Bike Riding

By Rodrigo Rojo

I loved riding my bike while I was growing up. My friends and I used to go all over our neighborhood and beyond on our bikes. Sometimes I would even go out on my own. Looking back, I think I’m pretty lucky I never got seriously inured.

I remember one day I had traveled more than two miles to a friend’s house by myself. I was maybe about 12 years old. When it started to get dark, I started going back home. I was less than half a mile from home when suddenly my front tire gave out a small pop as it began shaking. I had a flat tire. I had no choice but to walk home, pushing my bike, in the dark. I really wasn’t worried. After all, I was only about two blocks away.

Not long after however, two shady teenage boys on one bike passed by me traveling in the opposite direction - one sitting down on the seat peddling feverishly while the other stood behind him, with hands on the driver’s shoulders and feet on the diablos attached to the back wheel. Seems like two cholos on one bike could use another bike. That’s probably what they thought as they turned back. The standing passenger got off and approached me. “Give me the bike,” he said as he grabbed hold of one side of my handlebars and began tugging. I refused by clenching both hands tighter on the grips of my handlebars and yelled out, “No!”

“GIVE ME THE BIKE!” he repeated as he tugged again. I pulled back harder and exclaimed, “NO!” He reached into his pocket with his other hand and began shaking it, giving out a jingling sound. “I have a knife!” he threatened. I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified.

“WENDY!” I yelled out as loud as I could as I turned toward the house that we happened to be in front of. Wendy is the name of a girl I knew from elementary school and I remembered she lived on my street just a couple of blocks away. It worked! The two cholos fled. Relieved, I took a better look at the house that I believed to be where Wendy lived. It wasn’t her house - I was off by one block.