The Bike Ride by John Coultas

This is a scene from a story Tripping over Murder

Janeane's hair flew out behind her; she inhaled the cool country air as she pumped at the bike pedals, swishing along the grass lined road. The green of the fields was broken by the occasional farmstead or the fiery colors of the woodlands. The track steepened forcing her to stand on the pedals, Stairmaster style, bursts of breath coming from her mouth. At the crest of the hill she stopped and looked down upon Somerset, the stiletto like white church spire, the somber brick town hall and further out on the cape the solitary lighthouse; she felt a warm surge from the picture card beauty, and from the exertion of the ride.

Putting her finger tips to her carotid artery she checked her pulse. If she was going to kill herself she wanted to know that the effort had been worth it. She smiled at the results, satisfied she had gotten a good workout. She flipped the bike around and headed downhill. The slope carried her along at a good speed, just coasting, enjoying the ride. She savored the g-forces going through the curves, and the breeze mussing her hair. And then, on the next curve there was a flash, something metallic on the road surface, then a bump, and a thump, thump, thump as she came to a halt with a deflated front tire.

Getting off she gave the wheel a spin, a thick screw was impaled in the tire. No spare tire obviously, no spare tube or tool kit, this was going to be a long walk back home pushing the bike. On the ride up she had not seen any cars, at one of those farms, she would phone. But who would she phone. Mary Smart? Officer Dan, he would give her a good chewing, going out without tools and a spare inner tube. She would have to get to a phone before that decision would be made.

She tried to make the best of the situation, there was warmth in the sunshine, the field exuded a fresh sweet aroma and the birds trilled from the groves. An explosion behind her shattered the quiet. She jumped. Turning she saw the source, bearing down upon her was a massive wall of yellow, splotched with flowers of multicolors, red, purple and blue. It screeched to a halt, smoke spewing from where the brakes probably were housed or not. As the window was rolled down, a sweet, heavy fog oozed forth; and a bandana wrapped head and sunglasses popped out to view the deflated tire, "Man, your bike is dead," The wearer suggested.


"Flat tire," Janeane countered.

"That too man," His head started nodding, it just kept going, it didn't want to stop. His hand came onto the scene with a funny, thin twisted cigarette, he sucked, and then it disappeared into the van. The head continued the bobbing, his lips pursed, "Yeah man, dead. Put it in back; give you a lift to town."

Janeane froze. Standing with the bike between her and the head bobber she could run for the field, maybe find her way to a farm before she became just another crime statistic. Bobber cracked his door open just as Janeane heard the drivers side pop as well. God, now she was in deep stuff. Two of them chasing her, she remembered the nature films where one pursuer comes on strong while the other holds back, then comes on for the kill, she shuddered. But then it was too late. Around the front of the bus came a figure, maybe six-four, muscular, denim vest, tight jeans, Harley cap snugged down over long flowing blonde hair. "Sweetheart let me help you with that." She gripped the crossbar with one hand, went to the back, flipped up the door and popped the bike in. Janeane's feet shuffled in the roadside grit unsure what to do; The Bobber just continued the bob, interrupted by intermittent drags on his smoke. Muscle girl/woman came forward to slide the passenger door open, exposing two children quietly sucking on their thumbs.

"Jump in," Muscles suggested. Behind the children there was space where camping gear and duffels were stacked. "We'll take you down to Somerset, that okay?" Muscles inquired.

Janeane gave this some quick consideration. They had her bike, there were kids on the scene, they wouldn't bump her off in front of the kids, would they? She summoned a wan smile and slid onto a low-lying duffle as the Bobber rolled the door closed. Then Mom and Dad sat themselves up front. Muscle Mom looked to her cargo, assured all was in order. From her vest pocket she pulled a cloth bag and a packet of Bugler roll-your-own paper. She pulled out a sheet, making a trough, sprinkled something from the pouch, folded and licked it sealed. Looking in the rearview mirror she held up her project, "Want one?" Muscles asked.

Janeane declined with a soft, "No thanks." She thought to herself, “Am I coming over prissy, Is that how I sounded...judgmental,” She tried to return a pleasant neutral smile. Mom lit-up, took a deep drag and then turned over the engine, it gave a pop, shudder and then the engine smoothed out to a gentle rumble. She eased on to the road, and the Bobber began rolling another, a family that ... well a family they are. Janeane was just glad to be on the way home. The open windows pushed the smoke to the rear, little wonder that children were so mellow. She ran her hand across her mouth hoping to avoid the smoke, somehow.

As the road descended into town the smokes were crushed, but saved to a pocket,

Janeane gave directions to the coffee house; she needed her drug of choice. The bus rattled to a stop. Bobs jumped out to open the side door and Mom got the bike from the back. Janeane gave thanks for her deliverance, and found her way to her coffee hangout.

The bike was pushed with one hand, Janeane's other held the paper sack with coffee latte and oatmeal cookies, that would be dinner, not nutritious but a dinner of sorts. Down the sidewalk to her house she went. "Oh, no!" Her interior voice shouted, at her house she saw the stakeout. Officer Dan in civvies camped on her front steps. She approached with caution, kicking down the bike stand, awaiting the critical assessment of her condition and that of her personal eco-transporter. He stood back taking in the disheveled hair and the flattened tire. "Appears you had one tough day," He exhaled as he stood, pulling Janeane close his nose twitched, and he pushed her back. "Where have you been and what have you been doing?" Came the gruff, professional cop voice. Frown lines grooved his forehead, hands on hips he hovered over her, and sniffed like a DEA drug hound.