The Bike Ride

“It’s just a bike ride!”

His words reverberate in your brain. Each syllable lands like a rock in the pool of your anxiety, fear rippling across the former smooth surface, only to hammer onto the floor of your soul. 

“When?” You grimace, judging your tone breathless.

“Saturday. It’ll be you, me, Jordan and Judy.”

Your tongue swallows up all the saliva in your throat. You nod. 

“If you’d like,” he begins, “we could go for a ride, just the two of us, so you can find your sea legs, so to speak.” 

You feel his blue eyes bore into your skull. A headache ratchets your forehead. Your ears thrum. 

“Weather permitting,” you respond.

“Weather permitting,” he echoes. “I’ve got to go, my lovey.” He plops a kiss on your forehead before turning and heading out the door.

You contemplate why he kissed you on the forehead. You worry that your response to the bike ride will drive him away. 

***

Saturday dawns, pulling back flimsy clouds to reveal a shining sun. You are of two minds — buoyed by the sunshine, bummed that it’s sunny because now you’ll have to perform on two wheels in front of him, Jordan and Judy. Who in their right mind would see social cycling as a pleasant distraction? 

At the foot of your bed, you eye your freshly laundered bike shorts and jersey with dread. As you slide each leg into your shorts and zip up the jersey, in your favourite shade, your confident colour, you remember the many secret bike rides you have taken this past week. Not one mishap, but you were alone, on the trails. But today, won’t be like that, at all.

Out in your garage, you pack your rear pannier with an extra tube, a first aid kit you just reorganized and restocked, sunscreen, bug lotion, lip balm, bars: gluten free and nut free and vegan, just in case, your wallet with your hospitalization card, cash, and the credit card you have just for emergencies. Two sweating bottles of water, one with electrolytes, glisten in your bike’s holders. You stare at your pedals. You don’t use clip-in pedals, and you wonder if everyone else will and what they’ll think of you for not using such pedals. 

Your ears catch the sound of a vehicle parking on your driveway. You gulp air before pressing the garage door opener. Painting a smile on your lips you walk with what you hope is interpreted as a confident gait to the SUV. He’s not alone. He’s with Jordan and Judy. 

“Hey there, Morrigan,” Judy calls with a wave. 

You think she looks like a rider from the Tour de France. 

“All set for a challenge?” Jordan says with a wink. 

You wonder what he means exactly. Not knowing how to respond, you raise your eyebrows and make a noncommittal sound in your throat. 

He’s at the back of the SUV removing the three bikes. They’re all road bikes with narrow tires. You glance at your bike sitting in the shadows of your garage. It’s got knobbier tires. 

“Morrigan, can I pop in and use your bathroom?” Judy asks as she opens the door from the garage to your mudroom. In a flash, she’s inside your home. Your mind scrambles to recall if you had put out fresh towels in the powder room. Is the kitchen spic and span? He walks up behind you, draping his arm across your shoulders. You breathe his earthy smell. 

“It’s going to be a good day,” he whispers in your ear, “You look great.”

“Does anybody else need the facilities?” You ask, ‘otherwise, I’ll lock up and meet you out front.”

“I’ll bring your bike outside while you lock up,” he says. 

Back outside, all three are arrayed on their bikes, waiting for you. You scan their pedals. Judy doesn’t use clip-in pedals. 

“I can’t recall the last time I went for a bike ride,” Judy comments, ‘my sitz bone will be crying bloody murder tonight.”

“All set?” he asks, “Follow me, everyone.” 

“You two go ahead, I’ll take up the rear,” you mumble to Jordan and Judy.

Calmness circulates around you as you find your cadence, your thighs pumping up and down, the wheels rolling along. You’re keeping up with their pace. 

A hill, no more like a humongous mountain, looms ahead. Being at the end of the line, your eyes study him, Jordan and Judy seeming to jaunt up the incline. You’re breathless, gears clicking with ever-increasing speed, your thighs weakening, your wheels barely moving. On and one you press, and the hill’s peak never shows itself. Now you can’t see any of them. They’re already at the top and are probably screaming down the other side. You’ll never keep up with them. 

At the top, you stop. You take a long drag from your water bottle off your bike. At the bottom of the hill, your eyes see all three waiting for you. Although you’re touched by their thoughtfulness, the idea of riding down while they watch you makes your stomach roil. If you go too slow what will they think? If you go too fast, will you lose control and fall and then hurt yourself?

He gives you a thumbs up. You blink sweat out of your eyes. Slow and steady you make your way to the bottom. 

“Well done,” he murmurs. 

You wonder what he means by that statement. 

Only then, do you notice Judy. Jordan is bent over her. Blood trickles down her calf. You rush over. 

“I have a first aid kit on my bike,” you offer. 

Judy looks up at you. Her face is wet with tears. “We can always count on you to be on top of things. You’re a marvel.”

As you walk to your bike to retrieve the bandages, you worry that your slow pace perhaps caused Judy’s accident. If you’d only gone faster, Judy would be okay now, maybe.

“Judy, imagine if you’d follow Morrigan’s example,” offers Jordan.