“Hold the handlebars for a sec,” he says, “feel it. I bought a model with particularly wide grips.”
The kids are elated, jumping round and round the new bike. It’s long-past their bedtime.
She climbs off and gives him a loud kiss on the lips. “Thanks, sweetie,” she says, “you’re everything a woman could ask for.”
Sex that night is better than usual. She’s passionate, thankful, touched by the gesture. He’s exhausted but grabs the opportunity with both hands, despite the crappy day he had at the office. He wants her. Always. Especially after staring all day at his secretary Galit rear view. Hagar’s a few cuts above her, that’s for sure, but she’s not always available and she’s not always in the mood. He reminds himself to buy more gifts for her, give her a little more attention.
She comes quietly so as not to wake up the kids, their bedrooms are right by theirs. He comes after her, biting his lip so they don’t hear him either.
He pulls out, kisses the top of her head and goes to shower. There’s not much time to cuddle, they both have to get up early.
She stretches, throws off the blanket, and notices a round stain on her thighs and on the Egyptian cotton linen that the cleaner changed this week. She touches it. It’s warm.
“Damn,” she hisses. Tomorrow she’ll have to change the sheets again. She’s not up to doing it tonight. She drags herself to the bathroom and thinks about her bike. Ammon forgot to move it to the garage.
***
“You won’t believe it,” she tells Anat when she drops Ilai off at preschool the next morning. She has a staff meeting, and she knows she mustn’t run late but she can’t help herself.
Anat is plucking half-dead leaves from the planter at the entrance. She hugs Ilai with her other arm.
“Amnon surprised me yesterday and came home with a bicycle.”
“No way!” Anat laughs, “Dror could learn a thing or two from him…who knows, maybe if he’d done so in time, we’d be in a different place today.”
She’s embarrassed. She didn’t mean to compare her perfect Amnon with Anat’s husband. She knows they’re going through a divorce, or is Anat only considering it? She’s not quite sure. In fact, she has no idea who he is. She thinks she saw him once at the Hanukkah party. He was in charge of raising the huge dreidel that poured candy out at the end of the party.
“So now you really have no choice but to start riding,” Anat adds and lets Ilai go. “Go hang up your backpack, honey,” she shouts after him.
“I don’t know,” she’s not quite ready to commit, “but maybe I will give your group a shot. Anyway, Ammon won’t leave me alone until I try…”
“Well then, join the group,” Anat replies with spontaneous enthusiasm. “When I have a moment to breathe, I’ll send you the trainer’s details, and the group’s. But you can just come along and talk to him, tell him you’d like to try.”
She nods absentmindedly and says she must run, she has a conference meeting. She gives Ilai a quick kiss and wishes him a great day, a moment later she’s on her way, trying to cross the busy road without being run over. A big van of religious hippies is parked in the square and three Breslovs are singing loudly and dancing alongside it. Somehow, they always seem to make her uncomfortable; their ecstasy is too extreme and has no connection to reality. To her, they’re like aliens who have landed out of the blue and simply started to sing. She gets into her little blue car and puts them out of her mind.
She wonders if she’ll be any good at it. She’s not used to failing and she hates making a fool of herself. She always arrives prepared for anything. As far as she can remember, she hasn’t been on a bike since she was about twelve. What a strange idea, to start riding at forty. Is she having a midlife crisis? She’s not quite there, she still has two years to go. Maybe she’s getting ahead of herself, after all, she hasn’t even tried yet. It may do her good. She needs something to help her feel better. She yearns for something that’s hers alone. Not Amnon’s. Not Ofer’s or Ilai’s. Not her mother’s or her father’s. Not Anucha’s or Menachem’s. Hers, just hers.
***
That Friday, she joins the group for their afternoon ride. She takes Amnon’s jeep because he has a bike carrier. She parks the jeep in the gravel parking lot where the group decided to meet and glares helplessly at the bike on the roof. Amnon explained to her at least three times how to detach it and take it down and told her repeatedly that it’s really light, she can do it. But in the moment of truth she gets nervous.
