Thank you, the Fortune wrote.
A round yellow moon was already high in the sky as the sun finished setting. Even as the sky grew darker and darker, the white frosting atop the mountains ahead still seemed to glow. Bicycle stuck her tongue out to see if she could catch another breeze from the Sierras. Then she sniffed the night air. “Do you smell that?” she asked the Fortune.
The bicycle made a fizzing sound. Nitrogen, oxygen, argon, carbon dioxide, and methane.
“Well, yeah, I guess.” Bicycle said as she dismounted for the night. “But it also smells like we’ve finally left the desert behind.”
The next morning, Bicycle felt the pleasure in riding west that she’d lost on the way to Calamity getting restored pedal stroke by pedal stroke. The simple purpose of riding onward buoyed her slim sense of hope. I still have my chance to do this my way, she thought, 3,720 to 1 though it may be. It’s one week until the Blessing of the Bicycles. That should be enough time to finish getting a handle on my Polish words and work out a step-by-step theory of How to Make Someone Your Friend. I already know the first step: Say Something Nice in a Language They Understand.
A few short miles beyond the state-line sign, Bicycle saw a sapphire-colored lake on the side of the road. Evergreen trees rose ahead, and the white-capped mountains got closer with every rotation of her wheels. The brown of the desert was now behind them. “Those poor wheelbarrow pioneers,” said Bicycle. “They gave up before things got really good.” They were passing the sapphire lake and she could see that it was filled with birds splashing in the shallow water. Clouds of insects buzzed around the rocky shoreline. The birds chased after the insect clouds and clacked their beaks shut on tasty mouthfuls.
Soon the road passed under the shadow of the mountains. The Fortune directed them toward the entrance to Yosemite National Park, recommending riding through the park as a way to throw Sister Wanda off their trail. The road into the park wound its way up the foothills and gradually took them right over a mountain pass. Families on their way into Yosemite waved at Bicycle from their car windows. She grinned back and chanted at them in Polish. “Dzień dobry! Hello! Jak się masz? How are you?” Her words echoed back to her off the mountainside. The Fortune played polka music.
Bicycle coasted down the park’s long, twisting entry road, pedaled through a short tunnel, and found herself at the edge of a glacier-carved valley. Distant waterfalls shot down from towering granite monoliths in frothy white cascades toward the dense forest below. It was breathtaking.
She guided the Fortune into the lower part of the valley. It was like a miniature town down there, crisscrossed with campgrounds, restaurants, lodges, roads, and paths. Bicycle located an empty campsite, had the Fortune set up the tent, and considered doing some exploring before dinner. As she studied the park map and pondered where to go, a large motor home the next campsite over with GIRL EXPLORERS on the side wheezed open a pneumatic door. Girls wearing identical khaki uniforms and hats poured out.
The girls looked to be a little younger than Bicycle. A woman dressed in a spiffy khaki outfit with a red kerchief around her neck came out of the trailer and was trying to direct the girls into some kind of order, but they were talking over each other, ignoring the woman completely. Bicycle felt suddenly shy amid the bustle. She tried to look busy with her tent, which was, unfortunately, already set up.
One girl with two precise blond braids came over to her. “Hi! Are you a GIRL EXPLORER?” she asked. (She actually shouted the last two words like they were in capital letters.)
“Er, no, I’m…just a girl, I guess,” Bicycle answered.
“Oh,” the blond girl answered. She polished her red EXPLORER pin with one braid. “Well, I’m going to get my Camping Badge this week. Then I’ll have all of my Junior Adventurer badges, so I’ll be able to get my official Explorer belt. The one with the rhinestones. Have you ever camped before?”
“Yes,” Bicycle answered, “lots and lots, actually.”
Two more girls came over when they heard this. “Really? Is this your tent? It’s so small! Where do you put your television set?”
“What?” asked Bicycle.
Another girl jumped in. “We have a big flat-screen. You can come over to our camper tonight to watch a movie about the great outdoors.”
“A movie?” Bicycle was at a loss. “Don’t you want to…just…be in the great outdoors?”
The blond girl tittered. “You’ve got to be kidding. Nature is full of bugs and dirt and sticks and bugs shaped like dirt and sticks. Movies about nature are better. They won’t chip your nail polish, you know.”
