Sunny Cycle

I’ve never been the athletic type. In high school I was more into the arts, performing arts I mean. I can’t draw worth shit. I joined the Drama Club and discovered I have a passion for musicals. I’ve been told I have a good voice. I’ve also been told I sound like Barry Manilow which is ironic because I’ve been told I look like him too. I had to Google him to confirm that tidbit. Tall, lanky, brownish curly hair. Confirmed. Being on stage is where I felt the most comfortable. It’s also where I met my best friend, Bootsy. That isn’t her real name of course, her real name is Barbara, but I think Bootsy fits her better.

She convinced me we needed a trip for my twenty-first birthday. She tossed the idea out tentatively because she knows my sense of adventure lands somewhere between going to check the mail wearing only socks and going down the grocery store aisles in random order. Reluctantly, I agreed and now here we are in sunny Palm Springs, California.

Sitting on the motel bed, Bootsy spread out the pamphlets she nicked from the lobby like a deck of playing cards. Each containing an opportunity for disaster behind its enticing glossy photo. She holds each one up and studies my face as she offers it.

“What about hiking? There’s a waterfall!” she says with wonderment.

“I didn’t bring shoes to hike in, besides, you know I can’t be out in the sun for very long, I’ll burn. Plus, I’ve heard there are rattlesnakes.” I add that last part because I know Bootsy hates snakes.

She tosses it aside and grabs the next one, “Oooohh, there’s an outlet mall!” She waves it side to side as if the movement will entice me like a kitten on a laser dot.

“Bootsy, we could barely afford this trip to begin with.”

She humphs but doesn’t give in. “Ok, I’ve got! Sunny Cycle!”

“I don’t even know what that is, but if the sun is involved, you know my answer,” I say, pushing my glasses up the ridge of my nose to get a clearer view of the pamphlet.

“It’s a bike but there’s eight people, and it has a cover over the top to protect you from the sun, see.” She flips open the trifold pages revealing a group of excessively happy people with their heads tossed back in mid-laughter. “I don’t think you actually have to peddle if you don’t want to. And there’s a DJ playing music.” She’s reading now. Whether it’s to gain knowledge or to convince me this would be fun, I’m not sure.

I weigh my options and while I’d be just as happy sitting in this wood paneled motel room watching seventies sit-com reruns, I know she’s going to be relentless until I agree to something. “Done! Let’s do it!” The excitement in my voice surprises her.

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s YOUR birthday,” she touches my knee bent beneath my leg as I sit on the edge of the bed, “I want it to be fun for you.”

“Yeah,” my hesitancy creeps back in before I push it down with all the other internal tortures stowed in my irritable gut. “Yes! Sunny Cycle it is!”

Did I mention I’m not athletic? It turns out you actually do have to peddle this monstrous metal beast through the streets. Bootsy lied, or the brochure was wrong. The thought occurs to me that if no one else shows, we’ll be forced to cancel this dreadful adventure. My chicken legs are too weak to propel this multi-wheeled death trap alone, and Bootsy’s legs are too short to reach the peddles. Mentally crossing my fingers for a forfeiture, I prop myself up on the padded seat molded with curves around the edges for support. Not that it would prevent me from falling to my death, but I have to admit the pressure against the sides of my butt cheeks feels comforting. I smile at Bootsy, she smiles back.

“Is it just us?” I ask watching her smear a gooey wand of bright pink gloss across her duck lips.

“No, I’m sure there will be others,” she says after smacking her lips together. “Want some?” She offers the slender bottle of glimmery gloss.

“Ha ha, you know that’s not my color,” I joke as she stows the bottle inside the tiny purse strapped over her chest.

“Oh, here comes someone!” she says excitedly clapping her chubby hands together. I drop my head as the hope of escaping this shrinks like an aging prune in my chest. 

“Hi, I’m Tanner!” His voice is deep but cheery. I already hate him. “I’ll be your guide today.”

I hear Bootsy giggle in the way she always does when she’s smitten, “I’m Bootsy.”

“Bootsy? That’s an interesting name! Welcome to Sunny Cycle Bootsy! And who’s your friend?”

