greeted by the angry face of the man whose car he just hit.

"What the hell do you think you are doing to my car?" the stranger growled at Ian, but the stranger's eyes were locked on the driver of the minivan who was moving into the space that his car was trying to occupy.

Thinking of a quick way to get out of there, Ian sputtered, "I'll get the cops, and we can sort this one out. I'll be back in a minute."

Before he could turn and grab his bike, the driver yelled "What are you? Stupid? I don't have the time for this." He took another look at the minivan. "No cops! Just get the hell out of my face!" he screamed as he climbed into his car to resume his aggressive push down the boulevard.

Completely surprised, Ian bent down, picked up the bike, gave it a quick look over, and climbed back on. Just before he started pedalling, he thought to ask the driver why he was going to let this one go. Ian, ever the cocky but quick-witted mind, quickly assessed his situation using Ockham's Razor. Two options: this guy has to get somewhere, or he does not want the police to come here. Option one, going somewhere. He's alone in his car, so he would be meeting someone. That someone is either in crisis or worth all this risk. Lover? Boss? Kid at daycare? A lover would wait. Who risks all for a boss? Daycare is paid by the day. Option 2, he does not want police involved? Car illegal? No insurance? He's wanted? Simplest answer is Option 2. This guy does not want police involved.

Ian quickly looked down at the license plate. It had an expired sticker on it. He smiled. His assessment was right. But, for the mere price of re-registering this vehicle, Ian would have had to give up his race.