The Adventures of a Girl Called Bicycle

by Christina Uss

  Bicycle tiptoed up close to a chest-high gray metal box that resembled a filing cabinet crossed with a squid. Black cables sprouted tentacle-like from its base, some plugged into nearby electrical sockets, others lying in coils. One big red button sat in the middle of the box’s rounded lid. She was tempted to push the red button, but she’d learned her lesson with the Fortune. “What does this do?” she called to Dr. Alvarado.

  Dr. Alvarado looked over, distracted. “What? Oh, that, yes. Go ahead and push the button and let’s see if it is working.”

  Happy to have the go-ahead, Bicycle pushed the red button. The machine clicked. It sat for a minute, then started to produce a sizzling noise and an enticing smell. After about a minute, it emitted a soft bing and the lid opened. Inside the machine was a perfect grilled cheese sandwich. Dr. Alvarado came over and looked at it. “Mmmmm. That invention came out quite nicely.”

  “What is it, exactly?”

  “It makes grilled cheese.”

  “Oh,” Bicycle said. She’d been expecting something more sciencey.

  Dr. Alvarado turned back to the bike stand. “But I must ask you about the Wheels of Fortune 713-J! You have been riding it for how long?”

  Bicycle counted back the days. “Three and a half weeks.”

  “Curious,” Dr. Alvarado said. “Very curious indeed.”

  “What?” Bicycle asked.

  “Well, I originally loaded the Fortune’s computer system with everything a long-distance traveler would need—maps, music, weather information, that sort of thing. Then, as soon as the government rejected the whole project, I decided to tinker around and add an experimental program to the Fortune. I wanted to see if it could keep track of its rider’s good and bad luck. I left home before doing anything more.” He tapped a few more keys. “Now I find a whole new data table, and it looks as though the bike has been storing not only your experiences of good and bad luck but also your opinions and observations. The Fortune seems to have geared itself to learn everything it can about you. I’d say it regards you as…really interesting.”

  Bicycle cocked her head. She actually thought the bike had been having a good time making her look silly.

  “I love when something I’ve invented surprises me,” Dr. Alvarado said. “I expect I will be up into the wee hours tonight trying to understand this.”

  “Speaking of trying to understand things, can I ask you about your research?” Bicycle asked.

  “Scientists always want someone to ask about their research,” he said, twiddling some mechanism under the bike’s seat with a screwdriver.

  “Well, what kind of control does luck have over us?” she asked, perching on a stool. “Is it, like, all-powerful? I’ve hit a wall of bad luck, and I don’t know what to do about it. Is there any way I can push back when bad luck starts shoving me toward places I really, really, really don’t want to go?”

  Dr. Alvarado put down his screwdriver. “The question of the power of luck is a big question. You know my first name is Luck? My name was the reason I became so interested in the topic. I was born in the back of a taxi on the way to the hospital. My father got this idea that I should be named after the taxi driver, but he failed to get his name, only his license plate: LUK477. So my parents put it right on my birth certificate: ‘LUK477 Alvarado.’ At least they called me ‘Luk’ for short when I was a small child, and I was able to go by ‘Luck’ at school. My name seemed like bad luck until I considered what my name could have been if the license plate had been ZXW983. Or—what if my father had gotten the driver’s name and it turned out to be Hambone Squiggs the Third? Then my name seemed like pretty good luck, all things considered. Have you ever noticed that? Something seems like bad luck at one point, but it turns out to be good luck later on? Or vice versa?

  “Luck is a very tricky thing. So as a scientist, my formal answer about the power of luck is: I don’t know.” He leaned conspiratorially toward Bicycle. “But here is my hypothesis: luck is something like a river. Good and bad luck flow through the world, and we’re floating in its currents—you, me, the 713-J, Sister Wanda, that spider in the corner, the grilled cheese sandwich, everything. If you do not pay much attention to your life, luck swirls you along like a leaf or twig. However, if you choose to put a paddle in the river and steer, or even paddle against the current—ah!” He raised his hands. “Then you may be able to change where you’re headed.” He picked up the screwdriver and pointed at Bicycle. “Please do not quote me on that to any respected scientific journals.”

