Bikes and Bravery

Of bikes and bravery

When the 3:30 bell would ring, we always made our way to the bike racks. We passed the time, shooting the shit, some guys stradled their bikes, others leaned casually on their handlebars. I guess it was the Grade 6 equivalent of the office water cooler. We talked about WWF wrestling; debated its realness. We talked about gym class; headshots in dodgeball.  We talked about which dad could beat up which dad. Important stuff. Real.

Conversation flowed easily. The bike rack was socially neutral, it wasn’t controlled by the jocks, it wasn’t the domain of the nerds. It was a place for everyone. Everyone with a bike that is. 

My bike really stood out from the crowd of hand me down ten speeds and knobby tired BMXs. 
My bike was a brand new machine! A beauty of a beast. My bike’s wheels still had that beautiful fresh out of the factory smell, those little rubber nubby hairs still clung to the side. My handlebars reached gracefully up to the sky. They were the perfect balance between aiding sweet tricks and a relaxed posture for a leisurely cruise. The pedals? Black inlaid with orange rectangular reflectors. The kind of pedals that would mesmerize a motorist at night, orange lights seemingly floating and circling in the dark. A beautiful paint job; gloss black, with undertones of green and blue glinting in the sun. The chrome shone brilliantly, perfectly polished. My bike was a thing of beauty, if only in my immigration. 

No, I didn’t have a bike. Not yet! But I had hopes for a bike of my own. I had dreams for a bike of my own. My bedroom walls were plastered with cut out pictures of bikes from the Canadian Tire flier and Consumer Distributing catalog. Beautiful bikes of every color, and nearly every style. There was something perfect about each one. My ideal bike wasn’t just one of these, it was a beautiful amalgamation, combining elements of the most perfect part of every bike. 

It was a Friday, the guys were all gathered around the bike rack. Plans were being made for Saturday. Where to meet and what time.  

Doug wanted to meet at the tracks to catch frogs. “If we can catch enough, we can sell them to the University”. Doug was an entrepreneur through and through. 

“Lumber yard” Cam interjected. Cam always wanted to meet at the lumber yard, most often to start a fight. He was a bully and a loser, the cooler kids tolerated him, and the weaker kids feared him. 

“Let’s meet at the pond”. Sean suggested. The pond was a good place to just mess around, swimming when it was hot enough, it was a great place to look for snakes and throw rocks. 

“If we go to the forest we can…” Chris stopped abruptly as a group of girls went by. 

 Some of their glances lingered a little longer on us, giggles erupting from the group. 

“Gross,” Cam said. 

“Not you LOSER!” shrieked Susie. 

“Up your nose and around the corner!” shouted Doug. 

The girls glared. The boys returned their steely looks. Things were getting heated. We weren’t supposed to hit girls, and the girls knew it. If they decided to attack, we were powerless. 

“Let’s split,” Sean said, always the voice of reason.“See you guys at the pond tomorrow!” as he pedaled away. 

So the guys all hopped on their bikes, scattering in different directions. All except me, who was left bikeless and suddenly alone facing the group of girls. 

“Oh look at the loser who walks!” sneered Susie. “How are the shoes, DWEEB!” 

I was crushed. Susie knew exactly where to apply the most leverage to really hurt a guy. My lack of a bike was a sore point, and Susie knew it. 

Under Susie’s direction, the girls began to close in. Me, bikeless, was helpless to escape. I gulped. Some of these girls were readers, their backpacks laden with heavy books. I was in for a walloping. 

I closed my eyes, bracing for the pain. I wouldn’t cry. That would only make the beating worse. I braced for impact. 

“Leave him alone” I was saved. An angel had come in my time of need!

“Scatter!” Susie shouted as her group of readers and mean girls all took off in direct directions. 

Cautiously, I opened my eye and peered at the face of salvation. The face of salvation wasn’t that of an angel at all. It was Rachel. 

Things were going from bad to worse. Rachel was the school’s social pariah. She lived alone with her Grandmother in a weird little yellow house. A very grandmotherly house, no doubt all done up in doilies, crochet dolls and home to a shit ton of cats. 

