The Adventures of a Girl Called Bicycle

by Christina Uss

  Several miles ahead, she spotted a huge, uneven red shape by the side of the road. Bicycle was not a fan of bees, having been stung on the very top of her head one summer, so she rode very cautiously toward the shape, ready to speed past if it turned out to be some giant hive for mutant red bees. As she drew closer, she discovered it was a tall arch eroded out of red rock. A handful of people stood beneath the arch, snapping pictures, oohing and aahing at its titanic size. Bicycle heaved a sigh of relief, and then let out some oohs and aahs of her own. Past the arch, she saw rocks in shades of scarlet brown and dusty pink carved by the wind and weather into smooth towers, arches, spires, and rounded knobs. Bicycle pedaled the Fortune right through man-made tunnels hollowed through some red rock cliffs. As the day wore on, the sun lit the sandstone formations from different angles and they glowed with the colors of old bricks and new bricks, of underripe raspberries and just-right chili peppers. Everything darkened to deep browns and silent blacks as the sun disappeared, and a million stars filled the sky.

  Early the next morning, her eyes peeled for any black-clad figures, she slunk cautiously into a visitors’ center to snag a free postcard with a rock arch on it. She tried to describe this new scenery for Sister Wanda and the monks:

  I don’t think the songwriter for “America the Beautiful” knew what to say about this part of Utah. It hasn’t got amber waves of grain, purple mountains, or fruited plains. It’s more like a playground molded from red Play-Doh. How lucky am I to be able to bike through an alien’s playground?

  Bicycle

  A few sandy, cactus-filled miles later, she regretted saying she felt lucky. The red rocks were lovely, but they left very little room for trees to grow. Shade was in drastically shorter supply than it had been at the start of her trip seven weeks ago. The Fortune’s thermometer hit 100°F before lunch and stayed there past dinnertime. The following day, it hit 101°F.

  Bicycle tried to count her blessings and appreciate now that the sun rose earlier and set later, she had more hours in the day to ride. However, the trade-off for more hours of sunlight was keeping company with the sunlight itself: for three days in a row, it glared down on Bicycle’s head from above while the parched ground reflected the heat right back up at her from below. Bicycle thought she now knew how a pie felt when it was baked in an oven or fried in a deep fryer.

  The wind blew frequent clumps of tumbleweeds like fluffy wagon wheels across the road. Bicycle filled up her water bottles whenever she could, from gas-station faucets and hoses in front of people’s houses, but the water never seemed to be cold. At best, it would feel slightly cooler than her dried-out mouth, and after a few minutes of sloshing around in her bottles, it would turn as warm as bathwater. The warm water was awful on a hot day, but she worried that if she didn’t drink it, she might dry up and fly away like a tumbleweed herself.

  She slept fitfully. She was plagued by restless dreams of being chased by skinny women in black police uniforms riding atop big, drooling farm hounds. One sleepless night, Bicycle pulled out a flashlight and opened up Wheel Wisdom, searching for advice on handling the heat. Unfortunately, she didn’t find any passages about cycling in hot weather and had to settle for a quote from Zbig about cold instead:

  Sometimes, you ride in freezing rain or snow. This is a whole new challenge. You lose feeling in your feet first. They become like lumps of ice that glue your legs to the pedals, nothing more. Your face will go numb—you cannot feel your nose, your lips, your cheeks. Then your fingers become icicles. When you lift them up to wipe your face, you can’t tell if you are wiping your face because your face cannot feel anything and your fingers cannot feel anything. This is why it is good to have teammates. “George,” you will ask, “am I touching my face?” And George will watch you and say, “Yes, you are—but be careful! You keep sticking your hand in your mouth—you might bite off a finger by mistake.” So teammates are very important to have around you.

  Bicycle read and reread that passage until she had it memorized, trying to picture herself riding through freezing rain and snow with her bitterly cold teammates. It helped her stop sweating and fall asleep.

