The Bikes are Home!

Yesterday, the morning dawned with a gray drizzle. We set our clocks ahead for daylight savings last week and ever since the mornings have seemed slow to brighten. Today’s dark clouds just made it worse. As I begrudgingly rolled out of bed, I was struck by how difficult it can be to will my feet to the floor some days. I felt so tired. Then, I remembered. Today was the day. Oakley and I were getting our bikes. It filled the day with promise. As soon as I finished work and Oaks finished school we could pick them up.

A few hours later, I was sitting in my counseling office, listening to my first client who was struggling with depression. “Look at this,” she said gesturing out the window. ” How could anybody be happy when this is what greets you when you go outside.” It was raining heavily now. The sky was dark, and on the ground below we could see puddles, ice flows cascading from water spouts and mounds of exhaust-covered snow that was stubbornly refusing to melt. In Portland, Maine, there are often mountains of snow where plows have piled it until well into May. They are ugly things, mixed with sand, salt, and litter.

We discussed the impact of a lack of vitamin D, which most people from Maine suffer from, as well as seasonal affective disorder, and helpful “behavioral activation” strategies, but the whole time I sat with her I felt a fluttering in my chest like I had a little sparrow in my pocket. I wanted to say, “I know just what you are feeling, and that is why I am getting out of here! I am getting a bike today and soon will be cycling across America with my son!” But, it wasn’t time yet, and this wasn’t about me, and I kept quiet.

After several more counseling sessions and an hour or two of paperwork, 3:00 o’clock finally came. I grabbed my coat, locked my door and hustled out to pick up my son and head to the Portland Gear Hub. The clouds were beginning to loosen their hold on the sky and a warmth was filling the air. I realized that if Oakley and I walked to the shop we could ride the bikes to his after school activity and then home. No dirty, salt-encrusted, trash-filled car for us to fight commuter traffic in-we would travel free and easy. I jauntily strode through town greeting passerby’s, smiling and feeling magnanimous with my joy. That was until I got to where Oakley was waiting.

His hoody was drawn up over his head, his skin was pale and his eyes dark. I could tell he was looking for somebody to blame a bad mood on. Lucky me. “Hey, Oaks, let’s get them!” I exclaimed a bit too happily when I saw him, trying to ignore his foul demeanor.

“You are kidding me. We are not walking,” he scowled when he noticed there was no car in sight.

“Sure are” I chirped.

“No way. I am not. You can’t make me. I am going home. I am not biking.”

“Come on, Oaks,” I said. He thrust his hands into his sweatshirt pocket and pushed them down with clenched fists. He muttered something under his breath that we are probably both lucky I didn’t hear.

When Oakley is feeling unhappy he can sound and act incredibly selfish and entitled. He lashes out, utters statements that he only means in the moment, but are soon forgotten. Intense storms build inside him that are comprised of equal parts hormones, exhaustion, too many mundane tasks, and unsettled social drama. I take solace in the fact that these irrational outbursts happen to all teenagers. They always pass.

He did indeed walk, but he made me pay for it by using the time to tell me everything that I do wrong, from how I cross the street, how I don’t walk fast enough, how I don’t let him quit various after-school activities, to how annoying I was in general.

As Oakley and I walked, the sky continued to brighten. Twice I had to make him stop and take deep breaths to quiet his rage. Twice I had to make him apologize for crossing the line of disrespect. And once I became flustered when I realized that as Oakley mouthed off angrily at me, one of my clients was walking behind us. Finally, just as we made it to the Gear Hub the sun burst through the clouds. The parking lot in front of the store had been gathering heat from the brightening sky and the puddles on it began steaming. I had to take off my jacket before I even made it to the door. Brian was working, and as we arrived he threw open the large garage bay doors and let the growing warmth of outside fill the store.

And there they were. Waiting. All of Oakley’s bad mood vanished as he set his eyes on his new bike. “Can I test drive it?” he asked “Absolutely,” replied Brian, and Oaks was gone. He pedaled around and around the parking lot testing gears and breaks and stability. I grabbed hold of mine and studied the components.

V-brakes, easy to fix and capable of fitting fenders under. Bar end friction shifters, again easy to fix and hard to break. Sealed bottom brackets and a sealed head set to keep things smooth and grit free. All the bearings systems had been freshly overhauled and replaced and both hubs were adjustable. The wheels are double-walled and the tires are super puncture resistant. They are Schwalbe Marathon Plus “Flatless” tires which I am sure we will safe us many a dispirited afternoon. Both bikes have wide drop-down handlebars. In fact, all the components on our two bikes are identical to each other to enable us to bring one set of replacement parts and use one repair kit and learn one system. My bike has a lovely purple steel/cromoly Specialized touring frame, long and low with a Surly fork. Oakley’s is a KHS Sport with steel tubing as well. Our guru, Ainsley, at the Gear Hub had worked hard to keep the price of these beauts down by using recycled parts whenever available, but making sure the components were durable and touring appropriate.

I paid as quickly as I could, thanked Brian profusely and took off after Oaks. He flew down the road, and I chased him. The storm inside Oakley and over Portland was over. We biked to his drum lesson at Mid-Coast Music and he proudly told his instructor all about his new bike and our trip. The instructor commented that Oaks seemed really amped. Good to know. After the lesson Oaks asked if we could go the long way home. This was music to my ears. “Meet me at the ferry!” he called over his shoulder as he took off, far faster than I will ever manage, becoming one with his bike.

The sun shone down. Golden light filled the air. Spring had come. My nifty little bicycle and I toddled along, getting to know each other, sloshing through puddles and spraying ourselves with mud and grime. I was dreaming of what to name her. Bellisimo? Tiger? I hadn’t a care in the world.

When I arrived at the ferry Oaks was waiting for me. “There you are,” he said, “I am going to hate this bicycle sometimes, a lot, but I like it now. It is awesome.” And he was grinning.