Flash Fiction - Ian

Ian Vogler

Flash Fiction

Biking, REAL Biking

                The first day I rode my bike without training wheels was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I watched my Dad loosen, then unscrew, then knock off the bolts holding on the extra wheels. Freedom! Those red rusty pieces of metal that had held me back from so many bicycle adventures were finally gone. The clickity and the clackity of the plastic-on-tar sound that only training wheels could make was silenced at last by a liberal application of WD-40 and wrench. They did not come off easy, no sir, and I watched my Dad throw them across the yard in triumph once they were separated. Training wheels didn’t belong on my bike; after all I was a brave bicyclist, I was a fearless bicyclist, I was 6.

                My first two cranks of the pedals went so smoothly I assumed I was an instant pro. What I neglected to remember was that I was being supported by my Dad during those two cranks, and it was the third crank when I realized that I was actually doing it! I was biking! Crank number four went just as well, then crank number five, and then it seemed as if gravity was turned back on during crank number six and I realized I was in trouble. A little wobble, a big wobble, frantic turning of the handle bars to maintain control and then bailing off the bike seat to save my life. I hit the ground hard. The tar scrapping my elbows and knees, my helmet protecting my young developing mind and my Dad running at me shouting comfortable things and trying to sooth my damaged pride. Freedom was difficult.

                Later that day, after band-aid application and lunch, I was ready to give it another go. As I straddled the seat everything felt different. This bike had betrayed me. This bike, a bike I was so excited to ride, had thrown me to the ground! I had to conquer it. With my Dad’s strong hands around my shoulder I started cranking. Two, three, my dad lets go, four, five, six, seven and I was cooking! Actually, I was going way too fast. It felt like I was doing mach-6 at crank nine and by crank ten I realized there was no escaping my doom. The car wasn’t even moving. It was just parked in the street minding its own business. I don’t know why I couldn’t avoid it, I just couldn’t turn! The rear bumper met my front tire and I smashed into the vehicle with the force of a full grown teenager. My face hit the car first (it actually knocked out a baby tooth) followed by the rest of my body as I came to an immediate stop. I was only physically hurt temporarily with a few more scratches and one less tooth but my Dad decided to end the biking for the day. It must have been dinner time.

                That night I tried to fall asleep but just couldn’t. Buzz Lightyear, on my Toy Story blanket, kept staring at me through the gloom of my nightlight lit room. He must have known I failed. After a while I just couldn’t take it anymore and decided to go get a glass of water from the kitchen to quench my boredom. I crept down the stairs, being quiet so I didn’t get yelled at, and into the kitchen only to find my Dad already there. He was kneeling on the ground by my bike, muttering to himself and tightening the training wheels back on my bike.