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THE DEATH WALL RIDING
When I was very little my parents bought me a three-wheeler. I got right on it and pedalled off and wasn't a bit scared. You'd think I'd been riding a bike all my life.
"Why, he's a born sportsman," Mommy said.
"He looks all hunched up," Daddy said.
But I learned to ride well and was soon doing tricks like clowns do in the circus. I could ride backwards or lying on the seat and pedalling with my hands, or steering with one hand at a time.
I could ride sideways with my feet in the air.
I could ride sitting on the handlebars. I could ride with my eyes shut.
I could ride holding a full glass of water. In a word, I could ride every which way.
Then Uncle Zhenya changed the two rear wheels for one and converted it into a two-wheeler. I learned to ride a two-wheeler just as quickly as I'd learned to ride my three-wheeler. Soon all the kids were calling me Champ.
I pedalled away till my knees started bumping against the handlebars, which meant I'd outgrown my bike. I was waiting for the day Daddy'd buy me a bigger one.
One day a man rode a bicycle into our yard, but he wasn't pedalling. He was sputtering and buzzing like a dragonfly. I was really surprised. I'd never seen a bike riding by itself before. Motorcycles could and cars, and rockets, but not bicycles. I couldn't believe my eyes.
The man rode up to our house and stopped. He turned out to be a big boy. He leaned his bike against the rain spout and went inside. As I stood looking at his bike Misha came out.
"What're you looking at?"
"It can go by itself, understand?"
"It's my cousin's bike. It's a motor bike. Fedya's visiting. He's having tea with us."
"Is it hard to ride a motor bike?"
"It's easy as pie. You slam down on the pedal once and that starts the motor. There's enough gas in the tank to go a hundred kilometers. Its speed's twenty kilometers in half an hour."
"Gee! I wish I could ride it."
"Forget it. Fedya'll murder you."
"I know."
Then Misha looked around and said, "There's nobody looking, and you're the champ. Go on, try it! I'll help you get it started. Press down hard. That's all you have to do. Circle around the yard a couple of times and then we'll park it here again. Fedya always stays a long time, 'cause he usually has three glasses of tea. Come on!"Misha steadied the bike while I got on. I could reach the edge of the pedal with my toe if I stretched, but that made my other leg , dangle like a piece of macaroni. I shoved off from the rain spout with my dangling macaroni-leg and Misha trotted alongside shouting,
"Come on, start the motor!"
I had to slide half-way off the seat to slam down on the pedal. Misha made something click on the handlebars. The motor began to sputter. I was off!
I was rolling along and not even pedalling, because I couldn't reach the pedals anyway, but all I had to do was keep my balance.
The wind whistled in my ears. Everything flashed by in a circle:
the post, the gate, the bench, the swings and the downstairs door. Then the post, the gate, the bench, the swings and the door again, and once again the post and all the rest. I rode around and around, clutching the handlebars, as Misha scampered along behind.
After the third circle he shouted, "I'm tired!" and leaned against the post.
I rode on without him. I was feeling great. I made-believe I was a death wall motorcyclist like the daring lady rider I'd seen in the amusement park.
The post, Misha, the swings and the rain spout kept flashing by time and again. I was on top of the world. After a while, though, I began feeling as if there were pins and needles in my foot. Then I began feeling funny all over. My hands were damp. I wanted to stop. When I got close to Misha again I shouted, "I'm tired' Stop it!"
Misha trotted after me, shouting, "What? I can't hear you!"
"What's the matter? Are you deaf?" I shouted.
But by then Misha had dropped behind. When I came around again, I yelled,
"Stop the bike, Misha!"
He grabbed hold of the handlebars. The bike lurched and knocked him over. I kept on going. He was waiting for me by the post again. "Slam down on the brake!" he screamed.
I whizzed past and started looking for the brake, but I couldn't find it. I tried every screw on the handlebars. Nothing worked. The motor buzzed away. By now I felt as if there were a million needles stuck into my foot and leg.
"Where's the brake?"
"I forgot!"
"Come on, remember!"
"I'm trying to! Keep on going!"
"Hurry up and remember!"
I kept on circling and circling. I was so dizzy I wanted to throw up. The next time around Misha shouted,
"I can't remember! Jump!"
"I'm going to throw up!"
If I'd known it'd be like this I'd never've gotten on! I'd rather spend the rest of my life walking!
Misha was shouting again. "We need a mattress of a bed! You could ride into it and stop. D'you have a spare mattress?"
"It's part of the couch!"
"Then keep on going till you run out of gas!"
I was so mad I nearly ran him over. Why, if I had to wait till I was out of gas I might have to ride around for two more weeks, and we had tickets to a puppet show on Sunday. Besides, my leg was about to fall off. "Go get Fedya!" I yelled.
"He's having tea!"
"He can have it later!"
Misha misunderstood and shouted, "He'll murder you later!"
There they were, flashing by again: the post, the gate, the bench, the swings, the rain spout. Then backwards: the rain spout, the swings, the bench, the gate, the post. And then all scrambled: the post, the gate, the bench, the rain spout. I knew the end was near.
Suddenly someone grabbed hold of the bike. The motor stopped sputtering, and someone gave me a hard cuff. I guessed it was Misha's cousin Fedya, who'd finally finished his tea. I tried to escape but couldn't run, because my macaroni-leg buckled. Still, I had enough sense to hop away from Fedya as fast as I could. He didn't chase me.
I wasn't mad at him for having hit me, because if he hadn't stopped me I'd probably still be circling around the yard.