“You don’t even want to hike over to see the waterfalls?” Bicycle thought she’d like to see one of them up close.
“Maybe in the morning. What time do they turn them on? But come on over for now, we’re going to microwave some s’mores and then practice giving each other facials. I already have my Facials Badge.” She gestured for Bicycle to join her. Their trailer squatted on the campsite like a giant khaki toad, blocking out any view of the sky.
Bicycle hung back. She realized this was a golden opportunity for some friend-making practice, but she felt hesitant as she watched the troop leader and an older girl setting up a satellite dish. She tried to remember the steps she’d been planning in her theory of friendship. The first step was…What was it? The troop leader cranked up a noise-belching generator, and Bicycle found it even harder to think straight.
A short girl noticed her and ran up. She grabbed Bicycle’s hand and starting painting the nails a repulsive shade of purple. “You’ll look so much less ugly with your nails done in Midnight Eggplant,” the girl said. Then her Explorers utility belt starting ringing. It was her cell phone. “Oh, hold on a minute—it’s my boyfriend,” she said, pinning the phone between her chin and ear while continuing to paint Bicycle’s nails purple. “Hello? Hello? Hel-looo? Yeah. Oh, yeah. Yeah! Totally. No, nothing here, just trapped in bor-ing nature, boring, boring, boring,” she said in a singsong voice.
“No thanks,” Bicycle said, gently trying to pull her hand away.
The girl’s grip tightened.
“Hey, I really don’t want my nails painted,” Bicycle said, trying to pull her hand away again.
The girl gave no sign of having heard her, except to speed up her nail painting. Now four of Bicycle’s nails were dark and glittering.
Bicycle couldn’t take it. She kicked the cell-phone girl in the shin, and the girl released her with an “Ow!” of shock. Bicycle ran.
She ran through the crowds of cars and tents until she was some distance away from the campsites. She found a big rock and flopped on her back and let out a big groan.
“I like your shirt,” said a nice voice.
Bicycle lifted her head and saw another Girl Explorer standing in front of her. This one had short brown hair and warm brown eyes and was holding two cheese sandwiches.
“Are you hungry?” the girl asked. “I was making these when I saw you escape from Brittany.”
“Thanks,” Bicycle said, taking the proffered sandwich. She suddenly remembered the first step in her friend-making theory: Say Something Nice in a Language They Understand. “I’m sorry I kicked Brittany. I lost it. I couldn’t seem to get her attention to tell her I didn’t actually want my fingernails painted.”
“Yeah,” the girl answered. “Brittany is like a nail-painting demon. None of us can stop her without kicking her. Don’t worry about it. She’s used to it. Look what she did to me on the way here.” She spread out both hands, showing that her nails had been painted five different mismatched shades. “I’m Sally, by the way.”
“Bicycle,” said Bicycle.
“Cool name.”
They started eating.
“You must love to ride bicycles. Me too,” Sally said with her mouth full. “My mom and I have a two-seater tandem that we ride at home together.”
“Really? I’ve never ridden a tandem before. The bike I have now is pretty amazing, though…
” Bicycle started to tell Sally about some of her travels. The girls chatted back and forth, and time sped by like a Tour de France race on a downhill stretch.
They walked back toward the campsite near dusk and found the Girl Explorers in a frenzy of activity.
Sally sprinted over. “What’s going on?” she asked her troop leader.
“Wild animal attack!” yelled the leader. “We’re leaving now! Forget the nail polish, girls, and go, go, go!”
Sally turned to Bicycle with a regretful wave before she climbed into the camper. Bicycle waved back. With a burst of exhaust, the motor home started up and lumbered away, leaving nothing but tire tracks, food wrappers, and a few bottles of Midnight Eggplant in its wake.
“What kind of animal attacked?” she asked the campers in the next site over.
“Big black bear showed up,” the man answered. “Pretty common here in the valley. This one smelled whatever those girls were microwaving and came after their dinner. I’d guess they didn’t plan on exploring nature quite that up close.”
Bicycle was sorry to see Sally go before she’d had a chance to ask her if she felt like they could be friends. She climbed into her tent and asked the Fortune, “What makes people act so different from one another?”
