The Bike

The old man sets the worn out bike in front of me with care and precision, wiping his forehead with one of the red rags he keeps around the shop for that express purpose.

“All done! Should be good as new. Keep good care of it, now. She’s been across the country twice. Why not a third time?”

The bike will get me to work and school, and that’s all I need it for. I have no other ambitions in my heart.

The days pass in the way they always do - with blissful ignorance over the toiling hardships we all endure.

My routine sets in. I ride the bike to school in the morning, to my internship in the afternoons, and then back home shortly before night. Day after day, it floats me along to my destination.

As I sit in the hot attic office and type frantically, each keystroke producing audible clicks on the mechanical keyboard, I envelop myself in writing the code that my employer no longer has the energy to produce. Finally my mathematical poem is complete, it compiles, and I look at the time. So late already, I should really be going. I haven’t ridden at night before and with no lamp on my bicycle, I worry about the safety.

The sun’s warm rays are long gone and have been replaced by the ever cooling darkness of a late summer’s night. I throw my right leg over the leather saddle and head home. I can see my peddling shadow by the light of the full moon. As I approach my parent’s house a thought sneaks into my brain.

What if I don’t stop?

What if I just keep going?

I pass my turn, my feet oscillating up and down as the archaic machine carries me away into the night. I slowly make sense of my decision as the slim wheels glide me along the asphalt. I am on a mission, but to what end I do not know.

The country highway is deserted this time of the night, not even street lights this far out. I ride down the middle of the road. An hour passes, but I keep peddling, unsure of where to go. A few cars pass me, ignorant folk in ignorant cars on ignorant roads. Their occupants slow down and stare, but do not stop to question me or my decision.

Deer spring from the corn field. They seem to understand me as they surround me on the pitch black road, joining with me on my pursuit. I can see the texture of their fur in the moonlight. Soon they part, disappearing back into the rows of corn and I keep going.

The little town is ahead. I do a loop through mainstreet and pull over to relieve myself on the side of the tall white church. How can they claim to know God while hiding behind the thick walls of man? I am grinning but cannot believe how tired I am as I hobble back towards my bike. All that peddling for miles and miles. I continue away from town into a greater unknown.

I’m like a train going down a track, shooting up steam. Nothing can stop me as I peddle on for hours. I feel my leg muscles giving out but do not worry about how to get home. The sun comes up and I limp off the road beside a pond. It is semi-encircled by tall fields of green and yellow stalks. A mist hovers above the brown water’s surface. I am tired, but enlightened. I begin to take off my shoes, then my socks, then my pants. Soon I am naked and slowly stepping into the cool water. I can see the turtle’s heads peeking out above the surface. They are spying on me, wondering what it is I am about to do.

“Come on, get out of there!” I hear the farmer shout, but all I can do is lay on my back and float in the pond, staring up at the purples and blues of the early morning Midwestern sky. By God, I think. By God.