The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1049 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“And do you know why she changed her hair colour?”

Simon looked up from his newspaper, “No, but I’ve a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“She has about seven piercings in each ear.”

“Really?” he continued reading his newspaper.

“Simon, this is our daughter, we’re talking about...”

“Yes, dear,” he continued reading.

“Oh thanks for your involvement.”

“It’s a girl thing, you usually deal with those.”

“Self-mutilation isn’t a girl thing.”

“I’d hardly call it that, Cathy, I think you’re overwrought.”

“I am not, just because I care what our children are doing to themselves—you’re a fat lot of help.” I stomped out of the kitchen and upstairs where I met Billie coming down them.

I looked at her and said sharply, “You, Missy, can take that lot off right now.”

“Why, Mummy?” she was close to tears.

“Because we’re going for a bike ride—yes?”

“Oh yeah, Mummy,” she turned and flew up the stairs.

I went up and changed into my cycling strip, tied my hair back in a ponytail and clomped down the stairs followed shortly by Billie.

“Going swimming are we?” said Simon sarcastically.

“No, I’m taking my newest daughter cycling. Look after the others won’t you—we’ll be about an hour.”

He gave me an expression of disbelief as Billie and I slipped past him and out to the bike shed. I checked the bikes over quickly. “That back tyre looks a bit soft, put some air in it,” I instructed Billie.

“I don’t know what to do, Mummy.”

I showed her how to open the Presta valve and push on the connector from the track pump and secure the connection by lifting up the locking lever. It took her a few goes and the tyre was nearly flat by the time we got the connection sorted. Then there was much puffing and panting as I explained we needed to get the pressure up to at least one hundred pounds per square inch.

At about sixty psi, she looked at me with pleading eyes. “Come on, at least another forty pounds.”

“I can’t, Mummy.”

“I think you’d better get some practice in—because if you have a puncture out on a ride, you’re going to be stuck, aren’t you?”

She shrugged and said, “I’d have to ride it back with the flat tyre or walk.”

“If you ride on a flat tyre, you’ll wreck your tube and possibly the tyre, or worse, the actual rim. That gets expensive as well as being bad cycling practice.”

“But, I can’t mend a puncture.”

“I’ll show you how, the proper way and also with these self adhesive patches, which are okay for getting you home, although generally, I carry a spare tube, sometimes two.”

“Have I got one, Mummy?”

“No, I thought one of the others could buy you a small saddle bag and the rest could buy you the bits to go with it, a few tools and a nice pump—like this one.” I patted the Topeak ‘Road Morph’—one of the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a few over the years.

“What, for my birthday?”

“Yes, if you’re happy, that is?”

“I—um—was hoping for more girl stuff.” She looked at the floor.

“Don’t you think riding a bike is girl stuff, then?”

“Oh yes, Mummy.”

“And being able to fix minor stuff, too—is that girl stuff as well?”

“Um—I don’t know, Mummy. I guess most kids would get their dads to fix it.”

“So have you never heard of self-sufficiency?”

“I think I’ve heard of it, but I dunno what it means.”

“It means being able to things for yourself and being independent, it’s very feminist, because it makes you equal in some ways to boys or men.”

“But you’re a lady, Mummy—how do you know all this?”

“Because my Daddy made me learn, and once I found I could do some things, I tried more difficult things, and sometimes I made mistakes, but mostly, if I put things back as I found them, they worked reasonably well. I used to write it down if I had to adjust anything—so many turns to loosen or tighten something.”

“Did your daddy tell you to do that?”

“No—he’d given up once I had the derailleur in bits. That was beyond him, and he just said, ‘You can put all that back together or find someone who can, because you’re not getting any new stuff.’ So that’s what I did.”

“What’s a drailer?”

“Derailleur—it’s the type of gears most bikes have—very basic but reasonably efficient, some people prefer hub gears, but the best of those are very expensive...” I looked at her and she had a glazed look in her eyes. I wondered if I was doing the same to her that my dad did to me, only she’s running away from it, whereas I fought back by learning more about bikes than he did. It was the first area where I could actually intimidate him. In the end, he used to ask me to adjust his gears and repair his brakes when he broke the cable. It gave me a great sense of self belief—I was good at something and he knew it.
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“Do you like fiddling with bikes, Mummy?”

“Yes, why?”

“But you get all dirty?”

“So? Lots of girls have a thing about horses, and I’d rather get my hands dirty with a little bit of oil than horsesh—um droppings, wouldn’t you?”

She paused to think about it then did something unbelievably girlish, “Ugh, horse poo,” she said as she made a face and put her hands up in front of her upper chest and wiggled her fingers in disgust.

“Right, Missy, before I let you ride out on your own—you’ll need to make sure you have your mobile with you, and be able to fix a puncture. Until then, you can only go out with an adult or a club. Okay?”

“Will I need a big club—‘cos I don’t think I’ll be able to carry it, Mummy.” She gave me a expression of bewilderment and all I could do was to laugh and hug her.

“You, nit, I meant a cycling club—not some device for bashing people. Mind you, one or two people I’ve met would probably be better if someone did give them a good bang on the head with a club.” I mimed riding by and bashing people on the head and she giggled.

We did eventually get our ride in—we did ten miles again, which she coped with very well—next time we’ll do twelve or more. She had certainly got the idea of clipless pedals—in fact it was me who nearly fell off, I was so busy watching her that I very nearly forgot to unclip myself at some traffic lights—I only just made it, getting my foot down before I fell in front of a parked car the driver of which would have thoroughly enjoyed my fall from grace.

Back at the house, Leon was weeding the vegetable patch as we arrived. He’d met Billie in her new guise before, but he still did a double take at her painted fingernails. I could almost see the wheels turning as he thought back to last weekend.

“Good ride?” he asked, standing bent over the potatoes as he plucked some unfortunate weed from the rows of nascent spuds.

“Yes, she’s improving—aren’t you sweetheart?”

“Not compared to you, Mummy? Do you know what a drailer is, Leon?”

“A drailer—you don’t mean derailleur, do you—you know bike gears?”

“You do know.”

“Yeah, I s’pose I do.”

“Can you mend them?”

“Depends what goes wrong, I can do the basic adjustment of tightening the cable after that I take it to the bike shop, why—yours aren’t broken are they?”

“No, Mummy, knows lots about bikes and she can mend drailers, too.”

Leon looked at me, “I’ve seen her workshop and all those tools—so I believe it. A lady of many talents, your mum.”

I blushed as Billie agreed with him. My embarrassment was short lived when Trish suddenly appeared and with hands on hips demanded, “And where did you go?”

It’s probably just as well there were witnesses present, although I suspect they’d have helped me bury the body—she isn’t that big.