  Dr. Alvarado’s explanation sparked the first glimmer of hope inside Bicycle’s heart since Sister Wanda had informed her that she’d be going to the Friendship Factory in Calamity. “Luck flows around us like a river, but we have our own paddles. Thanks, Doctor. Now, do you mind if I eat that grilled cheese?” In the cool of the basement, her appetite had returned.

  * * *

  —

  That night, tucked in Dr. Alvarado’s guest bedroom with Sister Wanda sleeping next to her, Bicycle tried to imagine a way she could dip her paddle in the river taking her to the Friendship Factory tomorrow. She couldn’t seem to come up with anything beyond running away into the desert night and finding a family of wild cows to live with. She decided to keep her eyes peeled for a way to turn her luck around on the way to Calamity.

  * * *

  —

  The next morning, Bicycle awoke alone. She rubbed her eyes and followed a breakfasty smell to the kitchen, where Dr. Alvarado stood in front of the stove. He was wearing the same sort of stylish suit jacket, pressed shirt, and silk tie that he had been wearing the day before, but his dress shirt was neatly tucked not into pants but into a pair of black spandex bike shorts. Bicycle watched him pour pancake batter onto a hot griddle. When a pancake started to steam, an upright freestanding spatula on wheels scooted around the edge of the griddle, scooped it up, and flipped it over.

  “Good morning,” Sister Wanda said from the kitchen table, where she was already halfway through a stack of the pancakes. “I thought the smell of these ginger pancakes might draw you out of bed.”

  Dr. Alvarado turned around and said, “It is a good morning indeed! I studied the Fortune’s records last night, and I would be honored to ride along with you today to observe how the bike is collecting data, if you would not mind my company.”

  The pancake-flipper flipped three steaming ginger pancakes out of the pan and onto a plate. Dr. Alvarado handed them over to Bicycle, who found that her appetite had again disappeared. She wanted nothing besides a glass of cold water.

  Sister Wanda said, “That would be fine. Perhaps you can teach us more about your work as we ride.”

  “I’m just glad you’re letting me keep the Fortune,” Bicycle added, pushing the pancakes around on her plate with a fork so she wouldn’t seem rude. Then she stopped. “You are letting me keep it, right? You don’t need to take it back?”

  “Take it back?” Dr. Alvarado repeated. “Most certainly not. You bought it fair and square. That bike is yours, maybe more than you realize. Besides, I’m going to make my own copy of it. I created a copying program years ago based on the process by which cells replicate and divide to make new cells.” He left the self-propelled pancake flipper to its self-propelled flipping and walked across the kitchen to the adjoining foyer, where the Fortune was now parked. “Want to see?”

  He pressed a sequence of levers and buttons, and the Fortune started to quiver and bulge outward, like a bike-shaped balloon being filled with more and more air. When it was twice as thick as normal, the frame and wheels divided neatly in two with an audible pop. There were now two nearly identical blue-and-yellow Fortunes standing in the foyer. Bicycle noticed that the second Fortune was labeled WHEELS OF FORTUNE 713-K. Dr. Alvarado returned to his pancake griddle. “It’s much easier than building a whole manufacturing plant. I don’t know why all bike builders have not invented something like this yet.”

  “Where are the Wheels of Fortune 713-A through I?” asked Bi
cycle. A whole fleet of Fortunes was an impressive thought.

  “None of them worked exactly as I wanted them to, so I removed their circuit boards and gave them away to local children who couldn’t afford bikes of their own. A bike without all the bells and whistles of the Wheels of Fortune may not be the perfect traveling machine, but it is still fun to ride. Syrup?” He sat down to breakfast, digging into his own towering, buttery stack.

  * * *

  —

  The trio hit the road before nine, and the sun already showed no mercy. Dr. Alvarado turned out to be a very unstable rider. In fact, the first thing he did was to crash into a cactus. He seemed unconcerned by this, picking himself up, brushing spines off his jacket, and remounting his bike.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Sister Wanda asked uncertainly. “Cycling may not be your strong suit.”

  “Nonsense!” exclaimed Dr. Alvarado, his tie flapping over one shoulder as he missed a clump of sagebrush by mere inches. “I’ve got this. I merely need to refresh my brain’s neural pathways.” He stuck the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he tried without success to steer in a straight line.