Word was Rachel’s Mother had died during childbirth, and her Father had taken off. He knew there was something wrong with Rachel. Now just what was wrong with her was the subject of much school yard gossip. Children can be so cruel. 

Rachel always kept her hand hidden under a long white glove. Just what horrible secret Rachel hid under her glove was the subject of school yard rumors. Maybe she had a hideous burn. Perhaps she had lizard skin. Or maybe Rachel had an incurable disease. One touch and you would die. Whatever the truth was, Rachel was untouchable. No one at Glen Cedar School for Children would associate with her. Even teachers paid her little mind, only interacting with her as was absolutely necessary and certainly never touching her. 

Yet here I was, being saved by none other than Rachel herself. To be saved by Rachel was worse than having taken the book bag beating. The girl gang would be gossiping and spreading rumors about my connection to her. 

“Leave me alone” I shouted at her and took off towards home. To be sure, my exit would have been far more dramatic had I been on bike. But I was sure to take off in my most dignified run. 

The Pond 

Saturday morning came, bright and beautiful. With a 48 hour reprieve from school, kids were free to attend to the important business of childhood; messing around doing nothing much at all. 

Except for me. I had swimming lessons. An extra hour of my week under the supervision of yet another teacher, Ms. K! She wasn’t any sort of regular teacher. She was old, at least 40, wiry hair and glaring eyes. But my favorite thing about her was that her jaw had been wired shut! She literally had stitches of metal holding her mouth shut. Her jaw had been shattered in a bar fight. Her foul language had made her too many enemies. 
 All she could do was mumble and wave her arms angrily. I was a strong swimmer and an equally bad listener.

I enjoyed the freedom of floating effortlessly through the water more than the company of Ms. K.  I would frequently become lost in daydreams, floating on my back, kicking lazily around the pool, as Ms. K would be muttering and waving her arms from the side. Grudgingly I admit, I did enjoy my swimming lessons. Certainly more so than Ms. K did. 

Regardless, while I was busy swimming away, or as my Mom would say ‘learning important life skills’ the guys were already at the pond. 

I had to hurry as being bikeless as I was, the fun would have started without me. So, I ran, and jogged, then walked to the pond. It was quite a piece away, and running the entire time would have been ridiculous. Had I a bike, it would have been a two minute ride, opposed to the tortuous ten minute journey. 

The pond was a beautiful sight. Clear calm water, with a sandy bottom and smooth boulders surrounding it. Nary an adult in sight. An ideal spot to jump, swim and sun tan. As the old adage goes, time flies when you are having fun. I have no idea how much time had passed between skipping stones, throwing rocks, catching frogs and just general messing about. I couldn’t get enough of the water, today was hot enough that most of the guys were in for a swim.  

Our idle chat and laughter was cut short. Like a storm cloud ruining a picnic, Rachel appeared. Clad in her bathing suit and curious glove, towel thrown over her shoulder as she leaned her bike against a tree. Even Rachel had a bike. 

 “Out of the water! SHE-FREAK ALERT! GET OUT!” Cam’s shouts had the same effect as yelling fire in a crowded theater. Everyone scampered for the side of the pond furthest from Rachel. Wet bodies scrambling over the boulders and out of the water. Whatever contagion affected Rachel’s hand was likely spread in the water, and no one wanted that! 

Rachel outwardly ignored the taunts and slowly waded into the pond. 

“Pond scum!”

Rachel went past her knees. 

“CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON!”

She slipped in past her waist, knees bent. A slight grimace crossed her face as the cold water pressed against her skin. 

“LOCH NESS MONSTER!”

Rachel was shoulder deep. 

“DEATH ADLER! IT’S A SNAKE!”

Rachel parted the water with her hands and gracefully immersed her face in the pond. The water rushed up over her face, smoothing her hair back as she gracefully dove down. Her hands, one gloved, one not, pulled her gracefully and deeper into the pond. 

