The Adventures of a Girl Called Bicycle

by Christina Uss

  Chef Marie clucked her tongue. “Don’t tease, ma chérie! When we received the invitation from the Blessing of the Bicycles Committee to be part of this event, I could not say no, non? They ask me to make something people can eat with one hand while walking around with their bicyclettes, so I made chips from local kale and avocados.”

  Bicycle accepted Chef Marie’s offer of a salty green morsel. “How is Truffle doing?” she asked.

  “That fatty! He is still at my café in Illinois, happy as a clam in clover! But allons-y, let’s go, I have been waiting for a break to visit the booth over there that everyone keeps talking about.”

  Chef Marie linked arms with Bicycle and led her and the Fortune over to a crowded corner of the park where people were milling around eating little food pockets and mmmmmmming with delight. They found a table laden with plates of hot fried pies and two voices singing in harmony, “I come from Al-a-bama with a banjo on my knee…”

  “You?” yelled Bicycle.

  “Me?” yelled Griffin.

  “Eh?” yelled Jeremiah.

  “You, too!” yelled Bicycle

  “Yoo-hoo!” yelled Chef Marie, not to be left out.

  The crowd parted to let Bicycle through to hug Clunk (and Griffin) and Jeremiah under the sign PARADISE PIES SAYS BLESS YOU. She introduced the Fortune, who beeped politely, and Chef Marie, who immediately pulled out a recipe notepad and began conferring with Jeremiah.

  Griffin started talking at top speed. “We did it, Bicycle, we did it, we got ourselves world famous! People even know about our shop in Canada! A newspaper reporter came and tried our newest thing, sandwich fried pies, and they spread the word and then the Blessing of the Bicycles invited us to come run a booth, and we had to come, you know we did, and here we are. And here you are! Aren’t we a great surprise? Hey, you gotta try a sandwich fried pie! We got turkey-’n’-lettuce and ham-’n’-cheese and kielbasa-’n’-mustard that Estrella helped us come up with. She said to say hi and to come visit soon, by the way. Oh, try this one, it’s our bestseller, the peanut-butter-and-jelly fried pie!” Griffin repeated Jeremiah’s name over and over again until Jeremiah interrupted his discussion with Chef Marie and handed a fried pie wrapped in wax paper smelling of roasted peanuts and grape jelly to Bicycle.

  Jeremiah said with a grin, “We decided whatever we sell the most of today, we’re gonna name it the Piecycle in your honor. Get it? Pie-Bicycle? Piecycle?”

  Bicycle took a big bite of the peanutty fried pie and hugged Clunk again with her free arm. “I get it,” she said with her mouth full. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you all. I also need you to help keep a lookout for—” Bicycle began, but was interrupted by a voice booming over a loudspeaker.

  “PLEASE WELCOME OUR SPECIAL GUEST OF HONOR, THE GREAT ZBIGNEE SHENKEEWEE…ER, ZBIGNOO SEVENKEVYWIK…THAT IS, ZBIG!”

  Everyone turned toward a large stage set up near a grove of redwood trees and broke into wild applause as Zbig walked out, all smiles, waving his trademark wave. He took the microphone and said a few words, but he couldn’t be heard over the din of his adoring fans. He gave the microphone back to the announcer, shrugging. The announcer made exaggerated shushing noises with one finger to his lips until the crowd calmed down enough for him to talk.

  “AFTER THE BLESSING, WE WILL BE CHOOSING THE WINNER OF THE RAFFLE. ONE LUCKY PERSON HERE TODAY WILL WIN THE CHANCE TO RIDE ACROSS OUR GREAT COUNTRY WITH ZBIG!”

  The crowd roared its approval.

  “MR. ZBIG WILL ALSO GREET FANS AND SIGN AUTOGRAPHS AT THE MAIN STAGE AFTER THE BLESSING. BUT NOW, PLEASE TURN YOUR WHEELS AND YOUR ATTENTION TOWARD OUR BICYCLE BLESSERS WHO ARE READY TO BLESS YOUR TWO-WHEELED CONTRAPTIONS FOR SAFE RIDING AND FAST RACING!”

  A few of the unicyclists and recumbent tricyclists booed the speech.

  The announcer hastily added, “THAT IS, THEY WILL BLESS YOUR TWO-WHEELED CONTRAPTIONS, YOUR ONE-WHEELED CONTRIVANCES, AND YOUR THREE-WHEELED CONFABULATIONS. ANY NUMBER OF WHEELS YOU WANT THEM TO BLESS, THEY’LL BLESS. WE’RE READY TO BEGIN NOW.”