  They spent the morning riding the rumpled carpet of Nevada together. Tiny tornadoes—dirt devils, Dr. Alvarado called them—spun themselves around and around in the wasteland. The riders thought they’d find somewhere to stop for lunch until they saw a sign that informed them NEXT SERVICES 75 MILES.

  “Not a problem,” said Dr. Alvarado. “We can enjoy a Complete Nutrition tablet from the Fortunes. Enough vitamins, minerals, and calories for all.” He wobbled over to the side of the road and tried to find a comfortable place to sit among the spiky, crunchy desert bushes. There wasn’t one, so he contented himself with sitting in the middle of the road. No cars had passed by for hours, and they could see for at least ten miles in any direction anyway if a car happened to show up. Sister Wanda folded her knees beneath her. Bicycle plopped down. She looked up at the sky, watching tiny puffs of cloud scuttle by as though they had urgent appointments elsewhere. She didn’t blame them. She didn’t want to stay much longer in this desert herself.

  Dr. Alvarado pressed the purple button on his bike three times and doled out one napkin-wrapped pellet apiece. “Bon appetit!” he said, popping his into his mouth. He chewed vigorously with a broad smile for a few moments. The smile faded away and was replaced by a look of horror. He stood up and ran to the bushes and spit out a whole mess of vitamins, minerals, and calories in an impressive spray of goo. “My heavens, how exceedingly vile! Do they always taste like that?” he asked Bicycle, wiping his chin with his napkin.

  She nibbled at the edge of hers. “Yes, sir, they do. The chocolate coating doesn’t help much at all.”

  He pulled a notebook out of his suit-coat pocket and started scribbling. “Rework…vitamin tablet formula…without delay,” he muttered to himself. “My most sincere apologies. I never got around to testing the final product,” he explained to Bicycle and Sister Wanda, who politely tried to protest that the pellets were really not that vile. In place of lunch, they had to satisfy themselves with long drinks from their water bottles instead.

  When she was reluctantly climbing the fourth small, rumpled mountain of the day, Bicycle felt decidedly not herself. The climb was hot and windy, and when she reached the top, she stopped and dismounted to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Her hand came back from her face as dry as sandpaper. Somewhere along the climb, she’d stopped sweating. Huh, she thought. I wonder if that’s a problem? She turned to tell Dr. Alvarado about it. However, once she started turning, she found she couldn’t stop.

  She spun around in a slow circle and collapsed in a dead faint.

  “Bicycle!” yelled Sister Wanda, who had stopped for a drink at the top of the climb herself. “Can you hear me? What’s wrong?” She dropped her pink bike at the edge of the road and ran to Bicycle’s side. She felt Bicycle’s head and neck. Bicycle’s pulse was rapid and her skin was dry. “Oh goodness, talk to me, Bicycle, say something,” she murmured.

  Dr. Alvarado was quite a bit farther behind. Sister Wanda called over her shoulder, “Doctor, it’s time to stop messing around on that thing and ride!”

  He stood up in the pedals and rode as fast as he could to the top, gasping when he arrived. He fell off his bike and tumbled like a gymnast in his hurry to get to them.

  He checked Bicycle’s vital signs, noting her pale, dry, hot skin. “She is experiencing the early signs of heat stroke. We have got to get her out of the sun.” There wasn’t a scrap of shade in sight. Dr. Alvarado turned to Bicycle’s Fortune and anxiously tried to recall which button to push to get the tent out of the bike frame.

  The Fortune 713-J flashed a question. Is she all right?

  Dr. Alvarado answered, “In fact, no, she is not. Her body has gotten overheated and is unable to cool itself down. She needs to get into some shade and get some cool water on her skin to help lower her core temperature, right away.”

  Understood, the Fortune responded. Get her inside, I will do the rest.

  “You’ll do the rest of what?” Dr. Alvarado asked.

  The Fortune didn’t answer but immediately released and inflated the tent as Dr. Alvarado stepped back. He and Sister Wanda carefully scooped up Bicycle’s unconscious form and carried her into the tent, kneeling on either side of her.

  Stay inside, but zip the tent closed, the Fortune blinked.