Right towards the snake. 

Snakes were a fairly common find along the edges of the pond. Drawn to bask on the warm rocks, there was also plenty of food in the form of frogs, minnows and bugs that called the pond home. Most of the time, the snakes would slither off and hide from the rowdy crowds.  

Most of the time. But there was one snake, a Death Adler, that gave breadth to no man, woman or child. Death Adler; the name says it all. Black death in serpentine form. 

Beside being highly venomous, Death Adlers prey upon other snakes. Swallowing them head first and whole. Death adlers have thick black bodies, with tails like a rattlesnake and a hood like a cobra. Short tempered, Death Adlers rarely shook their rattlesnake tails or warned by flaring their cobra heads. Death Adlers struck without warning. A single bite was enough to kill a grown man. 

Rachel was swimming right towards it. 

I didn’t hesitate. Or maybe I did. If time flies when you are having fun, time is just a blur when you are freaking out! I found myself diving into the pond. Towards Rachel. Towards the snake. 

My eyes were open, vision blurry underwater. I reached out and pulled myself through the water. Bubbles escaping my mouth. I whip wicked and double pulled, perfect swim form. I could hear Ms. K mumbling encouragement in my head. Pull. Kick. 

Soon I was upon them. Rachel’s eyes were closed as she swam towards the Death Adler. The snake’s body curled into a S as it propelled itself through the water towards her. 

I reached out one hand, and caught the Death Adler right behind the head. Its mouth opened exposing hundreds of sharp white teeth. I was ready for that. I held firm. Its cobra neck flared out against my hand. Sharp spines cutting into my flesh. I wasn’t ready for that. Blood began to emerge from my hand, clouding the water. I pushed past the pain and tightened my grip. 

The Death Adler began to struggle in my hand. Its strong coily muscles flared against my grasp. 

With my free arm, I pulled for the surface. Taking a gasp of air, I thrust my snake arm up into the air. My arm broke the surface, snake in hand. Its wet  black scales shimmered in the sun, hints of green and blue visible under droplets of water that clung to its scaly skin. 

“HELP!” I screamed.  I wasn’t sure what ‘help’ would look like, but I began to acknowledge the precariousness of my situation. A real wolf by the ear’s situation here. I had the Death Adler by the neck, and it had me by the arm. I could feel the coils tighten my arm. I shook my arm and screamed. The Death Adler tightened its grip. We were both trapped. The only way out was death. For one, or both of us. 

“HELP!” I screamed. As the situation became more clear to my friends, they left. All I saw were their wet backs shining in the sun as they took off pedaling their bikes to safety. 

I was so dead. 

Dead Kid Walking

So I walked home. Snake coiled tightly to my arm. My fingers still pinching behind the Death Adler's neck. Every once in a while it would rattle its tail, hiss and tighten its grip on my arm. My grip was iron. The Death adler's grip was equally matched. Both of us locked to the other in a mortal struggle.I knew what would happen if I loosened my grip for even a second. 

So on I walked, cause I didn’t have a bike.  I wasn’t having a very good day. 

My hands were cramping, as I held back tears from my eyes. I wasn’t sure what to do. Sweat rolled down my back. I had to keep on. I needed an adult. 

My two year old brother Ryan was crouched in the front yard, playing with some toys. He wasn’t the adult I needed. But I wasn’t going to be picky. I called out to him “Get Mom!! I need help!”

He took one look at me, assessed the situation and “Nope”.

“Look!” I held my snake entwined-arm out as proof I needed help “PLEASE! Get Mom!”

The Death Adler twisted and withered violently on my arm. Black hood flaring, tail rattling. It snapped its mouth vainly attempting to connect with my flesh. 

“Nope”. Ryan was steadfast and stubborn as only someone not face to face with death could be. 

“I’ll give you anything you want! But please, go get Mom!” I pleaded.

“Nope” little brother had the upper hand. He showed much cunning and bravery for a boy of only two. 

The snake rattled, flared and hissed. It grew weary of this battle, seeking only to kill me and move on with its life. 

