“His name is Sprocket,” Eva said. “He butted me in the butt once.”
Our customer smiled for the first time. “This is like being on a field trip,” she said, and she watched the Athletes strut by.
Mrs. McKinnon and her baby headed toward the pasture. I wheeled her bike through the shop, mumbling, “Always something to do at the Secret Farm,” then I called, “Okay, Vince. Come out, come out, wherever you are. I’m taking the twins. Be back as fast as I can.” Then I called, “Angus! Eva!” They appeared. I made monster claws. “Let’s r-r-ride!” I growled.
4
I’VE GOT CRAZY-GOOD HEARING. ALL I HAVE TO do is run a little sound check to know whether there’s a lot of traffic on the highway. This morning, I couldn’t pick up a single singing tire. No whistling eighteen-wheelers. Not a hum. Not a whoosh.
I was dying to go have a look at the interstate, but it made no sense to take the twins out to the ramp. We’d worn a good shortcut between the yards, and that was the best way to get on the road to town and the beaches. Well, best way, except for one thing: our neighbor, Mr. Spivey. His yard backs up to ours. They say good fences make good neighbors. I say our fence will never be good enough.
We always tried to avoid him, though it wasn’t easy. I leaned over my handlebars and in a low voice I coaxed Angus and Eva. “Pedal, pedal,” I said, and they did. But Mr. Spivey’s head popped up like he had radar anyway.
“Darn,” I whispered. I just didn’t want to deal with him. He followed us with a squinty stare, so I called out, “Good morning!” Dad had always said, “Offer a greeting. Maintain a neighborly stance even if he doesn’t return the enthusiasm.”
Believe me, he never did. He was more likely to start giving us what for about something. Anything. The bike path barely grazes his property, yet he had a way of making us feel like we were trespassing. But if ever there was a trespasser in our neighborhood, it was the Spive himself. In fact, trespassing was his daily habit.
Earlier that morning, Angus and Eva had given me the egg report.
“We got nineteen eggs,” Angus had said.
“Yeah, but really twenty-one,” Eva had added as she’d set them into cartons.
“Was Mr. Spivey in the coop?” I’d asked.
“Yep. He took two,” Angus had said.
“But he pretended that he didn’t. He always pretends that.” Eva had shrugged. Then she’d smiled. “He just put them in his shirt. Again.”
“Yeah, the snake…” I had said. But I’d stopped because it was important to Mom and Dad that none of us mess with what Mom called “the beautiful matter-of-factness” with which our twins viewed our neighbor. The rest of us marveled at his lack of shame. It didn’t help that the Spive had a sort of bend-and-scurry way of walking that made him look, well, just like a thief.
It wasn’t just eggs. It was kindling wood and raspberries, a zucchini here and some sugar snap peas there. All just a little at a time. Vince once said, “What’s his is his, and what’s ours is his too.” Dad had laughed and said, “Right! But what’s a couple of eggs between neighbors?”
Whatever. We got past him today without a scolding. A triumph.
The twins and I turned off the path onto the empty road to town. I was pedaling in a ridiculously high gear. Spinning. Three miles to go. Angus and Eva were good riders. But little bikes only roll so fast, and five-year-olds can provide only so much power. And Angus had to dodge every pinecone and maple wing along the way.
“Those are going to be trees,” he insisted. “And I like trees.” He swerved and hollered, “Acorn!”
I accidentally flattened it under my tire and whispered, “Oops.”
I would not normally have cared about the crawl to Sea Camp. But there were all those repairs to get back to at the Bike Barn. Also, Vince was alone and the busier we got, the more uncomfortable it made him to be left with the shop. Still, Angus and Eva came first. They were mine alone to care for from home to camp. That was the plan. Something to stick to. My turn to be the parents.
“Stay to the right, guys,” I called up to them. “Just in case.” But all three of us knew no cars were coming. Boston Post Road had never been easier to cross.
We arrived at the screened pavilion at the town beach not too much later. “Excellent riding,” I told them.
“You too, Dewey,” said Eva.
