CYCLES CHAPTER 4: The Bad News Gears

Last year I began writing a fictionalized memoir-like novel of my bicycle ride across the country in 1996. I posted the first drafts of the first three chapters as I wrote them. I abandoned the project when I left to tour the world. I’m now picking up the pen again. Here is the first draft of the first 600 or so words of Chapter three of CYCLES.

CHAPTER 4 THE BAD NEWS GEARS

Tim tugged on the pedal crank. It didn’t budge. He adjusted his thick, black frame glasses and let out a conclusive yet mysterious, “Huhm.”

Tim was the bike mechanic on duty at Sam’s Cycles, the fanciest bike shop I’d ever experienced. They had organic coffee, tea, and a couch. What kind of bike shop has a couch? Sam’s does.

Sam’s was serene and spacious, the ceilings were high and vaulted, the walls were wood and rustic. It was less of a spunky small town bike shop run by a mom and pop than it was an upper end ski town cyclers community owned by a mother and father that considered it progressive to call them by their first names, Bodhi and Dharma. That was a hunch, but probably not far from the truth.

I felt bad about myself when I shook Tim’s hand because being in his presence made me feel there was no reason in the world to feel bad about myself, or anyone else for that matter. (Trust me, that made sense in my head at the time.)

Tim, as would be expected of an employee in a cycling experience emporium, was not fancy. His t-shirts always looked new because they usually were. Rock bands and charity event organizers gifted them to him as a thank you for helping out at gigs and fundraisers.

When neurosurgeons, mid-level television stars, and CEOs walked into Sam’s they envied Tim at first sight. They were socially awkward and so was Tim. The difference was that they were self conscious and hyper aware of it, Tim wasn’t. He didn’t think about junk like that; he just liked bicycles.

Why does Tim work at a bike shop? “Because I like bicycles.” He’d say as though you asked him why he takes dookies.

He leaned in a bit closer to the bike and tugged on the chain. Pamela Lee was clamped to a bike stand. The sprocket wheel didn’t budge as Tim tugged. He stood up straight and contorted the left half of his face into a momentary mild grimace. He let out a slow, “Yeahhh…” It had a descending tone that foretold of bad news to come.

I looked from Tim to Matt. Matt glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.

Tim let out a sigh before saying, “The bad news is the hub is bad, must be defective.”

Matt and I waited for the good news.

“The other bad news is that you need to order a new hub and the wheel will need to be rebuilt to replace it.” Time said looking at each of us with an empathetic look on his face.

What? Where was the good news? You don’t go bad news, bad news. You switch to good news. Tim needed to work on his bedside manner.

Tim inhaled deeply (Good news never comes out of someone’s mouth after a deep inhale. Maybe this time would be different). Was he going to go bad news, bad news, bad news, the bad news trifecta?

…Yep.

He said, “The last bad news is that we can’t do that here…”

My mouth dropped open a bit. They can’t do it? But why ? They’re the bike shop.

Matt smiled in disbelief. “Geezy, Tim! Don’t you have any good news?” He said

I looked to Tim with a face that plead for good news.

“I do.” Tim responded.

Matt and I looked like we had just watched Tim clip the correct wire on a time bomb.

“I know the shop you can go to” Tim said. “…But it’s across town.”

“…So kind of good news.” I said half smiling.

Tim shrugged.

I looked at Matt, Matt looked at Tim and asked, “How far across town is this place.”

“Pretty far.” Tim said, then he moved into problem solving mode. “Look, I can give you guys a ride back to the ferry. We can throw the bike in the back of my truck. I’ll call the guys over there and you can take the bus tomorrow. You can leave your bike at the- what’d you say? The Teepee? You just gotta take the rear wheel with you when you go.”

Matt and I shared a glance. Matt said, “Really? You don’t mind driving us?”

Tim Shrugged, “It’s on my way.”

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was made from an old bicycle wheel and read 1:02. I asked, “What time do you get off?”

“Oh, I can take you now. I can just leave when I want.” Tim said.

At that moment I hated Tim and I wanted more than anything to be him. That’s not true. I didn’t want to be him, I wanted what he had. He knew what he liked to do, he got paid to do it, and …He could leave anytime he wants! And he was yet another Good Samaritan within the first day of the ride (the airport and ride to the ferry didn’t count because they took us west instead of east toward our destination. If you don’t like this distinction you can write me a nasty letter. Although I’d prefer you write a nice letter, hopefully a letter complimenting either my writing or my hair.)

Matt and I had shared what some would call our judgment of Tim earlier. We would call it observations. We’d wondered if he knew Rusty from the airport. We would’ve bet that he did, but both of us thought it was likely, so no bet was necessary.

I couldn’t help myself, so I asked. “You wouldn’t know a guy named Rusty would you?”