For the
next in this series of excerpts from my recently published memoir, Bike Hunt, I’ve chosen a bike hunt
story that reminds me how grateful I am to be healthy and able-bodied. This
last weekend was full of training, competing, and celebrating with my boxing
and tennis friends. Because of stories like this bike hunt, I know that just
one injury would sever these joys from my life. That thought is a gut punch to
me.
So today I give you the story of The Iron Maiden who helped
one man move freely again. She was a heavy steel, industrial blue, women’s-frame
ten-speed bike from a thrift store in Denver, which I took to Boulder for a
visit with a friend.
The next morning,
I headed straight to the shelter. As I pedaled up, there were a dozen guys
hanging out in a tight group. I stopped in the street next to them, got their
attention, gave my spiel and settled back on The Iron Maiden’s seat to take in
the reaction. Some laughed, others elbowed, teasing one guy that he needed a
bike to lose some weight, another that he could use it to leave town. Watching
the faces I was starting to wonder if I’d come up dry, when I heard a voice
from below.
“I need a bike,” the
voice said, this time sincere.
I looked down to
find lying on the sidewalk a Grizzly Adams type, complete with beard and
tussled blond hair, crutches at his side. I tuned out the jeers and moved
closer to hear him.
“My bike got
stolen about three months ago,” he continued, “and ever since, this sciatic
nerve has plagued me. When I was riding that bike, I was fine, could even work.
Now look at me. I’m a damned cripple.”
The jeers had
stopped. They were listening too.
“Wow,” I said,
“You definitely need a bike. But how do you know you can actually ride her?”
Rather than
answer, he struggled to sit up and then get to his feet, wincing. One of the
other guys helped him get his crutches. I got off The Iron Maiden and lined her
up near the curb. Using his crutches, he lowered himself into the street, then
handed them back to the guy who had helped. He took hold of her handlebar, slid
his leg carefully through her low-curved frame and eased himself onto the
saddle. The group hushed.
“Oh yeah,” he
said, like a mountain man astride a wild horse, “I can ride her, no problem.”
“I named her The
Iron Maiden,” I said. “You feel her weight?”
“That’s cool,” he
said with a daring grin as he gazed at all sides of his new ride. “That’s the
perfect name for her.”
At this, the group
erupted into hoots and applause.
The Iron Maiden’s Bike Hunt story is one of many throughout
the book. I’ve got my eye on several more to share on this blog. All will have
the label “Bike Hunt” so you can easily find them.
Better yet, you can buy your own copy of Bike Hunt to read all of the stories and
more. Find it through any online book vendor worldwide (Amazon, Barnes &
Noble, etc.) or order it through your local book store. We also have copies for
sale at www.OneStreet.org.
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