  Suspecting the lady in black might try to ambush her at a SlowDown Café, she didn’t feel comfortable going in for free meals and Feed Bags, and ended up eating the nasty Complete Nutrition pellets that the Fortune provided. Every time the bike gave her one, it advertised the pellets as filled with all necessary nutritional elements, packed with vitamins. Choking down a single greasy pellet was almost worse than starving, and Bicycle began fantasizing endlessly about ice cream—ice cream sundaes in glass dishes with towers of whipped cream, ice cream cones decked with rainbow sprinkles, ice cream milk shakes too thick for straws.

  Ice cream wasn’t the only thing she started to crave. In her entire life, Bicycle had never dreamed that avoiding people could make her feel lonely. To her, being silent and alone had always been a good thing. But the sun beating down seemed to have burned a lonesome hole in her midsection. She missed Griffin and his chatter. She missed meeting interesting people in snug little towns. Her notebook pages, usually full of funny observations and anagrams of town names and comments on what she’d eaten, recorded nothing more than the Fortune’s report of her daily mileage and the high temperature.

  After a few more days of heat and hiding, Bicycle’s cravings for real companionship and real food became too powerful to ignore. She rode straight into a tiny town at dusk and stopped at the Cool Cone Shake Shack, almost drooling with anticipation. She’d order a double-dip—no, a triple-dip! Heck, she’d tell the ice cream scooper to load as much ice cream as the cone could hold without disintegrating. She’d argued with herself all day about whether it was wrong to ask the Fortune to print her a counterfeit five-dollar bill. She’d finally ended her mental argument by telling herself, It’s absolutely wrong, so I will have to make it right after my trip is over and mail real money and an apology to the ice cream shop. She didn’t feel great about pocketing the bill the Fortune agreeably printed for her, but she wrote down the address of the Cool Cone Shake Shack in her tiny spiral notebook, underlining it three times before she went inside.

  The place was empty except for the teenager behind the counter, who popped his gum and stared off into space as Bicycle ordered nine flavors (mint chip, chocolate bean, mocha choker, extra-rocky road, peanut butter ripple, praline scramble, maple almond, fudge brownie surprise, and black vanilla). He gave Bicycle her towering cone, and she handed him her money. Hoping to distract him from the fact the bill was so crisp and new, she said nervously, “So, why are there beehives on the Utah state road signs?”

  The boy put the money in the cash register and turned toward her with vacant eyes. “Wha’?” he asked.

  “Your state road signs? Have a beehive on them? I haven’t seen any bees, though. Is Utah famous for honey, or something like that?” Bicycle tried to engage his brain.

  It didn’t work. “Beehives, yeah.” The boy scratched his stomach. “I dunno. The signs just have ’em.” He lapsed into silence and stared at a point on the wall. He popped his gum again.

  “Okay, then,” Bicycle responded, giving up on the conversation. At least her monster cone would satisfy one of her cravings. She sat at a small table and settled into some serious licking.

  Three gangly teenagers came into the Cool Cone Shake Shack together, swatting at one another with mountain-bike helmets. They slid onto stools at the counter and ordered banana splits, talking loudly about their day biking out on the rock formations in the national park.

  “Did you see me jump that wash? I was flyyyyyyying,” the one with blue hair was saying.

  “Uh, flying like a ladybug must be what you mean, since you were about an inch off the ground,” another said sarcastically, a gold ring pierced through his nose.

  “At least I tried jumping it, you doofus,” Blue Hair retorted, punching his friend’s arm. “What were you doing, besides complaining about leaving your sunblock at home? And then talkin
g to that creepy lady—were you inviting her over to your house for tea?”

  Bicycle’s ears pricked up.

  The third one, a small tattoo of a flying bird on his arm, laughed. “Inviting her over for tea, good one. What was up with her, though? I couldn’t believe she asked us if we’d seen a girl riding a bike around there. Lady, what do you think? There’s lots of people riding bikes. School’s out for summer, and it’s the perfect place to ride!”

  Bicycle blurted out, “Was she wearing black? And did she have eyes that made your heart go cold?”

  The three of them swiveled their stools around to stare at her.

  “Dude, her eyes were wicked—” Blue Hair started to respond, but Bird Tattoo nudged him into silence with his elbow. Bird Tattoo seemed to be in charge of the group.

  “You know her? Man, she was creepy and a half. She your mom or something?” he asked in a tough voice.

