CTAS 2: A House, a Boy, a Girl, a Car, a Dock, a Boat, a Hug

Cycling Through a Storm

Previously: CTAS 1 - Cycling Through a Storm

The house was blocks from the river on a wooded lot with a gravel driveway.

“I’ll fetch your mom,” Sequoia said. Gripping a compact umbrella, she stood for a moment in the driveway and stretched to look at the sky. All wind was gone. Sunlight broke through clouds and trees. Only thin streaks of gray in Sequoia’s hair belied her age. Vic admired Sequoia’s silhouette, smiling at the sky. Then she stooped for the short walk to the door, was a senior again.

The dream catcher’s feathery net twisted semicircles in the rush of air from the defroster fan. Vic looked for a place to put the damp handkerchiefs he was still clutching. The passenger door’s side pocket was packed with reusable shopping bags. Vic spread his knees—tucked near his chest because of all the clay bricks—and opened the glove box. It was crammed full as well. How had all these handkerchiefs ever fit in there? Besides the usual things—owner’s manual, registration and insurance papers, pressure gauge—there was a hand-held staple gun, a spray can of Trader Joe’s sunscreen, half a ream of fluorescent yellow-green colored paper with black printed graphics, and a wad of dollar bills. A crumpled bill rolled out and disappeared between the seat and the bricks.

“You have a nice bike?”

“Uh, yeah, I think it is,” Vic said, looking up to see Dawson’s face in the rear-view mirror. “It’s not mine, though. It’s a demo bike. I was test riding it.”

“I can’t ride my bike anymore.”

Vic nodded, eye contact in the mirror.

“It’s there in the garage. I could sell it to you if you need your own instead of borrowing.”

“I—”

“It’s a Trek Pilot, a few years old. Maybe it’s too small for you. I wanted to get a real road bike, but my dad said I needed a bike that’s more upright.”

“Why’s that?”

“‘Cause of my back.”

Vic cringed a little. “Sorry—my bad.” He hesitated. “What do you—”

“Duchenne muscular dystrophy,” Dawson said, shifting a little in the rearview mirror.

“Duchenne MD,” Vic said, nodding his thanks. “So yeah, a regular road bike makes you tuck forward. Puts pressure on your back and neck.”

“How does it put pressure on your neck?”

“You have to tilt your head up to see ahead.” Vic tried to demonstrate by leaning down and sideways toward the steering wheel with his hands out T-Rex style and his back as low as he could manage with his knees folded up high. He tilted his head up to look straight out the driver-side window and show the sharp curve at the back of his neck. “Sometimes I get a little pinched nerve right here.” Vic put a finger on the back of his neck under the base of his skull.

“Pinched nerves suck,” Dawson agreed.

“You have some?”

“Lots. My spine’s a wreck.”

The garage door rolled up to reveal two pairs of tennis shoes and then four skinny-jean-clad legs. Vic couldn’t tell which legs were Sequoia’s, then recognized her windbreaker, still damp, and the umbrella clutched in her hand. Dawson’s mother, taller than Sequoia, had dark brown hair pulled back in a pony and she held a full-sized umbrella. She deployed it and the two approached the car just as the rain was starting again. Vic hoisted himself from the Prius like a hermit crab eager for a roomier shell.

Sequoia shouted introductions: “Liz, this is Vic. Vic, Liz is Dawson’s mom.”

“Nice meeting you, Liz.” Vic reached under the Prius’s hatch to release the knot he’d made with the old inner tube.

“Nick, or Vic?” Liz asked, extending her free hand.

Vic turned to take Liz’s hand and found himself pinned in place by her gray eyes. “Vic.”

Liz smiled. “How do you know Sequoia?”

“We go way back. I’ve known Sequoia since before the hail started.”

Sequoia laughed. “He was riding this bike in that storm, so we had to rescue him.”

“Riding during that storm?” Liz slipped her hand from Vic’s, after giving it an extra squeeze.

“Forgot to check the forecast,” Vic said.

“Uh-huh,” Liz nodded, smiling.

Vic untangled the bike from the wheelchair. Liz and Sequoia reached to pull at the wheelchair, Liz still holding the umbrella above their heads. “May I?” Vic put his hand beside hers on the umbrella’s handle.