The riders are starting to arrive.
“Do you need a hand?” she hears a male, slightly husky voice.
“To be honest, yes,” she turns and examines him. He’s big, with long, wavy hair gathered in a ponytail. It’s pathetic. She hates men with long hair. She holds out her hand to shake his. “I’m—”
“Hagar,” he says and smiles. His smile makes her uncomfortable, almost as much as the Breslovs. Still, she smiles back.
“Anat told me you’d be joining us,” he elaborates and shakes her hand. He has a strong grip and his hand is warm. “Koby,” he introduces himself, “welcome to our group.”
He lowers the bike and hands it gallantly to her. “That’s a great model you have here,” he says as he examines the bicycle.
“My husband bought it for me,” she tells him proudly and suddenly feels very small. Tiny, in fact, like a little girl. One man bought her a bike and then another took it down for her, and in a moment, someone will kneel down and tie her shoelaces. She notices his eyes sweep over her. “I don’t have cycling clothes yet,” she apologizes, “I wore what seemed the closest thing to it…”
“Your clothes are perfect,” he says, “and from your build, I think you’ll be great at it.” He winks and invites her to join him in the square, where the others are now waiting. She notices Anat immediately, even in her helmet and cycling gear that firmly encase her full thighs. She saw her only an hour and a bit ago at preschool, she was singing Sabbath songs with the kids and handing out sweet challahs. She looks so different now.
Anat waves hello. “You came, what a champ!” she shouts from the crowd standing and chatting.
She moves closer, holding the wide handlebar and pushing the bike along. “It’s only a trial lesson,” she reminds Anat, “don’t get too excited.”
“People, we’re leaving!” Koby calls out and the others start forming a line. “Hagar,” he comes over to her, “I understand that you’re a beginner, right?”
She nods. She hates being in an inferior position.
“Then ride at your own pace, you need to feel comfortable…”
She smiles politely but she has no idea where she feels comfortable anymore. Probably just at home, with her family.
“Before we set out, I want to see if you know the ready position,” he adds and asks her to get on the bike.
She just stands there. “The ready position?” she repeats after him, feeling like an idiot.
He smiles indulgently and explains, “It’s the basis, a stance that helps you to maintain stability.” He helps her onto the bike, touching-not-touching her thighs, or the tight yoga pants covering them. “Your heels have to push the pedals down. When you’re cycling or standing in ready position—your heels point down. You should feel as if you’re gluing your bike to the ground, get it?”
She nods even though she didn’t understand a thing. Why would she want to glue the bike to the ground? What’s the point?
“Now, look,” he continues, “your hands should always be at the width of the handlebars.” He lifts her hands as if she were a puppet on a string and places them in the right position. “Your fingers need to stroke the brakes at all times. Not touch them, just make sure they’re available.”
She’s still nodding like an obedient student.
“And most importantly,” he notes, “keep your eyes ahead. You need to see where you’r
e going, right?”
That, she can understand, and she smiles with relief.
“I have to lead at the front,” he continues, his tone apologetic. “You’ll ride at the rear. I’ll make sure Erez stays with you/”
He introduces her to a good-looking man who shakes her hand.
“He’s on old-timer here and he’ll stick with you. If you have any problems, just get off the bike. You can expect a few spots to be too difficult and dangerous for you—I don’t want you to break anything on your first ride, okay?” he winks. “We’ll meet up later,” he pats her on the shoulder and moves to the front of the line, pushing his bike along.
“Is this your first single?” Erez asks moments before Koby gets on his bike.
She’s forced to ask, “What’s a single?” She hates not knowing things.
Erez laughs and explains, “Riding in single file, we’ll be taking a trail that’s one-rider wide.”
“Not only is it my first single,” she smiles sheepishly, “this is the first time I’ll be on a bike since I turned twelve, if I’m not mistaken. I used to be a dancer,” she adds, wondering if that’ll give her bonus points. “I’m not a mountain biker.”