I grinned and handed them their lunches from my handlebar bag. I wheeled the two junior bikes around to the shady side of the pavilion and hung the helmets over their handlebars. The twins went up to the porch and the door opened. Mattie greeted them and herded them inside. She waved to me.
“How’s that bike tire?” I asked. I had replaced an inner tube for her just the day before.
“I’m rolling along again, thanks to you, Dewey!”
Mattie and I were old pals. I’d been a Sea Camper once, and so had Vince. Mattie lived up a narrow lane from the beach in a little cottage that her dad had winterized. Everyone called Mattie’s dad Pop Chilly. Everybody in town knew him. He’d driven the ice-cream truck for years. This summer, gas prices had put him out of business.
“I really need that old bike right now,” Mattie said.
“You and everyone else! We just keep checking ’em in at the shop,” I said. “And the best part is giving them back.”
“And how’s it going?” Mattie asked.
“All right,” I said. “A few tough jobs that might have to wait. Mom and Dad are stuck up near the border. No diesel,” I added.
“Oh no!” Mattie wilted against the doorjamb. “That’s right. You guys are home alone.”
“Except there are five of us.” I shrugged and smiled.
“True that,” Mattie said. “Well…hey, what say we cook together tonight at your place? Pop and I took the boat out early this morning.” She grinned. “We raked in a big bucket of littlenecks.”
I groaned right out loud—in a good way. Nothing was better than Mattie’s clam chowder.
“Are you sure?” I said. But before she could answer I added, “We’ve got everything else.” I started to count it off on my fingers. “Milk, potatoes, onions. And I think there’s one last quart of Mom’s corn in the cellar still. Vince and I can get a pit fire going and—”
“Sounds perfect,” Mattie said. “Pop will be pleased. You go get on with your day and we’ll see you later.” She waved good-bye.
I got back onto the road, pumped up some speed, and flew along the centerline on my way back up to the Boston Post Road. I flashed on the Fourth of July—any Fourth of July. That’s what this felt like—that fifteen minutes before the parade when the cops have closed the road and the cyclists own it. Of course, Officer Runkle always owns it with us. Runks is our town bike cop. He’s also a customer at the Bike Barn and a family friend.
I played my front tire against the double yellow line. I felt a sense of something—freedom or ownership. I liked it. But already I was thinking that I wasn’t sure how long I wanted it to last.
5
I WAS BACK IN THE HOUSE LESS THAN THREE minutes when Lil called to say that her summer session at Elm City College had been flat-out canceled before the first day even got under way.
“It’s this fuel thing, Dewey. It’s insane!” Lil was steamed and talking nonstop. “They’re saying no one can get here, so it’s over. But I got here! How about a little commitment? And listen, there was a wicked crush at the train station. I couldn’t even get on the Shore-Liner out of here.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” I asked. I was trying to stay cool. I like to know the plan and stick to it. But it seemed to me a lot of Marriss family plans were unraveling.
“I’m going to walk,” said Lil.
“Walk? Lil! With how many pounds of art supplies on your back?”
“Oh, it’s going to be a drag,” she said. “But I’m not coming back here anytime soon. No way will I leave my stuff behind.” I heard her grunt and I knew she was shouldering her pack. “I’m not going to let thi
s crunch keep me from starting some kind of art this week. I’m brewing up a new project….” Her voice trailed, then snapped back again. “I’m going to make this interesting. I’m taking I-95 home.”
“The highway?”
“Yep. Have you seen it today, Dewey?”
“No. But I can’t hear it either. It has to be dead out there,” I said.
“Hmm…not exactly, Mr. Supersonic,” Lil said. “Everybody’s out there now, either walking or biking. It’s pretty surreal,” Lil said. Then she mumbled something about wishing she’d biked to the city that morning.
“Really? But isn’t being on the highway illegal?”
“Hey, weird times, civilian rule,” she said. “Besides, Dad always says the highway is the fastest. Ha-ha! Now listen, take good care of Angus and Eva, and make me something good for dinner.”
“Lil! Wait! Isn’t it twenty miles from there to here?”
