The Bell

The tires were screaming (or was it me) as they dug into the downhill curve.  My bike computer was displaying numbers previously unseen.  (I’m a cruiser, not a racer!)

It had all started innocently enough.  My sister had generously offered the use of her vacation home in the beautiful North of Michigan.  My wife and I were getting away for a long weekend.   We brought our bikes to get in some leisurely cruising.  The weather was perfect.  Northern Michigan was at its best.  We had been riding for a couple of years after having my knees replaced.  Still can’t jump over my garage.  The next set of knees will do the trick. 

I need to put this in context.  I live in a suburb of Detroit.  A very flat suburb of Detroit.  Almost exactly unlike the rolling hills of Gladwin.  That is where the trouble began. 

My bike is a joy to ride. It has 21 speed gearing and a design well suited to the balance unsure.  I fall down a lot.  My bike has fenders, a back rack, front basket, trip computer, puncture resistant tires, and bright lighting fore and aft.  It is a thing of Beauty.  But it had a flaw.  It didn’t have a bell.  I purchased a shiny bell that matched the paint on my bike.  I always wear a helmet.  I always observe traffic laws and usually ride with common sense.  I am careful.  If you fall down regularly you try to minimize the impact, so to speak.  Gravity is another law that I always obey. 

There is a thing about hills and bikes.  Lung straining, blood eagle sacrifice uphill followed by gravity powered, free in the wind exhilaration downhill.  Being a creature of comfort I chose the series of small rises followed by a short level section rather than the long climb to the right of an oval around a golf course.  We reached the top, gazed upon the scene and headed down the long curvy hill.  My wife being a person of common sense (ever notice how opposites attract?) applied her brakes and kept her speed down.  I leaned into the handlebars and set gravity loose.  I was free in the wind!  I was the wind!  A note of uncertainty crept into my thoughts.  This is pretty fast.  As the brakes were applied to little avail my wobbling red juggernaut approached a sharp curve.  A truck coming up the hill felt more like a target than a part of the passing scene.  Time slowed down.  I didn’t think I could make the curve.  I looked for options that didn’t involve painful intimacy with the front of a gold GMC 2500 series with eight bolt hubs and Calvin making a statement about Fords in the window.  I could just make it across the road onto the landscaped yard across the street narrowly missing my rendezvous with Detroit Iron.  Then I saw her.  Facing away, bent over tending her roses with diligent care.  Directly in my trajectory.  I had to warn her!   I could not speak.  My teeth were clenched in terror. A bell! I could ring my bell.  My uninstalled bell...  My bell sitting in the box.

There are moments that stay in your brain with a clarity that time cannot dim.  For some damn fool reason I could not run into her.  Slaughter of the Innocent, perhaps.  I wrenched the bars over, leaned into the curve and narrowly missed eternity by a fraction of a distance too small for me to relate.  The driver’s eyes met mine for an instant.  And then she swept past.  We will always have Gladwin.

         The moral of this cautionary tale is to take each moment as it comes but to make sure you are equipped for that moment.  The bell almost tolled with a price sticker on the packaging.