On The Tracks ✔

Chapter 19: 'What You Know About Cycling?'

Gabriella

Driving through the stoned pathway, I saw people carrying cute, thatch baskets. Buying from colourfully decorated vendors that smiled at every customer, the quaint town of Pietrapertosa was happy this morning- unlike how I was.

We passed civilians who chatted on the red and grey-brick sidewalk, and if you waved I guarantee you that they'll wave back. Some, just like us, were cycling. Helmet cladded heads popped up there and there, riding on savvy, limited edition bicycles- not like the worn out, cyan painted one I rode on.

I press the pedal down, gripping the dark, rubbery, aged, handles of the bicycle. Raffaele who was cycling in front starts humming- his baritone voice sounds so familiar.

Oh, did I mention we were on the same bike?

So yes, we are 'couple-cycling', a 'couple cycling', a 'cycling couple' – we are not a couple. We've been cycling for about 30 minutes, and I was getting tired, scratch that- I am tired.

"I'm doing all the work," I groan. I'm not, my feet rarely touch the ground but I just wanted to whine so we could get off the bicycle.

He snorted, "How are you meant to be a motorcyclist when you can't even ride a bike?"

I felt offended, and took my sun hat off my head and started to whack him with it, "You don't know, what it feels like to be under all that pressure, under that spot light," I'm sure he doesn't even know how to ride a motorbike, "you're no one to talk," I retorted.

"What do you know about cycling?" I recompose myself, placing my thatch, hand-crafted, sunhat back on my head.

He shook his head and focused on navigating us through the cute houses and lively markets, "More than you know," he spoke calmly.

I felt like a child when he said so.

Suddenly, I drop my legs on the ground, stopping us. We immediately halted. "I'm not going anywhere," I frown petulantly.

"Why?" He looked like he'd been waiting for me to stop.

"Today has been so tiring," I shook my head. "You woke me up at 7 this morning," I count with my fingers.

"Yes, and that still hurts," I smile sheepishly as he rubs the side of his face- I'm not abusive...just defensive...of my sleep.

"You made me cycle with you," his head turned to the side and a bemused expression covered his face, "On the same bike!" he just shrugged.

He positioned the bike to stand on by itself, by pulling down the stand and leaned on the grey brick wall beside him. "And what's it with the new clothes, buddy?"

I found denim, knee-high shorts on my bed, paired with a pale blue, oversized shirt, which I styled to fit me. And when I walked into the kitchen, I saw Mr. Hotshot wearing the exact same thing but with a denim jacket.

I was about to go back and change, when he grabbed my arm, and said 'Let's go cycling'. I shook my head, the only riding I'll be doing is on the dirt bike he's supposed to fix – I need it by tomorrow, so I can start practicing for Thursday. A few days from now.

Before, I could bring myself out of my reverie, I found myself on a seat. With Raffaele in front of me, "The faster you cycle, the faster we get off this thing," and that about did the trick.

"So you want me to do all the work?" I enquired unimpressed. We started cycling but after a few minutes, I stopped once more. I still have questions.