“Thanks.”

Vic stepped back with the umbrella, held it to give protection while the two women boosted the wheelchair from the car. Sequoia got the chair unfolded and positioned to receive Dawson while Liz unbuckled his seat straps. A gust nearly plucked the umbrella from Vic’s grip while they were helping Dawson twist sideways on the car seat. Vic stretched to keep the umbrella above them and also keep out of their way. Liz reached behind Dawson’s lower back to help pull him up while Sequoia held his hands and leaned back, pulling him to his feet. They helped him stay upright while he shuffled around, maneuvering his backside toward the wheelchair. Vic looked again at the dream catcher still dangling inside the car.

Vic followed with the umbrella as Sequoia and Liz wheeled Dawson into the garage. Liz pushed Dawson’s chair onto a ramp up to the service door into the house. Vic collapsed the umbrella and leaned it against the ramp’s handrail.

“See ya, Vic!” Dawson called out as he neared the open service door.

“Bye, Dawson! Nice meeting you!”

“Take a look at my bike over in the corner before you go!”

Sequoia raised an eyebrow at Vic.

“Will do, buddy!”

“Thank you, Sequoia,” Liz said. “Nice meeting you, Vic,” she added, before disappearing inside the house.

“Hey, hugs?!” Sequoia grinned and ran after them into the house.

The service door slammed shut and Vic stood alone in the garage. The garage door opener’s light clicked off. Not enough sunlight found its way inside for Vic to see Dawson’s bicycle. He flipped the wall switch and nothing happened. He pressed the garage door opener button near the service door to test whether the power may have gone out.

“Oh, shoot,” Sequoia said, stepping into the garage again. “The power’s out.”

Liz stepped out, looked through the open garage door at the rain and the wind whipping the trees.

“Are you going to be all right, honey?” Sequoia asked.

“Oh yeah. This happens. It’ll be on again before long.”

“What about the garage door?” Sequoia asked.

“There’s a release lever there on the chain in front of the opener,” Vic said. “Is your van unlocked? If I can just step inside the van here where the side door is, I can reach that lever and pull it shut.”

Liz hopped onto the van’s hood near the windshield and reached the release lever to disengage the garage door from the opener chain, then pivoted and hopped lightly to the garage floor.

“Nice,” Vic said. “You even stuck the landing.”

“Like I said, this happens.” Liz pulled the garage door partway down, waited for Vic and Sequoia to exit before lowering it to the floor.

Vic re-secured the bike in the back of Sequoia’s Prius. He considered climbing into the relatively roomy back seat where Dawson had been sitting, but that may have seemed impolite. He squeezed again into the front seat with the clay bricks on the floor and hugged his backpack in his lap.

Sequoia smiled at Vic after he had managed to get settled, his feet angled wide left and right of the bricks, knees knocked together and awkwardly wedged against the glove box. “Sometimes I do think this old car is a little too compact,” she said. “But we’ve been through a lot together and it’s been such a good car.”

Vic nodded.

Sequoia twisted in her seat to look through the rear windshield while backing the car down the long gravel driveway. “A backup camera would be nice, too. I’ve thought about getting a fully electric car, but this one still works fine for everything I do. Except for when I have to stop to rescue some nut case riding his bicycle in a hailstorm.”

Vic nodded. After they’d gone a few blocks he asked, “Was I being patronizing back there? I shouldn’t have assumed Liz didn’t know how to close her garage door when the power’s out.”

Sequoia glanced briefly at Vic, then back at the road. “She knew you meant well, honey.”

Vic nodded. Then his phone vibrated. “Excuse me—the boat is calling.”

Sequoia nodded.

“Hey Stewie.”

“Vic, how far out are you? We gotta leave the dock pretty quick here.”

“On my way. I had bicycle trouble and I’ve hitched a ride.”

“ETA?”

“Five minutes, I’m guessing, if traffic’s clear on the bridge.”

“Sorry, wrong answer. Traffic’s backed up on the bridge—I can see that from here on the dock. If you’re still on the Minnesota side, you’re not going to make it.”

“Crap.”

“Can you get over to Lark and John’s place on that side of the river? We’ll leave now and pick you up on that side of the river.”