I’ve yet to look up. I refuse to let anything deter me from hating this. I stare at my pale skinny legs protruding from my khaki shorts and pick at the worn hem, stalling until Bootsy elbows me in the side. I finally lift my eyes and meet his gaze. Black wavy hair, tan skin, perfectly white teeth, muscles defined beneath the tight fitting t-shirt printed with a giant sun and the words sunny above it and cycle beneath.

“This is Ti,” Bootsy jumps in to save everyone from the uncomfortable awkwardness settling around us like a fog.

“I’m Barry," I interrupt her. "Barry,” I freeze, “Mantelope.” I have no idea what part of my brain decided to create a fictitious name, and why on earth it picked that one.

“Oh. Wow. Almost like Barry Manilow, you know he lives here in Palm Springs!” Tanner accepts my fallacy without question. Bootsy turns her head toward me so Tanner can’t see and mouths WTF.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Bootsy and Barry,” Tanner announces.

I’m fully regretting the new name. We sound like a really bad burlesque act. “Is anyone else joining us?” I ask then send my next my words out to the universe, “I’m assuming two of us isn’t enough to move this heavy thing. Bootsy’s legs don’t even reach the peddles.” I point down causing Tanner to look beneath the polished wooden counter that surrounds the middle of the cycle to where Bootsy’s legs dangle aimlessly.

“Oh! That’s no problem.” Tanner walks around the end of the bright yellow contraption and squats near Bootsy’s seat. He pulls a lever releasing the peddles beneath her feet. His biceps flex against the fabric of his shirt sleeve as he pulls the peddles up then pushes the lever back, locking them in place. “There! Give that a try, Bootsy.”

She squeals with delight as her feet do a tippy tap dance against the peddles. My prune of hope shrivels further.

“But, two of us can’t be enough to move this thing, right?” I ask, feigning disappointment.

“Of course it is! This isn’t like a regular bike. The chain wraps around four separate gears that distribute the…”

Tanner continues to explain the mechanical miracle that enables this eight seat bicycle of doom to move but my brain tunes him out. I focus instead on his jawline then move to his lips before landing on his dimples. Tanner is every high school jock that ever shoved me in a locker, but prettier.

I shake my head to snap out of it just as he finishes, “Besides, I’m here, I’ll be peddling as I steer.”

“Oh boy,” I say under my breath.

“Ready?” He asks garnering an excited head nod from Bootsy.

The dread in my stomach churns like a tumbling boulder, “Wait! Shouldn’t we have seatbelts?” I blurt out then immediately regret it when both of them look at me questioningly.

Tanner slides gracefully off his elevated captain’s chair at the rear of the cycle and walks over to stand behind me. I glance over my shoulder confident he’s about to yank me from my seat with his muscled arms and toss me off the ride. I get distracted by his cologne; it arrives a second after he does. It’s woodsy, with cedar, and a hint of smoke. I inhale drawing the aroma into my nostrils and nearly jump out of my seat when his hands touch my hips.

“You seem pretty square in your seat, Barry, you should be fine,” he says. I start looking around for Barry then remember it’s me.

“If you feel off balance just hold on to the counter.” His body presses against me as he leans forward to slap the wooden counter in front of me like a used car salesman.

It turns out, I am athletic. Or I’m convincing myself that I am as we peddle our way down the bike lane of Palm Canyon Drive. It’s a quaint shopping district with a towering mountain as a backdrop. The presence of such an imposing structure behind the colorful shops and restaurants is beautiful if not unsettling. I shout at Tanner over the wind noise asking if anyone’s ever died from falling rocks and he assures me it hasn’t happened.

Bootsy points at an oversized piece of art sitting in front of a store. It’s a giant pink gorilla so I scratch under my arms and grunt like an ape causing her to laugh so hard she wobbles in her seat. It reminds me we could die any minute.

Tanner guides us through winding streets of expensive neighborhoods that purportedly have homes behind the tall Ficus shrubs that protect them from prying eyes. He points at some of them and calls out the names of famous celebrities who’ve lived there, most of which I’m only vaguely familiar with but it’s interesting all the same.

