It had been a long week. I was finally in my truck headed home on a Friday afternoon, anxious to get the week behind me and relax without people, computers, and hassle. The road home was long and winding and took me into the mountains, to coolness and quiet. This road was also a favorite for bicyclists as it was just long enough, not too steep, and definitely not boring. Unless it was night or raining, you had to watch out for bicyclists either riding or stopped alongside the road.
As I slowed and rounded one of the sharper curves, I saw her off the side of the road with her hands on her hips and a bike on its side. As I passed her, I saw she was looking up at the sky with a "Why is this happening to me?" look. I decided to stop and see what was wrong.
I pulled over, and after checking in my mirrors to be sure it was safe, I backed up the few yards so that I was right beside her. I put the right-side window down.
"Hey," I said. "You having troubles?"
She looked over and I could tell she was sizing me and my truck up.
"Yeah, I've got a flat and when I looked for my patch kit, I couldn't find it. I must have left it at home. I've never done that before. 'Course I haven't had a flat in a long time. I just don't know what I'm going to do. I can't possibly walk the 12 miles back to town before dark and there's no cell coverage here in the canyon. God, I should've brought my tent - at least I could sleep overnight. I've been up this road a bunch and I know there's nothing until that little village and it's all up hill from here."
I smiled as she stopped to catch her breath.
"Dang it," she said.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Katrina."
I listened as she continued to talk as if she wanted to get something off her chest. "My grandparents were from the old country and I was born here. I'm in college majoring in Russian literature hoping to graduate next year. It's Friday and I thought a good bike ride to work up a sweat was just what I needed after the week I've had."
"You, too, huh?"
"Yeah, the god damn - 'cuse my language - professors think just because you're a junior majoring in one of the most difficult subjects in school, that they can just load you down with a bunch of crap. They keep piling it on. I guess they think we don't ever want to have any fun."
"Harder than aerospace engineering?" I asked.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Listen, it's a difficult grind. Don't give me a hard time about it. I'd like to see you tackle some of the subjects."
"O.K., O.K. I wasn't making light of your troubles. It's just that there are a lot of hard majors and a lot of hard weeks for a lot of people. Don't feel sorry for yourself. Let's figure out what we can do about your flat tire. By the way, my name's Kerry. I live up the road past the "little village," as you call it. My wife is Sarah and we bike some ourselves. Why don't you load your bike in the back, climb in, and we can fix your flat at our place?"
"I don't know..." she said.
"C'mon. I don't' bite and I'm not going to assault you. You want to get out of your predicament don't you?"
"O.K. If it's not out of your way..."
"It's not," I said. "Besides I live up there, remember? Sarah's home, there's plenty of daylight left, and if we get done in time we can have a light supper or, if you want, there will be plenty of time for you to ride back yet tonight."
"O.K."
She walked to her bike and effortlessly lifted it up. Jeeze, I thought to myself as I watched her through the back window - either that's a lightweight, multi-thousand dollar bike or she's got some strength. She gently placed it in the truck bed on its side with the gears up; she had obviously done this before. Then she opened the passenger door, hopped in, and closed the door.
"Nice truck," she said.
"It gets me back and forth," I replied.
I checked my rear view mirror and as we drove off she began telling me about her school, her friends, where things had happened on the road during other rides. I listened mostly, nodding my head, occasionally glancing over at her, but paying attention to the road. I did notice that she had bicyclist's legs, long and smooth, strong, and beautifully proportioned. Her shorts were spandex and a little shorter than most, probably due to the hot weather. Her top was also form fitting and nicely filled out, I might add. Many women who ride don't have a lot on top, but Katrina had some definite assets and, if I wasn't mistaken, was not wearing a bra. She had short, light brown hair swept back behind her ears and definite, but not sharp, facial features. It reminded me of "old country" qualities with an American influence. She was definitely attractive.
As we passed through the small town, she pointed out where she usually stops to have a drink and turn around to head back.
"So, you've never been up the road farther?" I asked.
"No," she replied. "How much farther does it go?"
"Well, it winds up for a bit, a little steep in a place or two - you know, to build your stamina and confidence."
I laughed and grinned. She got it and laughed with me.
"Then it more or less levels out to some rolling hills, joins highway 12, and if you turn right, takes you back to town. Round trip is about 38 to 40 miles. It's a good ride to break a sweat, if you know what I mean."
"Sounds nice," she answered. "I was sweating before my flat, but I'll have to come up this way when I have enough time to make the entire trip. Maybe I'll even stop by your place on the way by. Is it much farther?"
"Not too much farther. Remember to take your patch kit and pump if you try the round trip!" I said, laughing.
"Don't worry about that. I'm going to keep them in my pants from now on. That way I'll never be without them."
"That's right," I agreed. "As long as you have your pants, you'll be able to fix your flats."
She chuckled, gave me a little funny look, and said, "Yeah, you're right."
We spent the next 10 minutes in light conversation. I pointed out some of the landmarks, but mostly she just took in the scenery, as if she had something on her mind.