The Fortune replied, That question is beyond the ability of my programming to answer. People are complicated. Storing data on you alone keeps my central processing unit constantly occupied.
Listening to the velvety rumble of far-off waterfalls, Bicycle thought about why some people needed kicking while others shared sandwiches. She decided two people could get along only if they had the ability to talk, listen, and actually hear each other. So she formed the second step in her friend-making theory: Listen Well to What They Say Back. Then she pulled out her Polish dictionary and kept practicing.
* * *
—
The next morning when leaving the valley, Bicycle caught a glimpse through the trees of a black bear lumbering by. Thinking it might be the one that had so conveniently scared away the obnoxious girls, she waved at it and shouted, “Hey, thanks, Mister Bear!” It stopped lumbering and turned toward her. Then it stood on its hind legs and pointed its nose right at her, sniffing with great interest. It started to walk toward the road. “Um, no need to come over here, really!” she called out. It started walking faster. “Whoops,” said Bicycle.
Avoid eye contact, the Fortune advised. Wild animals generally prefer not to seek trouble with humans.
Contrary to this assurance, the large bear was coming closer and closer, making a low, inquisitive whuffling noise. It looked ready for all kinds of trouble. Bicycle tried to stay calm, but when she could see that the bear on four legs was taller than she was on two wheels, she poked the Fortune’s on-screen buttons and squeaked, “Do something!”
The Fortune responded by blaring the blattiest bars of that ancient music Bicycle didn’t enjoy—this time it sounded like the tubas were attempting to swallow one another as well as the goats. The bear immediately stopped and sat back on its haunches, bringing up a paw to rub its ears. It had a look on its face that said I’m not ready for this. After a moment, it stood up and shambled away into the underbrush.
Bicycle said, “Who needs missiles? I guess that ‘upbeat’ music has its uses after all.” She gave the Fortune a relieved pat. Even without movie stars in red convertibles, the next three days in California did not disappoint. Bicycle stayed up well past her bedtime on the Fourth of July to watch a short but effervescent fireworks display light up a corner of the night. She pedaled past farm after farm with neatly planted rows of trees heavy with lemons, avocados, nectarines, and plums. Between the fruit farms, they saw wind farms. Huge windmills stood on hilltops, twirling in the air currents like tall aliens waving hello with many arms. She envisioned buying little boxes of wind to carry with her so she could unwrap a tailwind whenever she wanted.
They made their way without any sign of Sister Wanda or the bike thieves. The night before she expected to arrive in San Francisco and attend the Blessing of the Bicycles, Bicycle told the Fortune, “It looks like you picked a good route to keep us out of trouble.”
Of course. If you wish to continue to avoid trouble, I can plan us a route to Portland, Oregon, or to Canada’s Yukon Territory instead of San Francisco.
“Thanks anyway,” Bicycle answered. “I knew when we took off in Calamity that I’d have a showdown with Sister Wanda eventually. I’ve done everything I can to get ready for meeting Zbig tomorrow. I think I’m practically snoring in Polish at this point.” Four hundred miles of practicing her greetings and friendship questions had drilled the new language into her brain. “I’ve paddled as hard as I can in the river of luck.”
Poking through her backpack later that night, Bicycle found a few unused postcards. She lay on her stomach and wrote to Griffin, explaining that her doom had been at least temporarily postponed, to Brother Otto saying she didn’t know if Sister Wanda would ever let her come back to the Mostly Silent Monastery but that she hoped he was enjoying being Mostly Talkative now, and to the Cookie Lady. This last one said:
Almost to San Francisco, CA
Dear Cookie Lady,
Here’s one more postcard for your wall from someone who wasn’t sure she’d make it all the way. I hope some other tired person comes to your house, sees this note hung above the cookie table, and realizes they can do more than they think they can.
Sincerely,
Bicycle (A Girl You Rescued with Cookies and Lemonade)
Bicycle woke the next morning to a sort of a whizzing, whirring noise outside the tent, like a thousand dragonflies buzzing down the road. Then she heard laughing voices and identified that whiz-whir sound: bicycles rushing by, and a lot of them.
