This kid was maybe twelve, but small for his age. His personality though, was big for his age. Big confidence, big mouth, big attitude. I’m out on my bike, shaking off the summer rust. The skate park on FAMU Way is going off. All the big kids are out. A pack of 30 or more riders hoot by, all on gravel bikes from what I could tell. I can’t keep up, in thought or action, with the bike scene these days. When I saw them coming I reflexively shifted down to try to catch the last rider, but they were past me before I could even turn around.
“YO LET ME RIDE YOUR BIKE DUDE.”
He’s got one foot on the ground, the other leg hitched up on the pedal, ready to go. It’s a matte black, full suspension Wal-mart bike, pretty new. He’s with a buddy, hanging back, like he’s seen this play before. I’m watching the skaters boost airs off the coping, but these two are watching me. I put him off telling him I’ve got special pedals, and I snap a foot in so he can see. He looks at that with his nose wrinkled like I stepped in shit.
“WHY YOU WANT THOSE MAN?” I start to explain ,but cuts me off, already over it.
“HOW MUCH YOUR BIKE COST?” I lie and say $700.
“DANG!” He looks at his silent buddy who is shaking his hand like he burned it- a move I recognize from when I was their age admiring a sweet bike.
One of the big kids pushes hard and ollies over the vertical drop into the cement bowl. His wheels hit the concrete and an echo snaps around the park.
“YOU CAN DO THAT?”
“Absolutely not.” I answer.
“BECAUSE YOU’RE BIG RIGHT?”
“This little shit!” I think to myself, but I say, “No you brat, because I’m old.” He throws his head back and belly laughs like this is the greatest joke ever.
“I’m fifty-six years-old dude. I need to be riding, not in the hospital.”
“FIFTY-SIX? WOW.” He sizes me up like I’m the 8th Wonder of the World.
This whole time, his big-eared buddy is trying to get a word in, but he’s interrupted every time he starts, resulting in a rhythmic croaking sound. We share a commiserating shrug. We both know who is in charge here.
I show the boss my pedals, and how my shoes snap into them. That’s my excuse for not letting him ride my bike. He is not impressed.
“I CAN DO IT.” Of course, he can do it. I get the impression this kid can do anything.
“Time for me to go home.” I say. “Where are yo boys riding to anyway?”
“We’re going to the Pigly Wigly.” He tells me, which is 3 miles away down the bike path.
“You better get rolling then. You got some work to do. It’s really nice to meet you guys.”
Croaker croaks back politely, then the boss says, “GOOD TO MEET YOU TOO. YOU’RE COOL. YOU GOT A COOL BIKE.”
And that my friends, is why bicycles are magic.
Juancho
