Church Group

by Michael Brightside

  * * *

  My dad pulled up beside us as we pushed the bike up my road. I’d had to help at this point, there was no way Al was ever going to get it up the steep hill on his own.

  “Broken down already has it?” my dad asked.

  “It’s run out of petrol Dad,” I replied.

  “Already? How far have you been on it?”

  “Not far Mark,” Al said, “I don’t think there was much in it to begin with.”

  My dad got out of his car and started feeling around under the petrol tank. “Give it here, let me have a look at it.”

  “Well you’re not empty,” he said, crouching down next to the bike. “But you’re down to the reserve, you’re going to need to fill up, and when you do, make sure you turn this petrol tap back to here.”

  He pointed out the different positions. “Look, down means the petrol will go down into the engine. Sideways means it will go sideways in the pipe, but it can’t go sideways in the pipe so it won’t go anywhere. You following?”

  “Think so Dad.”

  “And if it’s turned to up, just remember it will use up all your fuel.”

  “Cheers Mark,” Al said.

  “Yeah thanks Dad.”

  “So how fast does it go then?” he asked us as he got back into his car.

  “Al had thirty-seven out of it. It ran out when I was having my go.”

  “Thirty-seven?” he laughed, putting his arm out of the window and slapping the driver’s door with his hand. “This will do thirty-seven in second gear.”

  “I don’t think I’m allowed to go over thirty on a provisional license anyway Dad,” I told him.

  “Think yourself lucky then Lu. With that extra seven miles an hour you might be able to get past the milkman on the way to college every morning.”

  And with that he wheel spun off up the road.