Sunday ride

Sunday afternoon. Fair weather as far as the eye can see.

I wheeled out my bicycle from our house unto the dirt path beside the highway, slowly, as I steered clear from the incoming trucks and cars that sped away. I turned to one side and started accelerating parallel to the highway. Each vehicle that passed me sends me angry dusty winds. I wobbled the first few times the air slapped me – right on the face, hard – but I continued to ride on, my balance in check.

Further on, as I pedaled to my heart’s desire, I felt ecstatic to be on a newly-painted, well-oiled bicycle with air-filled wheels, soft new seat and new rubber handlebars. Maybe I should buy myself a bike when I get back to university.

Minutes later, I stopped pedaling. My legs have gone weary, unfit to join a marathon, though I have no plans to join one just yet. I let my momentum push me further on.

A blaring horn sounded from behind; a 12-wheeler was speeding up on the asphalt road. On the opposite side, I saw a passenger bus coming in fast. Out of the blue, an SUV maneuvered from the back of the bus towards the wrong lane, honking to get attention, racing to overtake the bus before they reach the curve. But the truck was closer now, and the SUV must make a move soon.

I was frozen as I watched the vehicles– an action sequence unveiling, without slow motion effect. Adrenaline pumped hard into my bloodstream. I removed myself from my bicycle and ran in a haze towards the uncannily-located vacant lot (a blessing? maybe), away from the accident waiting to happen.

And so it happened that the truck managed to avoid the head-on impact by swerving onto the dirt path, giving way for the SUV to finish overtaking the bus, and, consequently, successfully, crushing my bicycle. Another moment passed, it was quiet again. Slowly, I walked back towards the wreck that was once my bike, hands and knees still shaking from the adrenaline rush. I propped up what’s left of my two-wheels and started walking home.