The Lime-Green Bicycle
by Shauna Checkley
Late morning, and the day was like one painted by a French Impressionist: dazzling fresh and green, lightly dappled, and honeyed-fragrant. It was the kind of day that Priscilla lived for, and she was especially glad that it had arrived on the weekend, when she was free.
Pushing her silver-colored tandem bike along the cracked sidewalks, Priscilla steered carefully. She was headed to Vic’s Bike Shop, just two blocks away. Since she felt funny riding a tandem alone — the irony was not lost on her — she opted to push the beast instead.
Her mop of sandy blonde hair was in a high ponytail, and she wore her usual cycling gear.
Vic’s Bike Shop was on College Avenue, a near-institution in the small prairie city. It had been there as long as Priscilla could remember. So, when she wheeled the bike onto the premises, it was like coming home to this all too familiar local playground.
“Well, good morning to you!” Vic called from behind the counter. He was a large man, about 20 years older than Priscilla. He always wore navy-blue work clothes, rolled up high on the sleeves to reveal arms thick with gray hair. He beamed at Priscilla.
“Hey, Vic,” she replied.
“So, what brings you and the silver stallion in today?” he remarked playfully.
Priscilla stopped in her tracks. She let the bike lean against her. Exhaling deeply, she looked momentarily pained.
Vic’s visage changed to one of concern. “Don’t tell me—“
Priscilla nodded.
Vic shook his head in near disbelief. Propping his hands on his hips, he stood arms akimbo. “Well, I get it, but I don’t get it. I think a lot of young guys just want to keep partying instead of settling down.”
Priscilla shrugged.
Then he added, “You know that I’m nearing my twentieth year of sobriety in A.A., right?”
Aww, crap. Priscilla nodded dutifully. From past experience, she knew that she was in for a loquacious account of his recovery story, drunk-a-log anecdotes, and everything in between.
She had heard it many times before. In fact, every time she had come to trade in a bike, she was regaled with a sobriety update. But she knew that it was just a need that Vic had, to tell his story, to get his personal narrative out front and center, to settle all accounts with the universe. That’s all.
So, she listened politely as he rehashed his 12-step story. Though she appeared to be following along, her mind raced to far-off places, anywhere but that bike shop that smelled lightly of grime and oil, coffee, and Lysol cleaner.
She recalled Daniel. Just what was the problem anyhow? She saw him in her mind’s eye. The short and prematurely balding young man with the penchant for sports jerseys and jeans. He had seemed so promising with his agriculture studies and his mechanical tendencies, not to mention his fabulous home-made nachos. But they eventually began to fight over finances and her absolute refusal to put down Trix the cat, even though it was having weird seizures and drooling all the time. He also lamented the flatness of her bottom.
Though she had traded in her bike for a tandem one, it had never been used much. It had never cemented them together as a couple the way she hoped or supposed it would. She had a love of cycling but he, not so much. Instead, they spent most of their time watching cable.
The final deal-breaker came when he arranged a series of trips and outings with his buddies and not her. She saw it as an opportunity to exit a faltering relationship, and she took it.
Now, in the aftermath of it all, post-Daniel, she was busy tying up the loose ends. Updating her profile. Deleting pictures. And trading in her tandem bike for a single-seater. She had done it before. But just not in some while, that’s all.
“And to think I owe it all to waking up naked on a park bench that I’ve come to this now... twenty years later,” Vic said and sighed.
Priscilla nodded. “Congratulations. Keep up the good work.”
They paused. Yet it was a natural lull, not awkward at all.
Pointing at the tandem, Vic said, “I suppose you’re wanting to trade that in for a single-seater.”
“I was hoping to, if that’s possible. Like I have done other times.” Priscilla said. She hope that she didn’t sound desperate, rather, just a normal, calculated move on her part.
Vic nodded. “I’m sure we can do just that.”
Motioning her to follow him, he led her past the store front to the large back room where he did repairs. There stood a lime green retro bike with wide-set handlebars, a white basket, and a banana seat.
“It’s gorgeous!” Priscilla gushed.
“Okay, we’ll just consider it a straight-up trade then.”
“Sure. Thanks, Vic.”
They did. And soon she found herself pedalling madly down the side streets back home.
