POPPING A WHEELIE

Written by Laird Long, Published on 7/31/2009

“I wanna ride your new bike!” Mark whined.

Matthew didn’t even bother glancing away from the video game he was playing with his friend, String, to look at his little brother. “Not a chance, short stuff,” he said, zapping String’s on-screen troll with a blue thunderbolt.

Mark’s lower lip and chin started to tremble. “I’m-I’m telling Dad when he gets back!” the nine-year-old shrieked at his older brother on the basement couch. “He said you were supposed to share the bike with me sometimes!”

“Get lost,” Matthew replied, thumbs flying, chasing String’s game ogre up a beanstalk.

Mark turned and stomped up the stairs.

“You gotta relax your attitude about that bike, dude,” String commented. “It’s not made of glass, you know.”

“Gotcha!” Matthew hollered, lopping the head off String’s ogre with a golden sword.

String threw down his controller in disgust. “But I’ll get you – you can count on that, buddy-boy.”

String was so nicknamed because he was tall and skinny, and he always wore a piece of string tied around one bony wrist. He was a big-time practical joker, so Matthew didn’t take his playful threat lightly.

“Another water balloon from the third floor of the school?” he asked blandly. “Or maybe another rubber chicken in my lunch bag?”

String grinned evilly. “You won’t know ‘til it hits you, friend.”

The doorbell rang. Matthew jumped off the couch and ran up the stairs to the side door of his home. David was out on the driveway, sitting on his bike. The three pals – Matthew, String and David – had agreed to meet at Matthew’s house, before joining their other friend, Cory, at the city park on the outskirts of town for a day of off-road biking.

David looked up glumly, as Matthew opened the door and said, “What up, D-man?”

“I got a flat,” the freckle-faced redhead replied, pointing at the bald back tire of his beat-up bicycle.

Matthew stepped outside, looked at the pancaked rear tire. “Sure do.” Something always seemed to be wrong with David’s bike. “How’d you make it over here?”

“It wasn’t bad when I left my place.” David got off the bike, dropped it down onto the concrete driveway with a crash. “Hey, mind if I ride your hot wheels over to the bike shop on the corner, to pick up a patch?”

Like all of the boys, David had wanted to take Matthew’s new bike for a spin as soon as he’d laid eyes on it, and he was more than a little resentful that his friend wouldn’t let anyone even touch his cherry ride.

“Uh … I don’t think so,” Matthew said. He glanced affectionately at his shiny new bicycle where it was chained up against the wall in the open garage. “Why don’t you take String’s bike? He won’t mind. Just come in when you’ve got everything patched up and we’ll all ride over to the park.” He stepped back inside the house and shut the door.

Half-an-hour later, David came down the stairs and found the two boys still in the basement, still playing video games. “You guys about ready to take off?” he asked.

“In a minute,” Matthew replied, sending String’s on-screen go-kart flying into a pile of hay bales and exploding in flames.

“Fix your tire?” String asked.

“Yeah.” David plopped down into a chair. “I used some tools in your garage, Matthew, if that’s alright?”

“No problemo,” the curly haired boy responded, banging String’s flaming wreck right off the track.

After another half-hour, the boys finally turned off the big-screen TV and headed upstairs and outside.

“My bike’s gone!” Matthew howled, staring at the empty spot in the garage his brand-new bicycle had so recently decorated.

“It was here when I got back and was working on my bike,” David said.

“There it is!” String shouted, pointing up the street. “Looks like someone got to ride it whether you liked it or not.”

They all stared at Mark blithely riding up the street on his brother’s bicycle, a look of glee on his beaming face. Until he saw Matthew come charging across their front lawn and out into the street. Then he yelped and jumped off the still rolling bike and ran off in the opposite direction as fast as his little legs would carry him.

“How’d he get the bike unchained from your garage?” David asked, once he and String had caught up with Matthew in the middle of the street.

“The punk’s crafty,” Matthew scowled, stroking the dust off his bike with a Kleenex.

The boys mounted up and peddled on over to the city park. Cory was waiting for them at the entrance to the park, sitting on his own customized bike. “I got a real rough track picked out for you squirts today,” he said. The square-built blonde was half-a-year older than the rest of the boys and leader of the pack, as a result. “Think you and your precious new tricycle can handle it, Matthew?”

“This baby can handle anything,” Matthew sneered back, patting his chrome handlebars.

They hit the trails, bouncing up and down a set of ruts that led through the forest, peddling hard up one side of a hill and then sailing down the opposite side, yelling with excitement. They crossed a bumpy crushed rock road and rattled along an abandoned railway track before speeding over a cedar chip path back into a wooded area, laughing and shouting.

David, Cory and Matthew raced out ahead of String, flying around a corner in the path and out of sight. The beanpole made no effort to keep up. A minute later, he heard a horrific scream.

String sped around the corner and skidded to a stop. Matthew was sprawled out on the ground, David off his bike and kneeling next to the whimpering boy.

“My front wheel came off!” Matthew wailed. He let David help him to his feet, nothing injured except his brand-new bike and his pride.

Cory squatted down beside the busted bicycle and picked up two shiny metal nuts. They were the axle nuts that secured the front wheel to the front forks of the bike, and when they’d come off, the wheel had come free, pitching Matthew right over the handlebars and onto the trail. “These babies must’ve been deliberately loosened, to fly off a new bike like that,” Cory said. “Lucky you weren’t riding down a hill or something – you could’ve really been hurt.”

“Sabotage!” Matthew cried.

“This wasn’t one of your stupid practical jokes, was it?” David asked String.

String scratched his bony skull. “What, and miss it? What’s the point of a practical joke if you don’t see it happen?”

“Was anyone fooling around with your bike before you came here, Matthew?” Cory asked.

Matthew sniffled, brushing off his jeans and t-shirt. “No, I don’t think …” An angry gleam suddenly shone in his watery brown eyes. “Yeah, wait a minute-”

“Wait a minute, indeed,” String interrupted. He walked over to Cory and popped the axle nuts out of the boy’s hand and deftly caught them in his own hand. “I know who loosened these,” he said. “And we all know why.”