  Bicycle gave them her fiercest look. “No, I think she’s after my bike. She’s been following me for a while, and if she finds me she’s going to try to steal it.”

  The boys’ eyes widened, and Bird Tattoo said, “She wants to steal your bike? That is not okay. That is so far beyond not okay.” He came over to Bicycle’s table, and the other two followed. They pulled out chairs and sat down. “Do you need some help?”

  Bicycle licked a drop of mint chip dribbling down her cone. She looked across the table at the mountain bikers and felt how awfully tired she was becoming. Tired of riding in the heat, tired of being alone, but mostly tired of hiding. The tiredness reached deep down inside, where even nine scoops of ice cream couldn’t fix it. It had been two long weeks since the SlowDown Café chef in Pagosa Springs, Colorado, had warned her about Miss Monet-Grubbink. She didn’t want to keep skulking in the shadows. It didn’t suit her one bit. “I might. I don’t know how you could help, though. I think she figured out that my bike is pretty amazing, and I’m scared she won’t give up until she’s got her hands on it.”

  The boys made exasperated noises over that.

  “We’ve all had bikes stolen from us. It’s the worst feeling in the world,” said Bird Tattoo. “This lady—maybe we can figure out where she is and set a trap for her. We could catch her and make it clear to her what we think about slug-sucking bike thieves, and guarantee she’ll never bug you again.”

  “I don’t know, Carlos, we’ve never done anything like that before,” Nose Ring said uncertainly.

  Blue Hair looked like he wasn’t sure which of his friends to agree with.

  Bird Tattoo, apparently known to his buddies as Carlos, wouldn’t let his friends back down. “Guys, we can do this. Just think. It would be like getting revenge for our stolen bikes, for all stolen bikes everywhere!”

  Blue Hair mused, “I always wished I could find whoever stole my first bike and make them feel as bad as they made me feel. Okay, I’m in.”

  Nose Ring looked at the other two, then nodded at Bicycle. “Me too,” he said.

  Bicycle noticed Carlos’s bird tattoo was the temporary kind that washes off after a few days. The boys weren’t as tough as they pretended to be, but they were passionate about bicycles. She thought she could trust anyone who was passionate about bicycles. “Okay,” she said. “Tell me what you think we could do. How can we make the creepy lady leave me alone? I don’t want to hurt anybody or anything.”

  “Nah, we’re not going to hurt anybody. We’ll come up with some way to convince her that she’s better off giving up bike thieving,” said Carlos. “We saw her out in the park. When she left on her bike, she headed this way, so she’s probably still in town. It’s getting too dark to ride anywhere else tonight.”

  “Wait, what? She was riding a bike?” It was hard for Bicycle to imagine Miss Monet-Grubbink perched on a bicycle. Hold on—maybe she could. It would be black and angular and stolen from some other poor person. “That means I’m not the only one she’s been after. She’s probably been stealing lots of bikes! What can we do?” Bicycle’s tiredness from hiding and her nervousness about the Fortune being stolen blurred into a new feeling of righteous outrage.

  Carlos said, “First, let’s bring our bikes inside so we can keep a close eye on them.” He called to the boy working the counter, “Bobby, you don’t care if we bring the bikes in, do you?”

  Bobby popped his gum and shrugged.

  After the mountain bikes and the Fortune were wheeled inside and parked against the back wall, Carlos rubbed his hands together. “So, how about this for a plan…”

  The four of them stayed at the ice cream shop for more than an hour, eating more ice cream and working out their idea. They were so intent on discussing bike justice that Bicycle never thought to ask Blue Hair’s and Nose Ring’s real names. When it was time for the ice cream shop to close, the three boys formed a protective triangle around Bicycle and rode with her and the Fortune back to Carlos’s parents’ house, where they cleared a space for her in a cluttered gardening shed.

  Carlos said, “You’ll be safe here. My parents haven’t gardened in years. I’ll come out and knock three times in the morning so you’ll know it’s me, and we’ll go meet up with the guys. Got everything you need?”

  Bicycle patted the Fortune’s seat. “I sure do.”

  Carlos smiled and closed the shed door behind him. Bicycle pressed the green button, climbed inside the tent, and told the Fortune about what they were preparing to do.