“Please, I will give you ANYTHING!” I was begging. Pleading for my life. 

My brother stared at me. 

“G.I. Joe”.

“You want one of my G.I. Joe’s?” One of my beloved action figures was a small price to pay for my life. “You can have one of my G.I. Joe’s. Just go get Mom!”

“All” and he locked eyes with me. 

I was in no position to negotiate. Besides, what good would my action figures be if I was dead? 

“Okay. You can have them all. Just please go get Mom!”

My brother, true to his word, left his toys lying where they were and went to the house to get Mom. I felt the Death Adler tighten on my arm. Scales pressed against flesh, muscular coils biting into my skin. I gasped in pain. 

The house door flew open. At last an adult! Grandma came running out, a determined look on her face, a large bottle of vinegar in her hands. She wore a look that showed she meant no nonsense. Whether that look was for me, or the snake I wasn’t sure. 

Grandma used vinegar for pretty much anything and everything. It was an all purpose cleaner, good for sinks, pots and cuts. Vinegar removed rust and was sprinkled about to keep mice at bay. If there was a situation that used vinegar, my Grandma knew it! I was in good hands. 

Grandma assessed the situation. Deftly, she put two fingers right up against the snake’s nostrils. With her free arm, she began to pour vinegar all over the Death Adler’s face and mouth. 

The sour smell of the vinegar started to make my eyes water. The Death Adler thrashed and rattled on my arm. Vinegar poured into its mouth. I could hear it wretch.  Grandma kept pouring with a steady hand. 

The coils around my arm tightened. The Death Adler spasamed, sneezed and then its body went limp. The Death adler dropped from my arm into the grass. Yellow belly pointed up. 



Quick as a flash, my brother ran past yelling “G.I. Joe! Mine!” and was gone into the house to retrieve his reward. 

I looked down at my arm. Imprints of the Death Adler were pressed into my skin. I could make out each scale in red marks up my arm.

“Oh don’t worry pet, I know just the thing” my Grandmother said as she reached for the vinegar. 

Another Grandma

Monday after school we were all back at the bike rack. The guys were shooting the shit. Some of the guys were stradling their bikes, others leaning casually on their handlebars. Today the spiral of bruises up and down my arm were the topic of conversation. No one could get too close, as I still smelled strongly of vinegar. 

“It’s her! Scatter!” Doug shouted. Everyone jumped on their bikes and took off. Everyone that had a bike that is, which was everyone except me. 

Rachel and a much older version of Rachel were walking towards me. It was Rachel and her Cat Grandma! As Rachel wore one glove to hide her highly contagious diseased repulsive hand, her Grandmother wore two! The old one was twice as bad! 

I looked around. There was nowhere to go. Both were closing in. I had faced the Death Adler and won. With luck I could take these two! They wouldn’t dare get too close, the smell of vinegar would protect me! 

“I want to speak with you,” Rachels’ Grandmother said. Her eyes had me pinned. Her tone was commanding. I clearly had no choice in this.

“You did a good thing.” she intoned. “Come to my house tonight. 7 pm” she commanded. “Don’t be a minute late”

So why was I being punished? What did she want with me? I had saved Rachel from the snake, why was I being punished? 

7 PM

There was no way out of it. Rachel’s Grandmother had called my Grandma. Grandma had insisted I go, it wasn’t polite to turn down an invitation. Politeness also dictated I go with something for the hostess. 

So here I was, lemon squares in hand, walking as slowly as I dared towards the inevitable. Towards Rachel’s house. It was going to be awful. I would be sitting in a room filled with cats and doilies and everything in that house would have been touched by Rachel and her Grandmother. Everything was contaminated. 

I had cheated death with the Death Adler once already, but now I must face the music. I was going to get infected and die a social outcast. A loner. A leper. All before I even got my hands on a bike of my very own. Life wasn’t fair, and life was over!

Bravely I marched off towards Rachel’s house. Again, please note, I was once again on foot, remember the me not having a bike thing? It was still a problem. 