  The announcer directed the crowd’s attention to a dozen smaller stages set up in a circle surrounding the meadow. Bicycle and the other folks at the fried-pie booth turned to look.

  There were bicycle blessers of various faiths and religions gathered on the smaller stages: priests, pastors, rabbis, mullahs, shamans, lamas, fakirs, medicine men, and pagan priestesses. An orange-robed lama hit a big gong with a mallet and it rang out with a sonorous bong. The crowd went, “Ooooh.” Many of the bicycles picked up the vibrations of the reverberating gong and started to hum. Bicycle remembered Estrella tapping Clunk with a wrench and listening to its frame to tell if it was safe to ride. These bikes sounded not only safe to ride but also happy, as if they were humming with contentment.

  When the gong’s sound died out, the blessers began reciting their prayers over the bicycles. Though there were many different languages echoing through the air, they said the same thing: May you ride safely all of your days on this earth. May your wheels spin around as fast as you could wish, and may your brakes always stop you with ease. Lo, though you may pedal through the shadow of the Valley of Potholes, you shall fear no flat tires, nor shall rust ever darken your frame. Since you are bicyclists, you are already blessed: the joy of bicycling brightens your life. Go forth, and spread that joy wherever you may roam.

  It went on for some time. The crowd had become quiet and serene, people swaying gently, nodding as one. Griffin was humming a soft song. The Fortune’s handlebars vibrated under Bicycle’s fingers, and she swayed herself, listening to the words of the blessings, caught up in the peacefulness of it all. She caught sight of Zbig Sienkiewicz standing on the stage, his hands clasped and his head bowed.

  At the end of the blessing, the lama bonged the big gong one more time. The crowd let out a big contented “Ahhhhhh.”

  “THANK YOU AGAIN FOR COMING,” the announcer began. “NOW, PULL OUT THOSE RAFFLE TICKETS!”

  Bicycle clutched hers.

  The announcer turned the handle on a big drum filled with numbers, then opened up the top and let Zbig pull one out. Zbig handed it to the announcer, who read out loud, “NUMBER FOUR-SIX-ZERO-EIGHT! THAT’S FOUR-SIX-OH-EIGHT! YOU’VE WON! COME UP TO THE STAGE AND SHOW US YOUR TICKET!”

  Bicycle quickly checked her number. Nope—7642. Darn. Not even close. This didn’t bode well for the river of luck flowing her way.

  You are making a face indicating disappointment and disquietude. Shall I print a raffle ticket number 4608 for you? the Fortune blinked.

  “It looks like someone else already won,” she said. The man in the rooster suit started crowing and jumping up and down, waving his ticket. He pushed his way to the stage, where the announcer checked his ticket.

  “UM…YES…WELL, IT APPEARS WE HAVE A WINNER. YOUR NAME, SIR?”

  The rooster crowed.

  “UH…ALL RIGHT, THEN,” the announcer said.

  Zbig was grimacing at the rooster-suited man, backing away from the giant flapping wings.

  “OKAY…LET’S MOVE ON TO THE PORTION OF THE DAY WHERE YOU FINE FOLKS COME TO THE STAGE FOR A HANDSHAKE AND A WORD OR TWO WITH ZBIG.”

  Griffin said, “So you didn’t win, but Zbig is standing right over there—nothing says you can’t go meet him right now. Can I come with you? I’m coming with you. We should all come with you. Let’s go!”

  It did seem like the only thing to do. “Okay,” Bicycle said, scanning the crowd to see if she could spot Sister Wanda anywhere. No sign of her. “Here goes nothing.”

  Jeremiah put a BE RIGHT BACK sign up on their booth. Then he pushed Clunk along while Chef Marie helped Bicycle maneuver the Fortune through the crowd gathering near the main stage. Jeremiah politely repeated, “Excuse us, pardon us,” over and over again until they secured themselves a spot right in front, Jeremiah and Clunk standing on one side of Bicycle, and the Fortune and Chef Marie on the other.

  Bicycle looked up to see where Zbig was standing now. He was t
o their left, working his way through the mob of people clustered around the stage. “Dziękuję! Dziękuję! Thank you, thank you! Thank you for coming, everyone!” He was waving and smiling and shaking hands, moving quickly. Very quickly. He seemed to want to get as far away as possible from the rooster man, who was still waving his ticket and crowing at the top of his lungs.

  Zbig was twenty people away, then ten people away, then five. Bicycle really hadn’t planned on being in a crowd of this many people when she met him. She thought she’d be able to talk to him one-on-one. Who knew there were this many bicyclists in San Francisco, or even the whole country? It looked like Zbig was going to walk right by her with a “Dziękuję” and a wave and never even know she was there.

