The bike-man

It was the old man on Withells Road. Every other day he opened up his garage which faced the street, lining his short tiled-concrete driveway with bikes. When you had an old piece of junk with two wheels that was cluttering up your garage, the generally accepted practice of our close neighborhood was that you would take it down to the bike-man. A good keen man. Nearing eighty, this lively veteran was not content to idle away his few remaining years sunk in a huge arm-chair drinking weak tea and listen to the almost incessant ambience as his wife worked away on the next batch of cookies for the grand-kids. Perhaps if they had something decent on the box every now and then; if they played rugby like they used to, back in the day. Mass-media didn't cut it for this experienced entrepreneur.

Nathan, my out-spoken and confident twelve year old brother, perhaps not so confident on his new pair of second-hand roller-blades - tried to keep up with me as I walked quickly along the sunny sidewalk. He needed enough room to pass me without running into the grass verge. I increased my pace whenever it appeared as if he might have a chance of breaking ahead. Got to keep the wee blighters in their place. There was a lady with a purple polar-fleece jersey talking to the bike-man as we approached his house. Does he pay tax? It was unclear what the nature of the conversation was. A girl's bike seemed to be the subject of the conversation. But was the bike-man trying to sell it - or was the lady in the purple jersey trying to cash it in?

The bike I had with me, my brother's bike - had been sitting outside for one or two years Dad reckoned. We had been using it 'til about five months ago. Both tires were flat, the gears were a bit shoddy and the shock absorbers were too soft and going rusty. It had been a nice ride in its time. It had got me down the road to Uni plenty of times. It didn't even occur to me that it was my brother's bike I was trading in, and did he mind? We're pretty much on the same wavelength, Si and myself. I wheeled the bike up the driveway, the well-kept garden lining both sides of the driveway, early tulips nodding in the barely discernable breeze. Bikes, mainly small bikes stood in their stands along either side of the driveway.

"Hi there". I walked up to the bike-man. "I's wondering if you'd be interested in this bike". "It's had it!" Heheh, he's playing up to form. "Oh... it's not worth much at all" He appeared to show little interest in the bike. "Probably needs a couple 'a new tubes" I pointed out. That was obvious. "Eh, she needs a new front tire and two tubes. They are $8 each, and a new tire will be $28 - $30..." "The tire's ok" Nathan pitched in. "No, it's the front 'un" The bike-man rubbed the bald front tire and grimmaced. "I couldn't give you much at all for it". Rehearsed. "How much do you reckon?" The bike-man hitched up his trousers and rocked back on his heels. His weathered hands he rubbed over his face. It makes you feel more awake. Assuming a thoughtful expression, the bike-man smoothed the hair on the back of his head. Sucking in his breath slowly, the bike-man fingered the two $5 that he held in his left hand. Did the purple-jersey lady give him the money? "I couldn't give you much for it I'm afraid." "Yeah, the shocks are a bit shot... What do you reckon?"

"I could give you $10 for it". The bike-man glanced at me, a sympathetic and yet resolute glance. His jaw was set and he now rolled the two $5 notes between thumb and forefinger. "Ahhh" I tried to sound dissapointed. " In my mind I weighed the pros and cons of asking for 15. I knew the chance was there. If handled right, I could pull it off. What's five bucks? I had left home with the bike with no plans of bringing it back with me. $10 had been the "worst case scenario" that Dad and I had envisaged. Ten bucks would do. The bike-man was experienced. He was in his prime, exuberated. On his face he wore the timeless "I'm sorry that that is all I can offer you, but you know how life is - got a wife and kids back at home..." look. It conveyed the feeling that the trade was at a tipping point. Now was the moment of truth. "Ok, $10 will do" "Hah! here's $10 exactly, here you go my lad" Hah, my lad aye? I pocketed the cash.

How much is this one?" I motioned to the archaic black 10 speed which sat in a rack near to where I stood. - Trading in was the last thing on my mind, however the bike caught my eye. It was exactly the sort of thing I was after. In the market for. Half-heartedly looking for, but lacking the motivation to wake up early Friday morning and ring up some people about their adverts for "bike for sale" in the Buy Sell & Exchange. - "That one's $30" "Hmmm... does it go ok?" "I wouldn't be selling it if it didn't would I?", the bike-man responded, perceiving his integrity was in question. "No, no, of course" I responded hurriedly. "Could I take her for a spin?" "Yes, sure, take it for a ride" I backed the machine out of the bike-stand. The horizon lay before me. The house across the street. Heck, the seat's an ancient girls seat. I straddled the thing and spun out of the driveway, left down Withells Road, on the sidewalk.

Yep, it feels good. My last 10 speed, a blue and white machine had been nicked from out at the front of our house. I had been without independent transport for almost four months now. The old girl didn't seem to want to change gears, the rear-derailer was playing up. Scraping on the spokes. The front gear-change was fine. "The rear-derailer isn't quite right" I said as I jumped off the bike. "It's scraping on the wheel". The bike-man looked concerned - he came over and looked down at the situation. "It just needs to be bent out a bit". He crouched down and grasped the derailer. I crouched down and braced the bike. That simple aye? Still, I can't just get round the place bending people's rear derailers. A couple of good solid pulls and the job was done.



I stood and looked at the bike for a minute. "The brakes aren't very good" "They just need a bit of adjustment". "Would you take $25 for it?" The bike-man looked at me, taken-aback. "Well, to be honest with you, I sold it to a young Australian man who was on holiday over here for six months". Yeah, well that makes it worth that much more. "And when I bought it back from him when he had to go, I gave him $25 for it." The bike-man shifted his weight to the other foot. If it was a lie, it was a very good lie, well told. "I'm only making $5 on it". "Hmmm" I looked sadly at the bike, fingering the rear brake.

I took the bike for another quick spin, checking the newly "adjusted" gears. It was great. It was a smooth ride. The brakes were a bit jumpy, but handled well you wouldn't notice it. I pulled back into the driveway. "It's weightless". The bike-man had an irrepressible, infective grin on his face. Well, almost. "Prprprprpr..." I made the noise with my lips as I exhaled. Sucking in my breath and scratching the hair behind my left ear with my left hand and rubbing my chin with my right, I studied the ground at my feet. Looking up at the bike-man I gave a ghost of a wink and agreed to the set price. "Ok, $30 is ok". Ok? It was a flippin bargain! "I haven't got enough money on me... left my wallet at home." "Aha". "Can you sort out the brakes? and I'll shoot home and get my wallet."

He wasn't the sort of man that you gave instructions to, but he seemed happy with the plan. "When will you be open 'til? Will you be here for another hour?" The bike-man looked at me and spoke in dead earnest.

"I'm always here"

I grinned and headed for home, Nathan setting a new World record on the roller-blades beside me.