“Twenty-two. At least I wore comfortable shoes,” Lil said. The phone crackled. “Dewey? You there?”
I upped my volume. “Yep. Still here. Hey, Lil, I’m going to come get you,” I said. “I’ll bring the tandem and—”
“No, no, no. Don’t come,” Lil said. “Hey, Dew? I can’t hear—I think I’m losing you.”
Lil is almost always right.
6
I MADE A NEW PLAN. I WAS GOING TO BE HEROIC.
I knew I’d find Vince in the paddock with the dogs. He liked to take a bike stand out and work in “natural light,” as he said. Goodness and Greatness thumped their tails at me. Dust rose out of the dry grass. Vince looked up.
“Oh, you’re back,” he said.
“Yeah. Any more jobs come in?”
“Nope.” (Vince usually gives the shortest answer possible.) He grinned with relief.
“Will you help me bring the tandem down?” I asked. He gave me a slightly puzzled look.
We had to move eight different bikes, in for eight different repairs, to get to the wall where our tandem hung on a couple of J-hooks. I took the front end. Vince took the rear.
“To the shoulder on three,” I said. “One, two, three.” We both grunted. With the bike on my shoulder I paused for a breath and to steady the handlebars. Vince didn’t. He set his end down. I lost my balance, then I lost my grip. The wheel turned hard, and my end of the bike took a twisting spill to the ground with me falling onto it. “Ow!” I yelled. The dogs thumped their tails again.
“Sorry,” said Vince.
“Never mind.” I righted myself and the bike. I grabbed a set of Allen wrenches and reached for the panniers on the shelf above me.
“Wait. Panniers?” Vince said. “You taking a trip?”
“Sort of,” I said. “If I’m not here to remind you, don’t forget to get Angus and Eva from Sea Camp.”
“Where are you going?” Now he was slightly panicked.
“Lil’s class got canceled. She’s walking the highway home. I’m going to pick her up.” I started on my way.
“So I’m on my own? Again?”
I hollered over my shoulder, “Close the Bike Barn door and hide if you can’t deal with the people. I’ll be back as soon as I can!”
7
ON THE OVERPASS, I STOOD UP ON THE PEDALS and got my first good look at the highway below.
Surreal, Lil had said. And she was right. Lanes were forming down there. Walkers on the far right, bikers to the left of the rumble strip, and speedier bikers to the left of those. The far left lane was open on the off chance, I guessed, that something bigger might come humming through.
I merged onto the highway. Riding a tandem solo is less awkward than it looks. It’s fine once you get it rolling. Then it has a stretch-limo thing going for it on the visual. We’d be faster coming home once I had Lil on the back. Or, knowing Lil, once she had me on the back. Anyway, I didn’t get too many funny looks because it wasn’t long before I picked up a rider. I passed a guy in a shirt and tie, briefcase swinging at his side. He jogged a few steps and called out, “Whoa! Hey! Hey, kid! Help a guy out? I’m looking at that empty seat! Could we work together?”
I squeezed the brakes and pulled right. It was the only thing to do. I stood astride the tandem and twisted back to look at him. He looked slightly familiar. But more important, he wasn’t old, and he looked pretty fit. This could pay off.
“I’m not sure how far I’m going,” I said. “Maybe just to the East Elm City line. I’m watching for my sister. She’s on foot somewhere in the northbound lane. The trains out of the city were jammed.”
“Same with the trains in,” he answered with a nod. “Really makes you wonder how long it’ll go on. But they say this is all about politics. Not geology,” he added.
Geology. I felt like I’d swallowed a spoonful of sand. We’d talked about that at home. I cleared my throat and said, “My dad says politics is just about people not being able to get along. So maybe this’ll be over soon. As for geology, well, everybody gets it now, right? World demand will become too high.” I shrugged. “My dad thinks we can invent our way out of it if we scramble,” I added. “Bring back the electric car.”
“I think your dad is right.” The guy nodded. “In the meantime, I’ve had enough walking. Job or no job, I’m going to have to buy a bike.”
“Ever ridden a tandem before?” I asked.