  A voice murmured in her ear, “So here you are.”

  She turned to see Sister Wanda at her side.

  “I…I…I…” Bicycle was at a loss. Should she apologize? Try to explain? Ask Sister Wanda to wait five more minutes before lecturing her so she could demonstrate that she could befriend Zbig?

  Sister Wanda reached out to her. Bicycle felt relieved that she was going to get a hug before any reprimand. Instead, Sister Wanda put both hands around Bicycle’s waist and hoisted her up. She set Bicycle’s feet on top of the Fortune’s seat and her backpack on the rear rack, then steadied her as Bicycle found her balance. Now Bicycle was taller than anyone else in the crowd, standing out like a sore thumb. “You know what the Top Monk always says!” Sister Wanda called up to her. As Zbig approached them, the volume on the crowd around them rose.

  “Sandwich?” Bicycle yelled back, starting to panic. Zbig was coming her way.

  “Yes!” Sister Wanda called up again. This time Bicycle could barely hear her over the noise. “But you know what he sometimes means: always finish what you start!”

  Then Zbig was there. He’d straightened up after crouching down to shake the hand of the person next to Bicycle, and tilted his head to look right into Bicycle’s eyes.

  This was it. If there was a friendship-making power inside her, she would activate it now. First step: Say Something Nice in a Language They Understand. This time, in Polish. “Dzień dobry! Jak się masz? Czy nie chciałbyś włożyć zebrę do nosa?”

  Zbig frowned and cupped a hand to his ear. He leaned in a little closer and said in English, “Excuse me?”

  Bicycle spoke more loudly. “My name is Bicycle and I’m a big fan. I came a long way to meet you,” she said in English. Then she repeated slowly, with an excellent Polish accent, “Czy nie…chciałbyś…włożyć…zebrę…do…nosa?”

  Second step: Listen Well to What They Say Back.

  Zbig looked at Bicycle, who was smiling expectantly at him. He furrowed his brow. “No, not at all,” he answered, shaking his head emphatically. He pulled something out of his back pocket, scrawled a message on it with a big black pen, and handed it to Bicycle. “Um…thank you for coming. Good-bye now,” he said. His manager took his arm, whispered in his ear, and started moving him off the stage and toward a waiting limousine. Zbig waved good-bye to the crowd, blowing them kisses as they roared his name. “Take care of your bicycles, so long!” he yelled. And he was gone.

  Sister Wanda helped Bicycle down to the ground between the Fortune and Clunk. Griffin asked, “What did he say to you? What did he give you?”

  Bicycle looked down at the crumpled paper she was clenching in her hand. It was the same publicity photo of Zbig that she’d gotten in the mail eighty-seven days ago. He had written at the top, Keep riding! and he’d autographed it at the bottom with the same words that had inspired her whole trip: Your Friend, Zbig Sienkiewicz.

  She dropped it and drooped to kneel on the ground in defeat. She’d come four thousand miles. She’d climbed dozens of mountains, braved animal attacks and broken bicycles and thieves and heat stroke and was probably going to spend the rest of her life locked up in a Friendship Factory, and she’d gotten…another autograph. She closed her eyes.

  The Blessing of the Bicycles crowd was dispersing. City workers were starting to clean the grass with rakes and garbage bags, picking up discarded popcorn cartons and hotdog wrappers. Bicycle kept her eyes closed but could still feel the presence of Sister Wanda, Chef Marie, Jeremiah, Griffin, Clunk, and the Fortune hovering around her.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” announced a man’s voice. It was familiar, but Bicycle couldn’t place it. She opened her eyes.

  Dr. Alvarado was bouncing up and down on his heels. Next to him, the lady in black and her two henchmen were standing near Sister Wanda.

  “Are you taking away the Fortune now?” Bicycle asked tonelessly. “Is this how it ends?”

  Sister Wanda frowned, but Dr. Alvarado began talking first. “This is how it begins! Don’t you see? Hasn’t anyone told her?” Dr. Alvarado looked around. “I thought it was the main thing everyone would be talking about. Luck research is never going to be the same! The Monet-Grubbinks and I will be leaving late tonight for Molrania.”

  “Wha—” Bicycle began, but the lady in black interrupted by awkwardly patting her on the head.

  “Young girrl, I underrstand I frrightened you, I’m sorrry,” Miss Monet-Grubbink purred.

