Dreamland

Downhill Racer

I'm watching soccer on TV with Mike and Henri, a friend of his who is a French-Canadian National. We're at Mike's place, a house near the top of a steep hill on the West side of town. I'm not a big sports fan, the game is boring to me.

Mike suggests that I go ride bicycles with Henri. Mike has an old ten-speed he loans me. Henri is obviously athletic, and has an expensive bicycle. He suggests we have a race to the bottom of the hill, he will give me a head start. Mike says he will drive down to the restaurant at the bottom of the hill and meet us there.

Henri says we should start from the very top of the hill, so we start pedaling up. I am soon out of breath, and must walk my bike the short distance to the top while he pedals ahead.

At the top, I start off ahead, pedaling effortlessly, the afternoon sun warm on my back. But soon I am speeding recklessly down the hill. Henri is lagging behind, but I realize he is just letting me win for now.

Now there are cars racing up the hill at us. We are forced to ride against the traffic, the street we are racing down is a one-way. The side of the road is getting rough, lots of potholes and patches of sand. I am forced to slow down so I don't lose control of the bike. Henri races past me, laughing, easily winning the race.

We meet Michael at the small restaurant, more of an old style tavern actually, with a small bar and several vinyl upholstered booths. We decide to eat at the bar, ordering sandwiches and beer. I'm sipping on a can of Budweiser and talking with a couple of women who are there having drinks. They are wearing bridesmaid dresses, tell me they are with the reception party in the hall next door. I excuse myself, get up to go to the men's room.

There is an artist making silhouettes of people out of stainless steel next to the entrance. He asks if he can make one of me. I tell him I'm not interested, I don't have money for something like that. He says it won't cost me anything, the metal silhouettes are to be riveted to the sides of trucks for advertising. He wants to use mine in an advertisement for a construction company. I agree, put on my baseball cap, and sit for the portrait.

Mike says we must be leaving for the airport or we'll be late. We have to catch a flight to Boston. He has our luggage in the car, Henri and I will ride the bikes out there and meet him at the gate. We walk outside into the twilight. It has gotten much colder and the ground is covered with a light frost, making the pavement quite slippery. I cautiously get on the bike and ride, on my way to the airport.