top of page
Christina Fotinelli

THE BIKE

A dad takes his daughter for a spin on her brand-new10-speed bike.

1


Sofi looked lovingly at her handsome new bike as she laced up her shoes. She had begged her parents for months, promised that she wouldn’t ask for anything else for Christmas or her birthday for at least two years. She had emptied her piggybank contributing the princely sum of 743 drachmas and had argued emphatically why a boys’ bike is better than a girls’. In the end, her relentless badgering wore them down, that and the 15% back-to-school sale capitulated her parents’ objections and it had finally arrived. She was so close.


She had one foot out the door when her father – a science teacher – called out, “Sofi, come to the table. Let me explain how your new bike works.” With dread, Sofi eyed the fresh legal pad, a ruler, a protractor and three freshly sharpened No.2 pencils laid out on the kitchen table.  


An hour later, Sofi’s head was stuffed with chainrings, derailleurs, shifters, gear ratios - all the mechanics of a ten-speed bike. By the time they reached the mountain path it was crowded with cyclists, hikers and runners making the most of the sunny autumnal afternoon.


After adjusting the seat height and lifting her onto the bike – no helmet, no wrist guards, no kneepads (these were the 80s after all) – her father began his lecture anew. The graduation from the theoretical to the practical reigniting his enthusiasm for attention to detail and thus another excruciating half hour inched by.


Raring to go, Sofi started to pump the pedals but was held stationary by her dad’s firm grip. This was a brilliant father-daughter teaching moment, and he wasn’t about to squander it!  Sofi stared enviously at the riders whizzing by all around her.  


“Dad!” Sofi said, interrupting her dad as he was making a particularly salient point about the rear derailleur. “I get it. Please can I just have a go?”


“I’m just getting to the brake mechanics. Don’t you want to hear this bit?” her dad said hopefully.


“Daaaad!” Sofi pleaded.


“Ok honey, if you think you’re ready. Off you go!”


“Thanks Dad,” Sofi called over her shoulder as she sped up. Of course, not having paid a lick of attention to neither of her dad’s tutorials she found herself airborne the moment she attempted her first gear change.


Smarting from the fall. Sofi waited for the reprimand and subsequent lecture but as her dad ran up, he simply helped her up, straightened the bike and said, “You’re alright, you just mixed up your gear ratios. Remember, front is for hills back are for speed. It’s ok you’ll get the hang of it.”


Then he gave her the push she needed to get back up and try again.


2


It was almost four o’clock. Her dad had promised to teach Sofi how to ride her new bike after lunch, but her grandma wouldn’t leave. No hints, nudges, or kicks under the table by Sofi’s mother made any difference. When Grandma finally stood to go it was nearly five. Mom had dragged the bike up from the basement and plonked it loudly in front of the door.  


As Grandma stood in the hallway she cast a derisory glance at the bike.  Sofi held her breath.


“What is this?” Grandma said.


“It’s my new bike, Grandma. Isn’t it pretty?” Sofi replied.


Grandma snorted, “Pretty? I would not say that. It is a boys’ bike, and you are a girl.”


To her son, “John, why on earth did you buy Sofi a boys’ bike? It’s too much bike for her, she’s too young.”


“That’s what she wanted, and we decided she was ready,” Sofi’s mom said firmly. To her husband, “John, you promised you would take her today and it’s going to be dark soon.”


“Yes, but I have to take mother home,” her husband replied meekly.


Sofi felt her cheeks starting to burn and her eyes pricked with tears.


Twenty-five minutes later Sofi was on the mountain path. Her grandmother sat in the car in stony silence. The sun had set, and the cold was starting to settle in. Her father steadied the bike so she could climb on. The seat was too high, but Sofi didn’t want to waste precious time adjusting it. She strained to reach the pedals and started to roll forward. “Don’t be afraid Sofs,” her father said, “I’ve got you!”


Filled with confidence, Sofi started to pedal faster.  She didn’t hear the car window roll down or her grandmother snap at her dad, but she felt her father’s hand let her go.


Lying in the gravel with bits of stone in her palms and a bloodied knee Sofi leapt up and dusted herself off as her father ran towards her his face contorted with worry. She prepared to mount the bike, but her father took her by the hand and started to drag the bike towards the car. “You’re not ready yet. It’s too much bike for you. We can try again another time.”


Sofi never rode the bike again.


3


Sofi and her dad pulled into the parking lot and unloaded her new ten-speed boys’ bike. Her dad handed her his keys with a formal flourish. She looked at him quizzically. “It’s to cut the bow…. I forgot the scissors. Don’t’ tell mom she thinks I’m a scatterbrain.” Sofi giggled and started to saw at the wide red ribbon.   


“Have you given your new bike a name, yet?” her dad asked? “No Dad,” Sofi replied rolling her eyes, “Only babies name their bikes.”


“Ah, yes of course. Sorry!” her dad said smiling.


Sofi proudly pushed her bike onto the mountain path ignoring the mean girls who sneered at her for having a boys’ bike. She marched right past the boys who jeered that she was just a dumb girl, too stupid to figure out a ten-speed bike. Defiant, she mounted her bike and gave her dad a solemn nod. He gave her an almighty push and four seconds later she was eating dust. The shock dulled the pain which in turn dulled the hoots of laughter from the kids.


Her father ran up to her. “Sofi honey, are you ok? You forgot to pedal.” Sofi jumped back on the bike, gave him the signal for a push and pedalled like mad. Unfortunately, that’s all she did. She gripped the handles so rigidly they didn’t move left or right. She barrelled straight ahead sending runners, dogwalkers and grannies scattering. “Steer Sofi! Steer!” her dad shouted. She turned her head to look back and went down!


On her next try, Sofi picked up so much speed she panicked and jammed her brakes going ass over handlebars and narrowly missed a tree.  


Three attempts later and the longest she had stayed upright and in motion came to a sad 10 seconds.


By this time, the taunts were smarting more than her grazed palms and bruised knees and when her father ran over to her a single tear slid down her dusty face.


“Sofs, honey,” he said softly, “If you want to stop, we can come back next weekend. You’re getting tired and it’s a complicated bike, it will take some time to get the hang of it. It’s fine if you want to quit for today.”


Sofi stared at her dad. “I want to try again Dad.”


“Atta girl!”


By five o’clock Sofi had mastered the bike and was flying back and forth, weaving to the left to stick her tongue out at the girls and then veering right to give the finger to the cluster of boys as her father feigned horror from the sidelines.


On the way home, Sofi’s dad produced a handful of medicated wipes, some band-aids and a fresh outfit. “Dad, that was great! I can’t wait to tell Mom.”


“Maybe we just give her the highlights, eh Sofs?” he ventured, pausing to toss her torn and bloody clothes in the bin. Seeing the wisdom in his words Sofi nodded sagely.  


After a few moments of silence, she piped up again, “Dad, when will you teach me to drive your car?”

13 views0 comments

Comments


bottom of page