  Dr. Alvarado said, “Bicycle, this is Mona Monet-Grubbink and her brothers, Marku and Mittuk. They are representatives from the country of Molrania, the unluckiest country in the world. No one who lives there ever, ever has good luck. Their supply of four-leaf clovers was wiped out by tornadoes. When their children play Chutes and Ladders, all they do is chute without a chance to ladder. They’ve even had a national lottery for twenty-seven years, and not a single person has won it.”

  Miss Monet-Grubbink nodded solemnly. “And it is only thrrree numberrrs.” The nodding dislodged her sunglasses, which slid off her nose and got crushed by a passing unicyclist. The three Molranians shrugged—they looked like they’d had lots of practice at it—and one of the brothers handed Mona a new pair of black glasses out of his trench coat.

  Dr. Alvarado continued, oblivious to the fact that he was the only one in a happy mood. “They came to the United States to find some help. While her brothers visited casino operators in Nevada to learn why gamblers win or lose, Mona attended that Alvarado Estate auction in hopes of purchasing any scrap of my luck research. But, quite unluckily”—he winked—“she didn’t bid on the one item that may have helped them, the Wheels of Fortune 713-J.”

  The brothers waved their hands in the air, as if to say “What do you expect from Molranians?”

  “When Mona realized her mistake, she tried following you to see if you’d be willing to part with the Fortune. She kept losing your trail and eventually gave up and came to Nevada to meet her brothers. A wrong turn led them to Highway 50 and to us—perhaps the first good luck they’ve ever experienced. They explained the whole situation, and ended up with something better than they could have dreamed—me!” He hugged himself, then went on. “We made a plan and went back to my house to pick up my luggage and a cargo case for the Fortune 713-K. I am flying with them to Molrania to continue my studies there. The whole nation has to be some sort of luck vortex. So much data to gather!” He glowed with glee. “We gave Sister Wanda a ride here, and I wanted to come tell you the news in person.”

  Sister Wanda nudged him gently with her elbow. “I know you are excited, Dr. Alvarado, but perhaps you can tell her more later,” she said. “Bicycle and I have some things to discuss.”

  “Oh, certainly, certainly. We’ll go see if there are any of those bicycle-shaped hot dogs left.” Dr. Alvarado waved for the Monet-Grubbinks to follow him.

  Bicycle climbed slowly to her feet and said, “You were right in Nevada, Sister Wanda. There’s nothing more to discuss. I blew it.”

  “Hush, child, and let me speak. I got here well before you did and had a chance to meet Chef Marie, Jeremiah Branch, and Griffin G. Griffin. While I tried a lovely kielbasa fried pie, I got an earful of stories about your travels.”

  Bicycle looked at Jeremiah and Chef Marie
in surprise and they nodded.

  Sister Wanda cleared her throat and fiddled with her fingers for a moment. “I thought the Friendship Factory would be what was best for you. Life without friends is not a nice thing, not a nice thing at all. I know this for a fact because I’ve gone through it myself. I took my Nearly Silent vows earlier than I should have, and as a result, I was very lonely for a long time. I simply didn’t want you to endure the same experience, especially at your age,” she said. She heaved a sigh and waved the past away. “After sharing this journey with you, I must admit that you could teach me a few things about making friends.”

  Tears welled up in Bicycle’s eyes and she hung her head. “I can’t teach anyone anything. I couldn’t make the one friend I set out to make! Did you see the horrified look on Zbig’s face when I asked him if he wanted to be friends? Why did I think I knew anything about making friends? I’m a failure.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” said Jeremiah, “that’s not one bit true.”

  Griffin said, “Don’t cry, Bicycle. Do you think it would help if we got you a ham-’n’-cheese fried pie?”

  Bicycle continued to hang her head. A tear dripped down her nose and fell on the grass.

  The Fortune 713-J buzzed to get Bicycle’s attention. My calculations indicate you are 100% better off without that unhelpful mustache-faced human. I make a much better companion than he ever could. I even come equipped with a tent, which most humans do not.

  Sister Wanda gave the bike a spicy look, but she granted, “Mr. Fancy Bike here does have a point. Forget about that mustache-faced bike racer. Some famous people have heads so big they can’t see beyond their own noses, even to see a potential friend in front them as wonderful as you.” She put one arm around Bicycle’s shoulders and spread her other arm. “Darling girl, lift your eyes. This is not what failing to make friends looks like.”

  Bicycle looked up and saw a former Nearly Silent Nun, a French chef, a fried-pie baker, a ghost inside her first bicycle; and the perfect long-distance traveling machine. She sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “So,” she asked the group, “you all think of me as your friend?”