“I haven’t,” he said. “But I’ve biked. And I learn fast.”
“Here, strap your briefcase to the rack.” I handed him a bungee from my handlebar bag. “And roll your pants.”
“Sorry to hold you up,” he said. “This is very nice of you.”
“If we do well together, it’ll be worth it,” I said. “It’s important that we start off exactly together. Watch me. You have to anticipate,” I said. It was a weird way for me to talk to an adult. But I had to make sure he wouldn’t make us crash the tandem. “And I can’t hold the bike up on my own. Not with your weight on it. So you have to follow my lead. Settle yourself quickly. Other than that, it’s not much different from a regular bike. You just don’t get to steer. But I’m a safe rider, I promise. Oh, and the pedal cages can be rough on your shoes.”
“I remember,” he said.
The rear pedal set whacked the guy in the shin and gave him a good skinning at the start. “You’ll think of me tomorrow,” I said apologetically. A hundred yards later we started to cruise past other cyclists. We were not a bad team.
“This is great!” the guy called up to me. “The speed! Wow! Seems almost unfair!”
By Exit 57 I knew my rider’s name was Robert Deal. He’d been out of college just a few weeks and he was job hunting in Elm City.
“I’m trying to impress future employers just by showing up to interview during this shortage,” he said.
“So how’s that working for you?” I asked.
“It’s not! Nobody’s hiring. Been thinking about trying to go back to the beach. I was a lifeguard back in high school—”
“Oh!” I said. “At the town beach in Rocky Shores?”
“Yes.”
“You once treated me for a jellyfish sting!” I said.
“I did that a lot!” he said.
We biked on. The truck stop at Exit 56 was full of trucks—stuck trucks, which, of course, made me think of Mom and Dad.
“I’m going to slow us down some,” I told Robert. “I don’t want to miss my sister.” I began to wonder if she’d changed her mind about walking the highway. Then just before the frontage-road strip mall, I saw her. “There she is!” I said. “Lil! Lilly Marriss!” I strained. Ridiculous. She’d never hear me. “Look, Robert, I’ve got to take the off-ramp and get back on again to come up behind her. I can’t see us lifting the tandem over the barrier.”
“No! That’d be the very moment a truck comes barreling along,” he said.
We came to a clean stop.
“I can’t thank you enough, Dewey. You saved me miles of walking,” Robert said.
“You helped me, too,” I said. “Listen, if you t
hink you’re really going to buy a bike, my family has a business. Repairs, mostly. But we have a few bikes that we built from parts. They’re excellent machines for the money. We guarantee them.” I grabbed one of our business cards from the handlebar bag and thrust it at him. I wanted to go catch up to Lil.
Then I heard it. A hum in the distance. It sliced through the sounds of pedals, gears, and voices on the highway like it had a direct line to my ears. I looked to the north. All I could see was the long broken line of bikes and riders, coming down the highway.
The hum grew louder. Then there it was. A single diesel, gleaming in the sun. Every head turned to watch it, every rider braced for the draft. The truck whooshed by. Time stood still for just a beat. Then everyone started moving again.
I turned to Robert and stuck my hand out. “Pleasure biking with you,” I said. I shook his hand hard. I swung myself back onto the seat of the tandem. He gave me a running push to start me up the ramp. As I crossed above the traffic I looked down. Tried to find him again. No luck. He must have been hoofing it onward to Elm City.
8
LIL COULDN’T HIDE IT. SHE WAS GLAD TO SEE me in spite of herself. She ran at me and landed me with a bear hug. For the second time that day the tandem twisted to the ground. For the second time I fell on top of it.
I lay there looking up at the sky while the front axel hub stuck into my kidney and Lil cheered, “My taxi cometh! My taxi cometh!” We drew a few grins. Sideshow on the highway.
On the way home, I was right where I figured I’d be: looking at Lil’s back. She set us a good pace.
We talked to each other in little shouts as we pedaled. “Well, the class may be canceled, but I am not going to sit around,” she insisted. “I’m going to put a mural across the back of the small barn.”
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