Life Changes After Trying to Bike to Work

        I dreamed I could hear the traffic so thick that I decided to ride my bicycle to work. I changed into sweat pants and a long sleeved t-shirt, then stuffed my work clothing, my notebook, pager and wallet as well as a change of underwear into my bag. I rode into town. Surprised at how easy the lower gears were for making my way up the hills leading to the freeway. I expected that I would have to pump much harder than that.

        The freeway off ramp was spilling out into the main roads, and there was little room to ride. Drivers were trying to make three lanes out of two. I couldn't even make it across the road at Center City the traffic was so thick, so I backtracked to another smaller street by dismounting and walking my bike over a median strip and climbing a small fence. I snagged my bag on the fence as I reached over for the bike, but despite the tearing noise I couldn't find a rip or torn seam so mounted up and rolled across the grass to the street.

        I rode down the side street until it turned into the driveway of a mall area. I suddenly found myself riding indoors amongst a bunch of shoppers and other cyclists. I dismounted again, looking around for an exit. I saw a parking lot through a couple of glass doors and exited the mall. I started to ride across the parking lot, but its entrance was blocked off by the tents of a craft fair. A pair of older women stooped, laying out Persian style rugs, like cots in a barracks, or graves in a graveyard. They placed a bolster at one end of each carpet. I had to ride a wheelie, using the bike as a unicycle, so I could get in between the staggered rows of carpets. I didn’t understand how they blocked my path so quickly.

        One of the women asked me to help for a bit, and since I was all ready going to be quite late, I agreed. I dismounted and chained my bike to their tent.

        "Can you ride a unicycle?" one of them asked.

        "Yes, it's actually easier than riding a wheelie like that."

        "Oh! I didn't know that."

        I helped them lay out the rest of their stock. By the time I was finished, it was night, and the fair was locked up. I hadn’t noticed the time passing. I looked out over the carpets, well over a hundred of them. It really did look unnervingly like a graveyard, especially in the failing daylight.

I slept in the tent while the women retired to their camper. During the night one of them came out to me, “Humor an old woman, just a cuddle?”

So I did just cuddle. She whispered to me, words and not words, sweet thoughts and terrifying thoughts. I managed to sleep after kissing the old woman on the forehead as she finally finished her recitation and dropped into sleep.  By morning, her body felt far firmer and smelled much nicer than I imagined an old lady would. I resisted my bodies urges and continued to cuddle her, falling asleep again.

In the morning a younger women called me into their camper. She was partly disrobed, her breasts were larger than I remembered and she looked about thirty rather than sixty.

        "We need to go now, but thank you for your help, and for not taking advantage."

        "Good thing I didn't notice."

        "Midnight we became young again, then we will age throughout the day."

        "Will I see you again?" I asked.

        "It is possible." She and her partner backed out through a window and vanished almost as soon as their feet hit the ground on the other side. I heard several people outside the tent. My bike was gone. I didn't feel all that bad about it for some reason. (Normally that sort of thing would send me into a rage.)

        The people outside the tent were police, so I reported that my bike had been stolen. I gave them the license number, or as much of it as I could remember. They wanted to know where the old ladies were.

        "They slipped out the window." I told them, figuring the truth was the best way to go.

        "And you didn't find that odd?"

        "Of course I did, but what was I supposed to do about it? Wrestle them to the ground. I didn't know you were after them, and I didn't know my bike was gone."

        "Of course not."

        For some reason I began to suspect that the police had taken my bike away. I dressed, but the only clothing in the tent was a brightly colored pants and shirt with a gold embroidered vest. I thought about telling the police that my bike clothing (sweat pants and a t-shirt, really) were gone, but I found my bag with my work clothes and wallet in it, so didn't make a big deal about it. By the time my interview was over, I had a half dozen customers lying on the carpets with their heads or feet up on the bolsters. I made my through them, each one getting a short fortune, or advice on a question they had, but hadn't really asked. As each person left, happy or unhappy depending on what I’d told, each paid me 64 dollars and 64 cents in exact change, every one of them, every time. When each customer left, they took their carpet, rolled it up around their bolster, and then vanished into the crowd. I knew that by the end of the day I would have slightly more than half of the carpets left. There would be exactly enough for the clients I would have tomorrow, who would also go away, happy or sad, resolved to change or remain the same, each leaving me with 64 dollars and 64 cents each. The police would be back in the morning to check my seller’s permit, which I knew they would find in order, and then I would load up my tent and drive away in the caravan to another show in another city. I might see the ladies again, or I might not. I prepared for sleep in the tent (I was not quite ready to move into the trailer, besides the sisters might have unfinished business there.)

        I thought it was a more than fair trade for my bicycle.

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