“Sure! Be there in a few minutes.”

“Change course?” Sequoia asked.

“Yeah. They’re heading for a friend’s dock on this side of the river. It’s just a few blocks south of the bridge.”

As they turned into the neighborhood where Lark and her husband John lived, Sequoia said “Look at that house—it’s pretty new. Now look at this other one over here, right across the street. It’s older and smaller but look at the beautiful picture window facing the street.”

Vic had been looking ahead, watching for Lark’s mailbox with the metal sailboat affixed to the post.

“Just imagine the nice view of the river that cute little old house used to have, until some narcissistic jerk had to build such a monstrosity right across the street. I’ll bet he’s got even nicer picture windows on the river side of the house, but over here all he left for his neighbor to see is his six-car garage!”

“Right here.”

“We’re here already?”

“Yup.”

Sequoia pulled into the driveway and up close to the garage—similar to the one she had just dissed. “Your friends live here?”

“Yeah, I know them from the sailing club.”

Sequoia smiled thinly at Vic.

“Thanks for rescuing me, Sequoia.” Vic pushed the door open and extricated himself from the car again, being careful about the clay bricks. “It’s been really nice meeting you.”

“You too! Enjoy your yacht race!”

Vic pushed the door shut and Sequoia took a nice long spin along the turnaround driveway on her way out to the street. Vic slung his backpack over his shoulder and trotted down toward the river. He could see the mast of the boat, waiting for him at the dock. Still wearing his bicycle cleats, he picked his way down the flagstone stairway to the river as quickly and carefully as he could manage.

Corvus waited at the end of the dock, John steadying her with one hand on a side stay. Vic clomped onto the dock. Stewie was seated at the helm of the boat and Lark, John’s wife and the Corvus bowman, stood ahead of the mast. Wally, the tactician, sat on the cockpit bench at starboard, Vic’s usual position. Vic didn’t see Gust, his son and the port trimmer.

“New boat shoes?” John asked.

“Ha! Thanks for letting us use your dock.”

John smiled and put one hand on Vic’s shoulder while Vic stepped from the dock to the cockpit, careful not to slip on the smooth gelcoat bench seat. “Have a good race,” John said, shoving Corvus away from the dock with one foot.

Wally stood and gripped Vic’s elbow as he stepped from the bench to the cockpit floor. “Nice ride?” Wally asked.

“I wish,” Vic said, smiling.

Stewie let go the dock post and gave the outboard motor’s starting cord a firm pull.

Wally sat down again. “You must have been fighting a crosswind the whole time.” Wally’s understanding of the weather was legendary. Most of the sailors thought he was a retired meteorologist from out east somewhere. The out-east part of that was right—he was from Maryland, where he had learned to sail and watch weather patterns, but Wally was a retired high school civics teacher.

“Yeah, crosswinds, rain, hail—no locusts though.” Vic made to go below deck to change shoes and check whether any of the clothes in his backpack were dry. As he stepped toward the companionway that dropped a couple of feet from the cockpit to below, Gust’s head popped up in front of him.

“Hello, Pa!” Gust said, grinning.

“Hey there,” Vic replied, also grinning.

Gust ducked back down into the companionway to reach into the cooler that doubled as a companionway step and produced a can of pale ale. He cracked it open and handed it to Vic, then slipped past to join the others topside.

“Thanks,” Vic said, and then, “Hold this?” He handed the beer to Wally and grabbed Gust in a bear hug. He squeezed his eyes shut for the hug. Then, still hugging his son, his eyes opened, and his gaze took in the widening gap across the river to the shore and up the hill beyond the houses. He saw the dim reflection of Prius taillights gliding away on a rain-wet road. “Aw shit.”

“What?” Gust and Wally asked together.

“The bike. It’s still in Sequoia’s car.” Vic sat down on the starboard bench next to Wally, took his beer and sipped.

“Call her quick! She can turn back and put it in my garage,” Lark said.

“I don’t have her number.”

Stewie laughed.

“Huh?” Lark said.

Vic gulped his beer.

“Nothing you can do about that right now, so let’s get our heads in the boat,” Stewie said. “There’s going to be a race, so let’s head for the starting line and get the main up.”

Next: CTAS 3 - Starting Sequence