She poked her head out of the tent and saw a crowd of bicyclists coasting along together. They were all ages and ethnicities and dressed in a wide variety of clothes. Some were in expensive team jerseys, some were in T-shirts and shorts, and others wore rags held together with duct tape. One guy was dressed like a rooster. One woman was dressed like a pirate. There were lots of cyclists on elegant racing bikes, plenty of cyclists on knobby-tired mountain bikes, as well as people riding two-person tandems, beach cruisers with baby trailers, unicycles, three-wheeled recumbent bicycles, and tall, old-fashioned high-wheeler bicycles. All of them were headed in the same direction.
“What’s going on?” Bicycle called out in a sleepy voice.
A dark-skinned man with dreadlocks flashed her a grin. “It’s a celebration! We’re headed to the Blessing of the Bicycles!” He pedaled past and was swallowed up in the crowd.
Bicycle ducked back in the tent and started pulling on her socks and shoes. “Fortune, get ready for a party! You’re going to get blessed today!”
The Fortune beeped and blinked, If they plan to bless every bicycle that arrives there, then you, Bicycle, shall get blessed, too.
“Hey, that was funny! Did you mean it to be? Have you learned how to make jokes now?” Bicycle asked, tying her sneaker.
The Fortune didn’t bother to answer that, instead blinking Let us go.
Bicycle had to pick apart a knot in her shoelaces, and the Fortune made an impatient humming noise, repeating Let us go.
Bicycle and her blue-and-yellow flame-embossed bike joined the colorful throng of cyclists whizzing and whirring toward San Francisco. Everyone was riding at a comfortable pace, giving room to the other riders around them. Most people were laughing or joking. Bicycle soaked up that wonderful feeling she’d discovered early on her trip—she was an automatically welcome member of a community with whom she didn’t have to share one word.
In a few short miles, she saw a flash of shimmering water up ahead and knew it must be the San Francisco Bay.
The Fortune started buzzing and blinked: According to my calculations, you have traveled precisely 4,000 miles (rounded to the nearest ten-thousandth of a mile) from your home to this place. It blinked a bit more, as if considering wh
at to say next. Congratulations.
“Thanks,” Bicycle said. She felt a mix of excitement and worry, with a tangled thread of loss thrown in. Even if she succeeded in her goal of befriending Zbig and dodged the wrath of Sister Wanda, it was hard to imagine giving this up and returning to a life that stayed in one place instead of pedaling headfirst into each day.
The big group of cyclists came around a corner and charged up a steep hill. At the top, Bicycle gasped to see a magnificent red bridge soaring over the bay from the mainland to the city. It seemed too delicate and pretty to ride across. Nonetheless, the group did just that, snaking into a neat line on the bridge’s sidewalk, a bicycle train funneling over the big blue bay.
On the other side, she followed the group of cyclists through city streets until they came to an archway marking the entrance to Golden Gate Park. Underneath the archway, someone had hung a banner declaring BLESSING OF THE BICYCLES TODAY—ALL ARE WELCOME!
When they passed under the archway, a volunteer handed each person a raffle ticket and stamped his or her hand with a bicycle-wheel-shaped stamp. People and bicycles filled the meadow where the blessing was taking place. Vendors were selling sweet cakes, crispy chips, and bubbly drinks. Others sold bike parts and bright cycling clothes. There was a booth where you and your bike could get your picture taken. Bicycle was pretty sure she saw the neon-yellow uniforms of the King Tutter’s Butter Popcorn Team near a giant popcorn popper. One stand sold bicycle-shaped hot dogs. Another right next to it sold hot-dog-shaped bicycles. The local Mostly Silent Monastery had put a Mostly Silent Monk under a pop-up tent on a comfy pillow, ready to listen. A table covered in postcards advertised WRITE TO THE COOKIE LADY.
Bicycle dismounted. “Where to first?” she asked her bike, but for once, the Fortune didn’t have a ready answer. She had just decided to walk to the photo booth when one crispy chip vendor waved at Bicycle and called out, “Yoo-hoo!” It was Chef Marie.
Bicycle headed straight over and received a hug of welcome. “Chef Marie! Chips? Aren’t those like fast food?”
The Adventures of a Girl Called Bicycle Page 19
