21.5 Miles, Intermittent Downpour (A Short Story)

Yesterday Mandy & Heather and I set out on a Silver Comet bike ride. Of course it was an overcast, threatening-to-rain day, but we would not be deterred. So undeterred in fact we dallied at the bike shop pumping our tires, purchasing accessories, and talking shop with the shop boy. How do we access the trail from here, we asked. Right there, he pointed out the door. Oh. Finally we were off, whizzing down a slight incline with big smiles and hollers (if I may use the word) of excitement.

It should be noted that I like to ride not just for the scenery, but for the muscle-building potential. On your left, I called out, pumping past Heather. On your left, she reclaimed the front. On your left, Mandy followed suit, laughing.

At mile marker 1.6 we promptly stopped. I was wearing sunglasses to protect my contacts from the headwind, and decided to remove these and store them in Heather's zippered accessory bag, which I found unzippered and missing my previously placed cars keys. Oh well. Let's keep going, I suggested, I'm pretty sure they are locked in the car so what's the point of turning around?

Another mile and we were joined on our path by gentle rain drops. The rain feels good, I said. The rain feels good, Mandy called out from behind me. Soon we were all thoroughly damp and cool, with miniature puddles sticking to our arms & legs.

At mile 3 and change, we were blinded by pelting rain. Oh so lucky, a covered bridge just ahead in which to wait out the downpour with pregnant ladies. The light was orange and rivulets of water ran underfoot. A serious biker sped thru the tunnel spinning water behind both skinny tires. Within ten minutes we were on our way in a light drizzle. In a warming, drying sun we stopped on a bridge to take in the view (golf course) and debate just how injured one might be if falling over the side into the shallow creek below. Heather argued imminent death, I suggested merely broken legs and possibly back. I dropped down to see how many push-ups I could do. Four. Heather completed a two inch push-up and Mandy did two complete reps before popping up.

We were off again, this time uninterrupted. Around mile 7 we were heady with our progress, calling back and forth to ask, Are you tired? Nah, let's keep going. Look at the path, it's so flat. It's easy. At mile 9 I suggested we might turn around, conscious of the equal ground to cover on the route back. Let's go to 10, Heather shouted jubilantly. Ok.

Reaching mile 10.1 we turned around, a little tired and hungry. At a branch in the path we were disappointed to find a sign for the library rather than food. One branch further and we veered off, beckoned by food & drink. As Mandy and Heather weighed the merits of McDonalds or Taco Bell, I charged ahead to DQ, riding my bike on an actual city street and quickly throwing out my left hand for a turn signal. This felt a little surreal; I wanted a rear view mirror. A shared meal of cheeseburger, six chicken fingers, two orders of fries, a grilled cheese and a blizzard later, the storm clouds were rolling back in. Let's haul, I said, getting blinded again will be like the time I was pushed off a sinking jet ski by my mother the day after I broke my hand. What, asked Heather. Yea, I replied, and my little dog, too.

This time the miles ticked by slowly. My neck hurts, said Mandy. Let's trade bikes, I suggested, maybe that will help. I immediately hated her bike. By mile 8 the storm caught up with us, and again we were lucky to find shelter soon. This space was a tall short bridge looming overhead, and I sat on the pavement watching the murky gulleywater swell, bearing leaves and sticks quickly past. It looked disgusting, but it was only earth debris and rain. This is spooky, Heather said. Looking ahead the trail was light enough, but behind us it was nothing but an abstract shape in very dark gray fog. Yea, like the headless horsemen could come riding out of that any minute, Mandy offered. A few serious bikers with heads and helmets sped past in the dimness. Again we set out before the rain ceased entirely.

Earlier Heather had described her bike headlight as so strong it could blind you. Thus I was surprised when I called ahead asking her to turn it on and she said it was already. More miles ticked by, each one more welcome for bringing us closer to our cars, though the whereabouts of my keys were yet unknown.

At last mile 0.0, but we still had .7 to cover to reach our parking lot, and the .7 was uphill. We can do it, I said. No, Mandy and Heather stopped. I used all of my strength to get up that hill, my bike wobbling under uneven, tortured pressure. My gear was too high but I feared losing my balance if moving my hands an inch to change.

At the top of the hill just before reaching the cars, I stopped to compose a picture in my mind. The street was wet and the sky was dark, just before dusk violet. There was a long row of tall Cypress, slightly fat at the bottom but otherwise looking very Tuscan. All of this was criss-crossed at the top by low-hanging electrical wires. I thought it would make a perfect shot to commemorate our adventure. No camera at hand, I paused for a moment to consider the options. Heather could access her camera phone but by the time she reached me and fetched the phone all of the light would be gone. I pedaled slowly ahead to the cars and after a few minutes my companions joined me.