The Bike Ride

Pauline hated mornings. Between the dripping hot coffee, the sleep encrusted eyes she had to tirelessly scrub open, and the wet dew that coated her bike seat, she couldn’t stand it. If it was up to her, the day wouldn’t start until at least noon, tops.

However, it wasn’t up to her. With work starting at 8:00 AM and no time to work out after, she was forced to get her daily bike ride in when the first rays of light cast over the sky, fading the milky black into a dull blue sky. So, like clockwork, her alarm would go off at 6:00 AM, she’d angrily smash the snooze, sleep for another thirty, slowly get up, burn her tongue on the coffee, scrub blindly at her face, and lead her bike out to her street where, with slight hesitation, she’d sit down and begin to ride.

The first minute would be a breeze, the neighborhood flying by. However, by the time the second minute came around, Pauline would begin to sweat a little. The sweat, flicking off her forehead and falling unceremoniously on to the paved road would curse as she passed, shaking their small, watery fists and telling her to go to hell. Next, her breathing would become heavier, the puffs of air exhaled on her shoulders and joints, giggling as they pulled liberally at her strings. Pauline would then turn right, rounding the corner by the house that reeked of Halloween and carried on.

It won’t be until minute ten that doubt would creep into her mind, ignoring the “Do Not Disturb” sign hung loosely on her brain. Doubt would linger for a moment, and just when she thought she had kicked her out and rounded another corner, by the house that sells candles and weed, doubt would emerge behind her, growing rapidly from the size of a kitten to bellowing beast. Doubt would gallop behind her, every step taken cracking the earth beneath it. Pauline’s legs would go numb from the pedaling, going faster and faster as the monster’s strides grew longer and closer. Doubt would grow so big that car alarms would sound in distress as Pauline passed, and the rancid stink of the monster’s breath warmed her back as it began to close in.

Then, in the final moment, just as doubt’s claw would curl around her shirt tag and begin to tug, she would arrive home, back at her small, yellow house. Coming to a stop, she would wipe off the angry crowd of sweat, loosen the heavy breath from her bones, and leave doubt, now a kitten once more, on the driveway to dry off its paws before it could join her inside for a post-ride tea.