  Dr. Alvarado did so, and the temperature in the tent dropped ten degrees. A small jet started spraying a mist of cool water on Bicycle. The temperature kept going down until it was a very comfortable 72°F inside the shady tent, as opposed to the blistering 106°F it was outside.

  “How did you learn to control the temperature inside the tent?” Dr. Alvarado asked, flabbergasted.

  The Fortune blinked its own question. Is there more that she needs? Or just time to rest?

  Dr. Alvarado stared at the screen for a moment. “Just…just time to rest, thank you,” he managed to say.

  The Fortune sat in silence for a moment, then started playing Stephen Foster songs.

  Bicycle stirred a little and mumbled, “No more desert. No more brown hot dry yuck desert. Need dessert instead of desert.” She opened her eyes a crack. “Ice cream sandwiches? Don’t mind if I do.” Then she passed out again.

  Dr. Alvarado took her pulse.

  Are ice cream sandwiches required for her optimal health? the Fortune blinked. I have no such capabilities. You have failed as an inventor for not having included ice cream sandwiches in my programming.

  Dr. Alvarado looked flummoxed. He had no response.

  Sister Wanda said, “Thank heavens, she’s cooling off. I do believe we got her out of the heat in time.” She sighed in relief. “We’re most certainly done riding for today. Dr. Alvarado, why don’t you go outside and see if you can flag down a car? Have them take you to the nearest store and get supplies for us, some cold water and real food.”

  And get the ice cream sandwiches. Go like the wind. Make her well. I will maintain her temperature until you return. The Fortune started beeping, and when Dr. Alvarado didn’t start moving fast enough, it started playing a military march at full volume until he vacated the tent.

  He hitchhiked back a few hours later with juice, water, sandwiches, and a box of slightly melted ice cream sandwiches in an insulated bag. Bicycle had awakened and was feeling much more normal. She downed nearly a half gallon of water and three ice cream sandwiches before coming up for air. Dr. Alvarado’s ice cream sandwich dripped on his tie, and the Fortune spit out a napkin for him.

  He gave a little bark of laughter. “This is much more improbable than anything that has happened to me in years,” he said as he wiped his tie. “Thank you. Thank you for reminding me why I should get out of the workshop more often.”

  “What happened?” Bicycle said. “I remember climbing a hill, and then feeling like I was in a nice cool shower for the first time in way too long.”

  Dr.
Alvarado tried to explain. “You became ill, and what happened next is an unusual illumination of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. As far as I can deduce, the Fortune 713-J appears to have generated its own system of machine learning…” When he saw Bicycle’s baffled expression he stopped talking and stroked his chin. “Hmmm. How to explain it to a layperson? Bicycle, when you got sick, the Fortune 713-J did everything it could to make you better. I think it likes you and considers you its friend. Attracting metal friends…Clearly, you have a magnetic personality.”

  Sister Wanda looked amused at the bad pun and turned her attention back to Bicycle, smoothing Bicycle’s hair off her forehead. “You rest now. We’re not going anywhere until you are one hundred percent yourself again.”

  Bicycle closed her eyes as Sister Wanda smoothed her hair back once more. She fell into a moist, cool, restful sleep.

  * * *

  —

  When dawn lit the next day, Bicycle woke up and stretched. “How long was I sleeping?” she asked Sister Wanda, who was already awake and puttering around in the tent.

  “A good long while. Dr. Alvarado and I turned in early ourselves, but spent some time talking first. I learned these bikes are miracles of engineering,” Sister Wanda said. “Did you know they come equipped with board games? I beat the doctor in a spirited game of Battleship before bed.”

  Bicycle slipped on her shoes and they climbed out of the tent. The Fortune 713-K’s tent was inflated a few feet away, and Bicycle could hear Dr. Alvarado rustling around inside.

  “Please put the tent back in the seat post,” Sister Wanda asked the Fortune, and after it did so, Sister Wanda gave it a pat. “Miracles, I tell you. Also, Doctor Alvarado remembered after his hitchhiking experience that there is a satellite phone located in each bicycle’s left pedal, so I called the Calamity Cab Company last night and arranged for them to send us a taxi this morning. No more bicycling for you, young lady. I’m getting you out of this desert posthaste and checking you into your room at the Friendship Factory as soon as possible.”