We peddle out of the neighborhood and onto a back street behind the shops of Palm Canyon. It’s shaded which is nice. We have the cover of the cycle thank goodness, otherwise I would’ve already burnt to ash like a vampire in this desert sun. There’s something special about the shade of these giant trees though. The air feels cooler here, comforting. My shoulders relax and I realize I’m actually enjoying the ride.

As we exit the respite of the shade, we arrive at a small park filled with palm trees and other native plants. I assume they’re native, but it’s California so is anyone or anything really native? It’s a lovely park but something is amiss. A giant Godzilla like creature stands in the center, its head visible above the tops of the palm trees. It’s not Godzilla though. Tanner informs us it’s Marilyn Monroe positioned in a classic pose with her dress blown up. He decides this is a great place to take a break which I’m thankful for. I don’t know about Bootsy, but my ass is starting to get numb and I’m becoming increasingly concerned that sitting for this long may lead to blood clots in my legs.

We wait in line behind a group of foreign tourists taking pictures beneath the gargantuan statue. Each of them looks up Marilyn’s skirt and giggles. As the group ahead of us wanders away, I tell Bootsy to go ahead, I’ll take her picture first. She positions herself in front of the statue as I hold up her phone zooming the screen with my fingers to get both her and the deceased movie star in the picture. A voice behind me breaks my concentration.

“You should take it from over there, you can get the mountain in the background.” It’s Tanner, giving me unsolicited photography advice. He points to a spot centered in front of the statue which, I will admit, would add more drama to the photo.

“I don’t want to take it from there,” I reply.

“Why?” He asks, wondering why anyone wouldn’t take the picture from the most advantageous perspective.

“The statue might fall.”

“And kill you?” he asks with a chuckle. As if he doesn’t know that’s the exact risk I’m trying to avoid. I don't answer him. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” I lower the phone leaving Bootsy posing with her hip pushed out and one arm up but no one to take her picture. I turn around and make an indignant face to show him how offended I am but behind my glare I can’t help but notice his eyes. They’re the color of emeralds, and could indicate he’s susceptible to malaria, or so I’ve heard.

“I don’t mean it offensively,” he puts his hands up to repel the negative energy emanating from my body. “It’s just, it seems like you’re always expecting the worst.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” I snap back.

“Look, I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. You seem like a good guy, and you deserve better than living a life of fear.”

He thinks I’m a good guy. His sincerity creates tiny cracks in my shield of despise but I hold my ground. “I don’t live in fear.”

“A seatbelt for a bike? Falling rocks? Being crushed by a statue?”

“All those things are plausible,” I respond but with less conviction than intended.

“Hey, guys! My arm is getting tired!” Bootsy yells from beneath Marilyn’s dress.

Tanner steps closer and puts his hands in his pockets making his triceps flex. “It’s also plausible that you can have an entire day full of joy and experience new things, and nothing bad will happen.”

“GUYS!” Bootsy bellows this time. Her words echo off the boulders and buildings surrounding the park. A flock of birds flee a shade tree.

“You better take the picture,” he tells me and looks over at the precarious spot where I can visualize my crushed body splattered beneath the plaster face of Marilyn Monroe.

I hesitate, then walk to the center of the park and focus the rectangle screen of the phone on Bootsy, Marilyn, and the mountains behind. I look at Tanner before taking the picture.

The remainder of our excursion goes by like a fleeting moment. We laugh so hard Bootsy snorts which just causes all of us to laugh harder. I glance at Tanner through eyes blurred with joyous tears.

He sees me looking and gives me a nod and smile.

As we turn the final corner our starting point comes back into view. The boulder of dread remains in my stomach, but now it’s the fear of this day ending.

Standing on the sidewalk we say our goodbyes. Bootsy wraps her arms around Tanner’s waist as he squeezes her against him. They rotate their bodies side to side until it finally becomes evident she isn't going to release him.

“Bootsy,” I call out her name indicating it’s time to release Tanner from her vice grip hug. 

I approach him awkwardly, unsure what to do. I stick out my hand to shake as he opens his arms for a hug. I don’t hesitate and wrap my arms around him in a hug but unlike Bootsy, I release him quickly.

“What are you all doing tomorrow?” Tanner asks.

Bootsy tries to explain the limitations of our options until I interrupt her. “We’re going hiking.”

Tanner smiles, “I know some great hiking trails.”