How Lust Rolls

I was pushin’ along atop my skateboard. I was on my way home from school and everything felt typical. Then I saw you. And I found my senses suddenly roused. I remember noticing you over my shoulder. I was preparing to bomb down a hill. The one on Anza going west between 11th and 12th avenues.
The sound of the cracks flying by under my wheels accumulated intensity as we picked up momentum. The volume and quickness of each ba-da crescendoed until it mimicked the rapid fire of a machine gun. I felt as if the sidewalk was growing smaller. I needed room to curve and swerve; to fly free and wild. I was readying myself to make my move onto the street, where many only traverse from within the false security of their gas-powered steel death traps. But you and me, we dare. We take up our space on the streets atop boards and bicycles. We ride alongside metal monsters completely exposed. We find it exhilarating.
I looked back over my shoulder to make sure I was clear to cut down the next driveway. Sure enough, you were right there. In my way. And I thought, “Way to ruin my flow.” But then I saw your bike. And how you looked riding it. It made me want to swerve right out in front of you all the more; if only so you’d pay me some attention as you dodged me. Or better yet, crashed right into me, taking us both out and intermingling our lives irrevocably thereafter. But I sensed that getting you to run me over might not be the best way for us to meet. I couldn’t take the chance of marring you or your noble steed. You might never forgive me. Then I might never forgive myself.
So I put my back foot down to slow myself and let you pass before I made my move. I think you noticed my efforts, because I sensed a faint smile of recognition. But I could not be sure, as I was distracted by the way your wheels rotated so smoothly around those axels. And your keen balance. How you sat, leaning forward, aiming straight as an arrow toward your destiny. Our destiny? Without so much as a glance back. As I fell in line behind you, my eyes became glued to that red blinking light that you so delicately placed right below your seat.
You rode through the bottom of the hill while I focused all of my forward flowing energy on you. On keeping behind you. On keeping up with you. Could you sense me? Hanging tight on your tail. Could you hear the static of my rubber wheels making friction against the gruff grain on the asphalt? Did it sound like my inclination to overwhelm you? I was impressed with my success at keeping up, skateboards being no match for the speed of a bike. Perhaps we were instruments of experimentation. Utilized by the god of gravity to prove the equivalence principle. We were objects of different masses falling along at the same rate.
I sensed you weren’t the type to succumb to gravity completely. You did have mechanistic advantages at your disposal. You weren’t one to let yourself get pulled along. You were one to be doing the pulling.
You fingered your shifter. I didn’t see it, as my vision was obstructed by your back side. But I know that you did so because I heard the chain drive lift. A quick cha-ching and all that wheel turning tension released. I saw your derailleur adjust, sliding over a smidgen. And your chain fell with ease onto the newly selected gear. The slots interlocked seamlessly with the gear grooves as if they would never let go.
Your new speed allowed you to pull forward, lengthening the gap between us. I mourned the loss of the close proximity we had shared. But I refrained from protest and let you go. You were going to have to stop at the red light ahead anyway.
You squeezed the handbrakes causing the brake pads to clamp down with just the right amount of pressure on your rim walls. Your unyielding wheels wanted to keep rolling through it, but the friction became too much to resist. They’d had enough. You came to a stop casually and let go. Finally all of your parts could rest.
I got back on the sidewalk, where I could roll up next to you to and consume your whole profile. Your frame looked crisp, that is, relatively new and well cared for.
It might’ve been the innocent sparkle in your gaze. Or maybe it was the way your hair hung, kind of frazzled with a leaf tangled in the mesh. Something about your aura told me you’ve spent time planting trees. I wanted to climb all up in your trees. I’d climb so high that my arms would quiver and my leg would shake.
Baby if you ever get a flat, I’ll patch it. If you ever need lubricant, I’ll apply it. If you ever want to just get away, I know a few routes we can ride. I’ll take you across town in any direction. And when we reach our destination we can anchor our rides down, sharing my U-lock. Naturally we’ll have to take some time getting into position, side by side and intrusively close. Perhaps with yours facing one way and mine facing the other so that our handle bars will have room to reach out over each other’s rear wheels. And I’ll spin my crank into just the right position so that our pedals will intertwine and protrude into the empty spaces of our frames. And after the lock is inserted securely, I’ll get to know you. Perhaps over polenta. And our bicycles will get to know each other too. And when we all have finished, we’ll pull apart with the utmost care. Slowly and gently we’ll come undone so as not to get anything awkwardly hugh up in our spokes or our cables. We’ll ride home together. And we’ll be thinking of what had just happened. The intimacy our bikes had shared and the possibility of greater intimacies that might be shared. But we’ll also be mindful to keep our cares on the road. Because it’d be tragic to get into an accident and ruin our current states of ecstasy.
You finally looked over at me from your place at the stoplight. I flipped my skateboard over with my foot, for lack of anything else to do. Then our light turned green and we were taking off again. I pushed harder than I otherwise would in effort to stay with you. I let my eyes fall from your blinking light and they landed on your feet. I watched you applying power to one. Then the other. I was in utter awe of your rotational prowess. You kept that gismo in gyration.
My mind wandered off to other circular motions I’d like to see you make. Whipping up eggs with an eggbeater. Rolling your eyes at something silly I said. Brushing your teeth.
I was forced from fantasy by sudden, startling headlights. I looked ahead, seeking your red blinking beacon. It was nowhere to be seen. There was not another soul on the road. I looked to each side down the street I was crossing and you weren’t there either.
Woe is me who let slip the sight of such a bodacious bicycle. Why is it that objects of such inspiration slip away so quickly into the ether?