When I got there, I didn’t even need to knock. The smell of vinegar had announced my presence. 

“Boy, whatever is that sourness?” Rachel’s Grandmother questioned. 

“Ma’am, it’s just a bit of vinegar”. I lied. It was in fact a whole lot more than just a bit of vinegar. I had used the entire jug. Before I had left, I had helped myself to a very generous dousing of vinegar all over my arms and up over my face. I had doused myself in a protective covering of vinegar. I wasn’t going to get sick. Vinegar would save me! Thank you Grandma!

“Not the vinegar smell child.” she corrected me “the sourness, it’s coming from inside you. You don’t want to be here?”

She saw right through me. I stalled. 

“Lemon square?” I asked, holding the tray up. 

“Oh lovely” her tone shited. My Grandmother’s lemon squares were famous. “Come sit”.

I was directed to a chair, which was already occupied by a large orange cat. The cat gave me a disdainful look, sneezed and vacated the spot. The vinegar was working! 

Rachel came onto the porch. Eyes downcast, carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups. She placed the tray down and with gloved hands began to pour tea. 

Her Grandmother studied me as I sipped my tea. Eyes taking in all. Gloved hands help her tea cup delicately. She didn’t take a sip. 

“Child, we asked you here to thank you” she didn’t take her eyes off of me. I felt judged, not thanked. “You did a good thing. Saving my Rachel like that. Saving her from this Deah Adler”. 

From where exactly, I have no idea, but she produced the snake. Held tightly in her gloved hands. I stopped breathing. Eyes wide. 

“Oh child, this one can’t hurt you no more”

The Death Adler didn’t move. No rattling, no flaring, no struggle. 

“Is it dead?” I felt sick. 

“No child. Not dead.”

I was feeling dizzy. My vision was starting to go black on the edges. My breathing became labored. I wanted to get up. I needed to run home. 

“Wait child. Just wait. We just wanted to give Thanks”. She placed the snake on the ground. It slithered off towards the grass. “We know what it is you deserve, and we intended to give it to you”

My vision went completely black. I collapsed. 

Bad Dream 

As the sun spilled into my bedroom, birds sang outside. All was right in the world. I woke up slowly, rubbing sleep from my eyes. My mouth tasted of cotton. I looked at my arm, bruises from the Death Adler weren’t there. Recent events had obviously been nothing more than a bad dream. I was safe and sound in my own bed. But what a dream! The Death Adler. Rachel. Her Cat Grandma. All too weird.  I pulled back the sheets and climbed out of bed. 

Ryan and my Grandma were in the kitchen. Ryan playing with my G.I. Joes and Grandma making a pit of oatmeal for breakfast. 

I ignored the fact he was messing with my G.I. Joe. I would deal with that later. 

“Good Morning Pet” Grandma greeted me. She might have been planning to feed me oatmeal but she definitely loved me. “There’s something outside for you. Rachel and her Grandmother dropped it off this morning”.

I was still waking up and confused. Why would they be dropping off anything for me?

Curious, I peered out the window. There, leaning against the side of the garage was a bike. 

A brand new machine! A beauty of a beast. I ran to the bike. The wheels still had that beautiful fresh out of the factory smell. I ran my hands over those little rubber nubby hairs that still clung to the side. My gaze swept over the handlebars that reached gracefully up to the sky. They were the perfect balance between aiding sweet tricks and a relaxed posture for a leisurely cruise. 

My eyes took in the pedals. Black inlaid with orange rectangular reflectors. The kind of pedals that would mesmerize a motorist at night, orange lights seemingly floating and circling in the dark. 

The body of the bike was coated in gloss black. The bike shimmered, light dancing across it. The chrome shone brilliantly, perfectly polished. 

A thing of beauty.

Excitement surged as I climbed upon the bike. As I settled upon the seat, and gripped the handlebars, I felt the bike itself coil with excitement as it released a faint hiss. I looked down, and saw the bike shimmer, for a brief moment black gloss gave way to green and blue scales shimmering in the sun.