* * *
For the next while, Priscilla would ride every day after work, oftentimes pushing back her supper hour. On weekends, she entertained herself with extra-long bike rides, even once reaching the outskirts of the city and cycling down a gravel road that led to nowhere, just miles of naked prairie.
She began to love her green bicycle. It had begun to feel like an extension of herself somehow, another appendage, vital and connected. Though she was not materialistic per se, she had forged a near relationship with her bike the same as others do sometimes with a car or musical instrument. She only failed to name it. That’s all. It became her new objet d’amour now that she was single, and her cat had finally died. Sayonara, Trix.
When she was off her bike, however, she continued to comb the on-line dating sites for a prospective suitor. Plenty of Fish, E-Harmony, etc. It wasn’t fun, all dick-pics aside, the pickings were rather slim. Yet when she happened to come upon Damon, a seemingly semi-rational member of the opposite sex, her hopes were ignited once again. It didn’t matter that he resembled the Lucky Charm cereal guy, either, as she had done much worse before.
They began to date. Sitting one day in The Mercury Café, a cool, local retro diner with uncool, exorbitant prices, they mourned the lemon meringue pie à la mode that they were eating.
“Can you believe it’s eleven dollars a slice for this?” Priscilla said.
Damon rolled his eyes. “That’ll teach me to look at the menu. I wouldn’t have ordered it if I’d known it was that much.”
“Same.”
“Well, we need to find free things to do.” Damon joked.
“No kidding,” Priscilla said, as a glob of meringue clung to her upper lip. She brushed it away with the back of her hand.
“I’m a cycling enthusiast. Do you have a bike?” Priscilla queried
Frowning, Damon said, “Had one. It was stolen. I’ve about given up on trying to own a bike in this city. I’ve put out the big bucks too many times for bikes and then had them jacked, in the end.”
Priscilla nodded. Knowing that this dank prairie city was full of drug addicts and bicycle thieves, she understood fully where he was coming from.
Then, attending strictly to the scoop of ice cream on her plate that was beginning to melt, she ate. She considered all. Hmm... He doesn’t sound too keen on the whole thing.
Staring at the ceiling that sleepless night in bed, Priscilla mused on the bike situation. Should I do another trade-in for a tandem, then we could bike together? Or should I just keep my bike? She was torn at the very prospect. She loved her green bike and was loath to let it go, to trade it off. But a tandem would perhaps be a boon.
They could cycle together, do a “couple” thing. It could possibly help to cement their relationship, or at least be a starting point. If nothing else, she could just get in some precious cycling time. For there wasn’t much that gave her the sense of joy and freedom and mastery that being on the open road did. It was that simple.
There was just one nagging consideration. She had never asked any of them — Daniel, or Damon or even Pete or Tobey or Guy before them — if they actually wanted to ride tandem. I just assumed they did, she mused. What if they secretly hated the big silver stallion but were reluctant to say anything? What if they felt ridiculous careening around on that big beast? Maybe I should actually ask Damon if he’d be open to riding tandem?
Priscilla came to a decision: Got a few days to mull it over until my next day off. Then, if I do decide to trade for a tandem, I’ll have time to pop over to Vic’s. That’s the plan. Satisfied with it all, she finally slept.
Finding herself cycling to Vic’s Bike Shop her next day off, Priscilla pedaled slowly. She was ambivalent about another bike trade. Should I really do it? Should I really trade off my lime green love? She wasn’t certain at all. It didn’t quite feel right and yet she was loath to break from tradition.
* * *
When Vic saw her come in through the front doors, he set his wrench down. He rubbed his grimy hands on his work clothes and sauntered over to her. “Don’t tell me your ready for another trade in? I thought you loved that bike.”
Priscilla paused. She let his words sink in like never before. It rang all too true to her, so she nodded in agreement. “You know what, I think you’re right.”
She really did love that bike. She did not want to trade it off. Besides, who even knows if Damon would be open to riding tandem anyhow? It was a long shot really. Maybe I’ve just pushed the whole tandem thing a little too much after all.
She quickly backed out before he launched into another of his long-winded accounts. “Thanks, Vic. See you later.”
She careened down the street like never before. She felt light, essential, and free.
Copyright © 2022 by Shauna Checkley
