Pedal Power

“I’ve had a great idea.”
I was used to my husband Michael’s potty ideas. There was the classic one of us opening an art pottery. As neither of us had any experience of pottery I was quite surprised but he said we could get an instruction book.
“Michael, none of your ideas are great.” What I loved about him was his ability to carry on regardless of the negativity around him. He just did not hear anything that went against his plans.
“Why don’t we get a bike each, it would be a great way to get some exercise.” I was stunned into silence. It was such a good idea. In fact I had considered it myself in the past but did not think Michael would be interested. His only normal form of exercise was crossing the room to get the remote control for the television. Hw wouldn’t do that if someone would hand it to him.“We could go for a ride after work and at weekends.”
“That’s a great idea.” He was lost for words. Praise was not an experience he was used to from me.
“You really think it’s a good idea?”
“Yes.” He was too shocked to say anything, waiting for the but. When it never came he wandered off in a daze.
A week later a van pulled up outside the house. I watched the driver lift out a gleaming example of the modern bicycle. It was bright yellow with suspension on both wheels. It even had a large bell fixed to the handlebars and a water bottle on the front so that the rider could have a drink from the long plastic straw without stopping. It was the kind of machine that any cyclist would have been proud to own. It was obviously Michaels.
I could not wait to see mine, until the driver took it out. It wasn’t dark green but it had a lot of similarities to the kind of bike that district nurses used to ride. I checked to see if it had solid tyres and whether there was a basket that fitted on the front.
I could imagine that Michael’s bike had been designed by a bright young person at the forefront of the cycling industry. Mine had been designed by someone close to retirement who believed that there was no point in changing a classic design that had worked for years and years and years. He had probably been responsible for designing penny-farthings when he first started work.
“They must have been expensive.” Michael managed to tear his eyes away from his new bike. He looked guiltily at mine.
“Well men’s bikes are always a bit more expensive than ladies.” Although his machine was gleaming I saw finger marks in a deep layer of dust as the delivery driver held mine out to me. He wiped his hands down the front of his overalls, glad to be rid of it.
Despite the initial excitement our first ride did not immediately happen. Michael seemed to always have something more pressing to do like ironing his shirts.
One morning I went out to get the milk in and found him speaking to the postman. He was demonstrating to Michael how to pull the brakes on his bike. When Michael saw me he quickly stopped talking and came back up the path.
“Just getting the post dear.” I suspected then that something was wrong.
“Michael I’m going out for a ride after breakfast, are you coming.” A look of terror crossed his face.
“I’m a bit busy today. And I have a pain in my leg.”
“That’s just your age. My other leg is the same age and that doesn’t hurt.”
“There is something wrong isn’t there?” He looked embarrassed.
“I wasn’t very good at riding a bike when I was younger. When I took the Cycling Proficiency Test the man in charge got so mad at me that all my friends called it the Cycling Profanity Test”
“So why suggest buying them?”
“You never normally take any notice of my ideas.”
“Don’t worry, you never forget how to ride a bike.”
“Then I haven’t forgotten how to do it badly.”
I had never felt that Bonnie our dog had much interest in anything apart from cats and bones. As I climbed on my bike however Bonnie seemed to be watching with interest. As Michael appeared Bonnie and I both smiled. Always one to go too far he was dressed in proper cycling gear and a helmet. Whoever designed clothes for cyclists did not have Michael in mind when he used Lycra. His helmet looked enormous. Michael’s mum used to say that when he was a boy and she sent him to the shops he used his school cap to carry the shopping instead of a bag.
It felt great to be back on a bike with the wind in your hair and feel young again. It was only when I reached the end of the road that I realised Michael was not with me. I stopped and looked back. He was wobbling along on the pavement. I had never seen anyone ride a bike so slowly. There was a look of terror on his face. He pulled the front brake to stop and the back wheel rose off the floor. He managed to get both feet on the ground before the bike fell over.
“I just swallowed a fly.” He had a disgusted look on his face.
“Part of the perils of peddling.”
I set off again but as Michael would not leave the pavement I thought it better to ride to the park. By the time we got there he had gained a bit more confidence and even overtook me on the deserted pathway. He had reached quite a speed and I saw him bend down to take a drink from his water bottle. That was when the dog ran in front of him. The sound of Michael’s bell made to dog stop to see where the noise came from. The tyres squealed as he braked hard, thankfully using both front and back. I watched waiting for him to put his foot down on the ground. Neither foot left the pedals, even as the bicycle wobbled the thought occurred that Michael had never been well balanced, he crashed to the pavement still holding the straw between his lips.
I recently started to cycle to work everyday. On a nicer bike that I bought myself. I also bought my own helmet. We now use Michael’s helmet as a pot for a large indoor plant. Michael’s gleaming bicycle is buried behind a pile of rubbish in the garage with a slightly bent wheel.