He smiles and raises an eyebrow. “Then I guess I’ll have to take good care of you.”
The riders hop on their bikes and the convoy leaves. She starts pedaling. Her studded pedals spin at a steady pace. Erez is behind her. Anxiously, she tries to read the terrain. Rocks and clods of earth, partially hardened mud, sharp turns and challenging drops. What has she got herself into?
“Stop pedaling! Shift your weight back!” Erez shouts to her as she speeds downhill, “Get back into the ready position and shift your weight forward!”
She hopes she can do it. Amnon gave her only a brief explanation.
Strong gusts of cold Jerusalem air hit her face. Spring is near but it’s still cold, and as the day draws to an end, the cold becomes more noticeable. Her face is burning from the arid air. She narrows her eyes but her hair keeps getting into them, making them water and itch. Her pulse is racing and she’s soon having an adrenalin rush. Her leg muscles start to burn in pain, and despite the cold, her face is covered with beads of sweat. But she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care that everything hurts, she doesn’t care that she’s last in line and that she’s holding Erez back—she’s filled more relaxed than she’s felt in eons.
“It’s pretty cool!” she’s forced to admit to Anat after training, when they had coffee at the small café that Koby recommended. They and some of the other cyclers, who were in less of a hurry home, followed him there by car. Before leaving, Koby picked up her bike for her and attached it to the carrier. She watched him, wondering if she’ll ever be able to do it on her own.
The small café is almost deserted. Everyone must be at home by now. It’s almost the Sabbath. The streets are slowly being deserted and the fragrant aroma of homecooked food fills the air. Some of the streets will be closed soon, she’s not sure of the exact time. She doesn’t usually leave the house on Friday evenings. They almost always have dinner with the family. either at home, with her parents or with her in-laws, a minute-and-a-half’s walk either way.
While everyone is sitting down, she goes to wash her face. She left the big helmet and gloves that Amnon lent her in the jeep. Her forehead is sweaty and her cheeks red from the cold and the effort. She loosens her hair and tries to smooth any unruly strands that are making her look like she’s just woken up.
She orders jasmine tea. She’s afraid to drink coffee after having such an adrenalin rush. In any case there’s not a chance in hell she’ll be able to fall asleep tonight. She wonders how many hours it’ll take before the boundless energy she’s filled with dissipates.
“So what do you do, Hagar?” Koby asks as he splays out in the chair. He’s sitting with his legs apart, one resting on the chair beside him. His tight cycling pants leave nothing to the imagination. She tries not to look but his whole package is cradled nicely in his pants, it can be seen a mile away. He sips his steaming coffee as soon as it arrives.
“I’m the head of a software development team,” she says for the millionth time and takes a sip of tea so she’s not tempted to look down at the small bulge.
“That’s challenging,” he says.
“Or boring,” she replies, “depending on how you look at it.”
He laughs. She sips her jasmine tea and inadvertently touches Koby’s elbow. Three other cyclers, all women, are sitting with them, soothing their burning throats with steaming tea. The others have gone home. She must get going, Amon will be waiting for her. Poor thing, she stuck him with the kids and disappeared. He’s probably run away with them to his parents, if she knows him. She can’t remember if they made plans for this evening. Were they eating at her in-laws or staying home? She takes a twenty-shekel bill from her wallet. Together with the tip, it should do.
“Oh no, I forgot my wallet,” Koby sits up and slaps his forehead.
“Coffee’s on me,” Anat reassures him with a smile and he blows her a kiss and grins.
She puts the bill on the table, glances at her watch, then gets up and apologizes, “I have to get home. Thanks for the lesson, it was great.”
