LYRICS

Chapter X

Moon Babes of Bicycle City

NM.

New Mexico.

Crescit eundo.

“It grows as it goes.”

The original Sunshine State.

Land of Enchantment.

Land of Embankments…

Bicycle City, New Mexico.

Even the bingo hall has a bank-to-wall.

And a hip.

Two ladies on a Jamis Earth Cruiser commuter. Aqua on plum purple. Ubiquitous milk crate serving as the basket.

Stack of records in the crate and a stuffed animal.

Oh, it’s Road Runner—stuffed bird.

Stuffed cartoon bird.

When did axle pegs become “passenger foot rests”? Mick wonders as he watches.

Somewhere he saw pegs described like that.

Must not have been a safety manual.

The lady on the back tickles the armpits of the rider. Makes her laugh.

Says something in her ear.

Or she’s singing.

They must be going shopping.

Digging for vinyl.

A column of Spinal Health Associates riding restored pre-War Excelsiors passes them.

Rodd says to Mick, “Do a trick.”

“Thank you Woody Itson!” says Mick. Give him a second, he has to think of one he can do on this thing. He’s still gettin’ used to it. Horrendous headwind. He stands up on the pedals. “Alright,” he says. “So it won’t be a 180 rollback because of the wind. Let’s go for a 360 bunnyhop, shall we? ‘Mike Buff-on-a-Quadangle-in-the-Taco Bell-parking lot’ style from BMX Action.”

Mick bunnyhops 180. He lands the Panda on the back tire and the nylon Z Rim flexes. Mick struggles to bring the front end around. Hissing.

Flat tire.

Son of a crop duster.

Less than ten minutes from the shop.

Exactly why Mick never had Zytel plastic rims. His brother did though—yellow ones on a chrome Torker. He had an Addicks nylon chainring that matched the rims.

Rodd already has a patch kit in the palm of his MXL-gloved hand.

Rodd undoes the quick release on the belt of his hip pack. He puts the patch kit in the hip pack. Zips it shut. Hands the hip pack to Mick.

“Fix that flat.”

“Go on without me, Rodd.”

“No. I can’t leave you here.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a search underway for a missing man. One is enough. Don’t be a fool, O’Grady. Search teams are scouring the canyons and mountainsides as we speak.”

“I’m already wide-eyed in the wilds.”

Rodd laughs.

“You need an ice cold canyon of Frail Sisters coffee,” Rodd says. “That’ll widen your eyes as you fix that flat.”

“Bitchen, brother! Black, please. Unsweetened.”

“Patch it up enough for us to roll back to the shop. You can exchange it for something else that tickles your fancy. Whatever other set-up you wanna ride. You said you saw our Fall catalog. I forgot how problematic those rims are when you taco ‘em. Spoke nipples poke through the tubes. I’ll hit up this Allsup’s Market for refreshments.”

Tickles, Mick thinks.

Those ladies a few minutes ago. The one tickling the other’s armpits.

All felt so well then. Now this. Fix.

Bicycles have problems.

Real problems sometimes.

Easy to forget that fact sometimes, he guesses.

Mick unscrews the red and white dice cap from the valve stem of the tube.

Rad Kaps.

He places it upside down on the desert.

Die.

Singular for “dice” is “die.”

He checks the sky for circling birds.

None that he can see.

Sun is blazing.

Mick presses his thumbnail into the valve and releases more air.

He unseats the tire bead from the right side of the Z Rim. Begins removing the tube. This would be so much easier with the back wheel off.

He squeezes the Dia-Compe MX-1000 brake arms. Using his right thumb and pointer finger, he pulls the quick release lever down and flips it counter-clockwise. Lets go. The caliper widens.

He unzips the hip pack and empties it of its contents: patch kit, pump, wrench, socket, stack of stickers for the contest tomorrow. What are these? The keys to Rodd’s bikecar replica of the ’76 Chrysler Cordoba.

Not very “era-correct” of Rodderick to be wearing a hip pack while riding a GJS, Mick thinks. He flattens it on the ground to protect the red Kashimax seat. Made in Japan.

He flips the Panda onto its seat and the red Oakley .5 grips with the black Mud ‘n Crud plugs.

He picks up the wrench and fits the socket onto the non-drive-side axle nut.

He loosens the axle nut, ratchets, loosens, ratchets, loosens.

He loosens the other one, ratchets, loosens, ratchets, loosens.

He pushes the axle forward, derails the chain, disengages the wheel.

Removes the inner tube from the tire casing.

He picks up the pump and hooks it onto the valve.

“Flat-out hookin’ it on!” Mick says.

He inflates the tube. Listens for air escaping. Finds the hole. Holes? Hole.

This shouldn’t be so difficult, Mick thinks.

Really.

He can do this.

He picks up the patch kit and opens the lid of the container. A piece of sandpaper blows out.

It’s grip tape.

He picks it up. Uses it to abrade the area around the hole.

He returns the grip tape to the patch kit.

Mick takes out the tube of glue and unscrews the cap. He applies three drops to the sanded area. One for each of Rodd and Chat’s daughters: Suzue, Araya, and Ukai Moon. Named after the hub and rim makers in Japan.

He evenly distributes the glue using the nozzle tip of the tube.

He re-caps the tube and puts it back in the patch kit.

Where is their dad with that ice cold coffee?

Mick remembers hearing that New Mexico moved up and down an inch after that earthquake in Japan.

Japan’s 9.0 magnitude earthquake in 2011.

He heard about it on the radio.

2011, worst year of his life.

Most fortunate though, now that he thinks of it.

One that had to happen to be where he is right now.

But what makes now so great? Well, he is off work for an extended weekend on vacation in Bicycle City, New Mexico. There’s that.

This.

Not at the time did 2011 feel like the most fortunate year of his life though. Hell. 2015 then.

People have problems.

Real problems sometimes.

Easy to forget that fact sometimes.

Here he is now in 2019 however.

Friday, October 11th.

Mick peels the wrap off an inner tube patch.

Bicycle City is busy.

Hearing cheerfulness from riders passing gladdens him.

Tires hum past on macadam and the gravel. The sand.

Music from sounds of bike chains and the howling. Wind.

The round patch says on it,

MOON
BABES

He presses down with his thumb.

Holds it in place.

Wonders.

MOON
BABES

Wonders about them.

MOON
BABES