white poison industries

When we last left the story, I had unsuccessfully gone in search of a police auction of bicycles. Dejected and discouraged, I returned home and occupied myself with other things, like job applications, jewelry making, and watching Law & Order on cable.

But I would not be denied. On Friday, I went back to Craigslist. I was doing a cursory search when I found a post for a purple mountain bike for $15. I like purple things, and I really liked the price tag. I called and talked to a child who passed me on to another, slightly older child. He gave me their address and said I could come right away. I agreed but was slightly disturbed by this turn of events. I don’t have kids, but I remember elementary school. Rule 1 – it’s not good to give your address to strangers. Stranger Danger people, come on! I could have been a crazy kid snatcher or something.

Thanks to the lack of Stranger Danger training, I had a date for bike buying. However, this date illuminated the second obstacle to learning to ride a bike. When you know nothing about bikes and can’t ride one, it’s difficult to know if the bike you’re buying is any good.

As it turned out, fate was on my side. At exactly the moment I was getting into the car, one of my oldest friends called to make plans for breakfast the next day. This may seem completely unrelated, except I knew she knows how to ride a bicycle. Even more fortuitously, she needed a break from grad school homework. Alway happy to use people and oblige their desires at the same time, I drove to her house, abducted her, and took her to test the bike.

We were met at the door by the older kid from the phone. He couldn’t have been more than 12. He was very quiet, monosyllabic almost. When he did speak, it was in a uneven, gravely voice of someone who is either going through puberty and stays quiet so no one notices when he shoots into his upper register or smokes two packs a day and sings at a blues club at night. Wouldn’t it be great if it were both?

He told me the bike was his mom’s. I was afraid he was going to follow up by telling me she had died or lost a leg or something and that’s why they were selling the bike. Luckily, she just went back to work and didn’t have time to ride anymore. I don’t think I could have faced the awkwardness of buying this kid’s crippled mom’s bike.

My friend, in true helper fashion, took the lead. She looked at the bike, sized it up. She hopped on and took a ride around the block. I think she took her duty very seriously, and only enjoyed the ride a little, if at all.

During the test ride, I tried to make awkward small talk with the 12 year old. He didn’t care that I was going to learn to ride a bike or that I had abducted my friend to test it for me. In fact, I’m pretty sure he wanted to get away from me as soon as possible. He, at least, got the fact that I could be potentially dangerous.

When my friend got back, she said it was a good bike for the price. It was missing a front brake cable and needed air in the tires, but otherwise it was in working order. And since all I really wanted was a seat, two wheels, and pedals held together in some semi-recognizable fashion, I agreed to take the bike.

I had put $14 (all the cash I had) in my purse, and had a loan of $6 from my mom in my pocket.

I feel the need to explain the $6 loan. I have made it a priority not to take money from my parents while I crash in their house, eat their food, and watch Law and Order from their cable service. I mean, you have to have standards while being a free-loader. However, I didn’t have time to go to the ATM because the kid was expecting me, and as often happens in my life, I got distracted while trying to get out of the house, so I borrowed $1 from my mom. She then gave me an additional $5, I suppose to use in case the kid played hardball. (Like he was going to be a master negotiator.)

I found the $6 easily. Then I reached into my purse for my $10 bill. I couldn’t find it. Really? I couldn’t find the money I needed to pay the monosyllabic adolescent staring at me like I was an idiot? Really? I looked at my friend, silently pleading for back-up, asking if a loan would be possible with my eyes while trying to maintain face in front of the kid. She started laughing, and I knew I needed to look harder because she was going to be completely useless in the cash department.

Luckily, as I searched one last time, I found it in a pocket I never use. I can only assume I put it there to keep it safe, and thought that I would remember it was there for the express purpose of obtaining this bike. Anyway, I separated the $10 from the four $1s, paid the kid, and took possession of the handle bars. He looked at us, the bike, the car and asked how we were getting the bike home. I told him, with complete confidence, that the seats in the car folded down, and we’d be able to slip the bike in through the trunk. He shrugged and walked away, never to be heard from again.

My friend and I rolled the bike down the driveway to the car. I had borrowed my dad’s car because, as I said, the seats fold down, and that seemed like a plus when transporting a bike. We opened the trunk, lifted the bike and started sliding it in. Surprisingly, it didn’t fit. After tugging and pushing and laughing, it still didn’t fit.

We were now facing the third obstacle in this bike extravaganza; how to get the bike home. (and if anyone says, “you could just ride the bike home. that would teach you to ride. hahaha” I swear I’ll kick you. Don’t be that person.)

We decided that the bike would fit if we took the front wheel off. We went to work. The bolts were tight, and our hands couldn’t do the job. There were no tools in the car. My parents were both on the other side of town, working outside, away from their phones. So even if we got ahold of them, we would have had to loiter in front of this house for like 20 minutes while they drove to us.

My friend, being less prideful than me, asked if I wanted to go to the door and ask for a wrench. I responded with an adamant NO. I was NOT going to ask the kid for a wrench. I didn’t need to be judged any further by the 12 year old who had already sized up the situation and knew there was no way that bike was fitting in this car.

Being resourceful women, we looked around for a solution. The only thing in the car was a set of jumper cables that my ultra-prepared father keeps in the trunk. Those suckers are meant to grip things, granted it’s car battery terminals, but no harm comes from trying. We grabbed the jumper cables, clamped one to the first bolt, squeezed the front of the clamp and twisted. It worked!!! On to the second bolt. Clamp, squeeze, twist. Nothing. We twisted again…twisted harder, traded spots, and twisted once more. The bolt moved, flaking off some paint or rust in the process, but it moved. Eventually we got both bolts unscrewed, the wheel came off, and the the bike fit beautifully in the back of the car. Success! Take that 12 year old!!