***
“Well, clearly I can’t go on this way,” she says to Amnon over coffee and the newspaper. It’s Saturday morning. The boys are playing soccer in the yard. They’ve been invited to Amnon’s parents for lunch in a couple of hours. His two brothers will probably also be there with their families. She’s not sure she has the patience for all this, but no one ever asks her. It’s been decided, and that’s it. At least they left her alone last night. Amnon ordered Chinese takeaway and they ate with the kids, just the four of them. All week she dreams of eating dinner as a family, but Amnon rarely came home from work in time.
“Then think of a different way,” Amnon interrupts her thoughts as he folds the newspaper lengthwise so it’ll stop collapsing.
“Well that’s the thing, I understand he also gives private lessons…” she says hesitantly, “I thought of taking a few, to improve myself a little. You wouldn’t believe how embarrassing it was…”
“Embarrassing? Come on, I’m sure you’re overreacting!” he says, “You just can’t handle not being the best at something, I know you. You hate being average…but regardless of whether it’s embarrassing or not, if you think it’ll help you, then go for it.”
“It’s just I can’t ride with a group yet,” she explains herself.
“I understand completely, take private lessons and when you get a bit stronger, you can move to the group,” he suggests.
“I have no idea how much it costs,” she wonders aloud.
“It doesn’t really matter, Gari,” he says tenderly, “whatever makes you feel good, really…”
“You’re such a sweetie,” she plants a loud kiss on his cheek and the thought that they’re supposed to have sex that night, seeing that it’s Saturday, flashes through her mind. That’s the agreement. Her butt is still aching from yesterday’s ride. No way will she be able to spread her legs feeling like this. Maybe he’ll forget, she consoles herself, knowing full well that he won’t.
“Talk to him,” he urges her. “Start right away, this week. You have to strike while the iron’s hot, you know,” he winks.
“Thanks, you’re just dying to go riding with me already,” she says, pleased with herself.
“With you…on you…I’m open to suggestions,” he says with a glint in his eye.
He hasn’t forgotten and she looks at him forgivingly. He suddenly seems like the horny teenager she dated over twenty years ago. They were so passionate back then, with their hormones raging. And what followed? They grew up, that’s all, they matured. One might even say aged.
“Do we have any ground coffee left?” he asks.
“Are you asking for your general knowledge,
or for a specific reason?” she retorts with a question. She doesn’t feel like getting up either.
He sighs, gets up, and presses the button on their state-of-the-art machine, which makes a racket as it grinds fresh coffee beans. “Do you want a cup?” he offers.
No, she doesn’t. She’s had more than enough. Maybe she’ll send a message to Koby. She wonders when he’s free.
***
“You remember the ready position, right?” Koby asks her and touches her thigh lightly, trying to guide her into the right stance.
She remembers and stands correctly, positioning her feet.
“Great,” he’s says, pleased. “Remember, it’ll soon become automatic. Now, when you’re going downhill—your weight should be at the back. When you’re going up—in the front. When the ground’s flat—in the middle of the saddle. Make sure to always use your heels to push the pedals, glue them to the ground, remember?”
She nods obediently, the model student.
“I’ve chosen a route I think will be perfect for you,” he continues, resting his arm nonchalantly on her bike saddle. She shies away and wonders if it’s deliberate. Is he supposed to touch her that much?
“I actually prefer nature,” she says, “it seems boring to ride around the city.”
He’s chosen to ride through Nachlaot, one of her favorite parts of Jerusalem. She looks down Agripas Street, where she parked the car. At six-thirty in the morning, she can still feel the chill of night caressing her body. The streetlights are on, their light pale. They’ll probably be turned off soon.
“Wait, you haven’t tried to ride in the city yet,” he says, “and you have to know how to deal with asphalt too, it’s important. Anyway,” he promises, “we’ll be going on all kinds of rides. Just be patient.” He lifts his hand from the saddle. “Come on, let’s go,” he suggests and gets on his bike.
She looks at his bike. It’s scratched and worn. It’s probably a good bike, but she has a feeling that Amnon spoiled her with a better model. She wonders if it should make her feel uncomfortable, or to the contrary. He stands beside her, in the ready position, and they set off.
Riding Lies Page 2