  Your plan is interesting. It may require some good luck to succeed. May I offer my abilities when confronting this person? I have a high-density fishing net that may be of use, as well as the missile launcher.

  “No missiles,” Bicycle said hurriedly. “Nothing like that. We just plan to scare her so she leaves me in peace to get to California. Maybe we can use the net if we need to keep her from getting away before we’re sure she’s going to give up her bike-stealing ways.”

  Understood. The Fortune blinked placidly. I will be ready.

  * * *

  —

  Bicycle and Carlos met up with the other two mountain bikers in the Cool Cone Shake Shack parking lot the next day.

  “Okay,” said Carlos. “Let’s head to that shortcut to the main road out of town.”

  They rode through the rock formations, sunburn red in the morning light. Bicycle saw the thin ribbon of road several miles ahead, cutting through an empty area of sand, rocks, and desolation.

  “There are a couple of billboards up there that will give us perfect cover,” Carlos said, sitting up straight and pedaling with no hands on his handlebars. “We’ll be able to see her coming from miles off, and then when she rides up to us, whammo!” He knocked one gloved fist into his palm and patted the strap of the worn backpack he had slung over his shoulders. “She won’t be bugging you anymore!”

  They rode hard, reaching the spot Carlos had in mind. The two billboards stood alone in the bleak terrain, one on either side of the road. The faded advertisement on the left side told everyone to BRUSH WITH SUPA-KLEEN TOOTHPASTE—WHITER SMILES FOR MILES AND MILES! The ad on the right appealed to those who preferred tooth decay: CHEW SUGARTIME TOOTHSOME TAFFY—STICKS WITH YOU THROUGH THICK AND THIN!

  They pulled their bikes behind the toothpaste billboard, making sure everything was out of sight. The sun already blazed down like a blast furnace, and it was a relief to find a little shade behind the tall sign. A small hole (camouflaged by the letter I in the second MILES) allowed Carlos to peer out from behind the billboard and see the road.

  He watched for a minute and then let out a whistle. “She’s fast—I’ll give her that.”

  “She’s here already?” Bicycle felt a surge of alarm. Facing her stalker had sounded like a good idea until this moment. Now she wanted to change her mind and keep running away instead. Blue Hair saw the terrified look on her face and patted her helmet.

  “Yep,” answered Carlos. “Maybe four miles back. It’s definitely her. Our bike-thief lady in black.” He unzipped his backpack and handed a bag of squish
y red things to Blue Hair. “Head over to the other sign and wait for my signal.”

  Blue Hair and Nose Ring scuttled across the road and hid behind the taffy billboard. They looked over to Carlos and Bicycle, and gave a thumbs-up. Bicycle squinched her eyes closed and whispered a Mostly Silent prayer. They waited for what seemed like an eternity.

  Carlos whispered, “She’s getting closer…closer…Wait for me…” Then he shouted and waved his hand in a circle in the air. “Now! Go, go, go!”

  Blue Hair and Nose Ring came rushing out from behind the taffy billboard, hollering nonsense. They began pelting the lady in black with rotten tomatoes. She yelped in surprise and came to a stop, shielding her face. Then Carlos started pelting her with more tomatoes from behind, getting her with a big squishy splat on the back of the helmet.

  “Leave this girl alone! Her bike is her bike, and you are not going to steal it!” bellowed Carlos.

  Blue Hair hurled another tomato. The woman ducked this tomato and mounted up to ride away from the attack.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Nose Ring yelled.

  Bicycle’s eyes popped open. What if the bike thief got away and kept chasing her? She’d have to keep hiding. She wouldn’t be able to stop in ice cream shops or SlowDown Cafés. She’d have nothing to eat but the Fortune’s Complete Nutrition pellets.

  She swallowed her fear and wheeled the Fortune into the road toward the retreating figure. “Fortune, now!” she shouted, and the bicycle popped open a panel in the top of the seat and shot out a weighted net toward the woman. It covered her from head to toe and tangled around her bike. She started struggling and kicking.

  Bicycle hid behind the boys while Carlos put on his toughest tough-guy expression and said, “Listen, lady, you need to promise to stop following this girl and leave her and her bike alone for good.”