Another story by Mr. Stphen Reid…. a great way to start the week!!
Having spent a large number of years going backwards and forwards to Las Americas in Tenerife with the children, they had got to know that part quite well. However now they were at the quieter far end of Los Christianos it was either a long walk to get along the coast past Las Americas, or taking a taxi which involved a high speed car chase without a pursuit vehicle, going half way up a mountain, along the dual carriageway and back down into Las Americas with feet on the car dash board in the ‘crash position’ for protection from the mad taxi drivers. As they say ‘half way around the world for a short cut’, in addition to a taxi fee of € 5.
As they sat in the air conditioned coolness of the ‘Arona’ reception watching the world go by outside in the bright sunshine, they noticed two large Lyrca clad ladies parking their racing bicycles opposite the hotel. He idly thought they were the type of bicycle which, when you manage to climb on, your legs are clamped onto the pedals and by the time you have reached down for the dropped handlebars your rear end is pointing skyward and you can see nothing except that part of the road your head is going to hit when you come off. Perhaps they were designed for people with a desire to commit suicide but did not want to see the ‘grim reaper’ approaching.
They wore crash helmets with long slots cut out; he presumed air holes for cooling purposes; tight Lycra tops, to restrain their womanly bits; skintight long short trousers with well padded gussets, though their gussets seemed well padded already. These trousers stopped halfway down their bulging thighs exposing closely shaved shins lathered in oil, he presumed to reduce wind resistance. He watched them struggle to disengage themselves from their bicycles, which now seemed to be permanently bolted to their feet. He found this performance quite amusing in a bored way but it became hysterical when he saw them crossing the road.
As they hobbled and limped across the street hand in hand, doubled over in obvious pain and with gloves with no fingers clutching their, no doubt frayed nether regions, he made a mental note that anything requiring such protective clothing and producing such a painful result should be avoided all times. He ideally wondered why they hauled all this equipment thousands of miles across the world to punish themselves with arduous pumping of legs and gasping lungs to struggle up not inconsequential mountains. By the time they got home they must be in a terrible state and in need of a restful holiday and a lot of painkillers.
It was then that it struck him. The simple solution to their exploration problem. Bicycles!! Of course, it was so simple.
In his enthusiasm he rushed up to the lovely woman in the ‘Arona’ reception who, remembering her last mad discussion with him about the ‘undead’, when in fact he was talking about his sun bed, made her very wary about agreeing to anything too soon with him.
Taking a step back away from the broad reception counter as an act of self defense, she listened very carefully and decided that he wanted to hire bicycles for himself and his poor innocent wife. However when she looked down at his big flat feet, skinny little spindly legs and large beer belly, she had great trouble suppressing a good laugh. She remembered her training and never said a word. She just smiled and asked him how many bicycles he required and when.
The next day a big strong strapping Scandinavian chap gave them two basic bicycles with a simple big lever to work the four gears. His innocent wife, after being told that the handlebars did not need adjusting just turned the right way round, was now able to get her feet on the pedals without banging her knees, was all the instruction they were going to take. I mean, they had been riding bicycles since they were five years of age, how hard could it be?
He was glad he found the brake lever so handily; though at the time he thought for a brake it had a very small little handle. He turned facing the gentle slope from the hotel allowing him to slowly free wheel down the hill towards the promenade entrance. However when he turned left and went down the side of the hotel, the path got quite steep. In fact it could be described as nearly a precipice. Now he knew why the hotel had installed a lift. As he screamed past the pool sun patio some friends he had made at the hotel leaned over the rail and cheering, waved gaily to him and wished them luck.
He waved back nonchalantly, but now found the acceleration down towards the sea, whilst very exhilarating, decidedly uncomfortable. Earlier than he anticipated he arrived quite suddenly at the little bench overlooking the sea. He decided that he had spent long enough examining in minute detail the bench at the sea wall. He did feel that lying across the little bench with his noble bicycle on top of him was probably preferable to having its weight drag him to the bottom of the harbour. It was only when he looked closely at the handlebars he realised that the lever he was frantically pulling to stop the rotten machine was in fact the gear change and made not the slightest difference to the speed of his headlong charge down the hill towards the sea.
He extracted himself out of his tangle of arms, legs and parts of bicycle and bending over to retrieve the rest of his bits, he unwillingly now found himself sprawled across the small sea wall with what appeared to be another bicycle’s front wheel lodged snugly between his buttocks as if parked. His indignity was further increased by the peels of merry laughter emitting from his beloved who had experienced the same problem as himself, but had fortunately found a novel way of not only stopping, her wretched machine, but parking it as well.
They gathered up their limbs and finding no broken bones, just minor scrapes and scratches gave the now cheering mob watching from the hotel a fond wave farewell and pedaled off along the front for the next adventure despite the state they were now in, and they had not even started their journey yet.
It did not take them long to realise that they were going to have great difficulty in managing any distance at all by this method. The difficulty was that every few yards they passed little, well appointed restaurants, which the longer they pedaled and the hotter they got all began to look more and more attractive and inviting.
They stopped in the square opposite the harbour and heard family laughter coming from behind a statue of an unhappy woman looking out to sea and pointing. Behind her was a dark door opening and small window of a little house with two or three tables outside shaded by some trees. On closer examination it turned out to be a small Spanish restaurant serving mainly fresh local fish bought from the harbour market that morning. Some local people had just sat down and were enjoying a very animated conversation with the cheerful owner.
They decided they could not progress any further as they had already covered what felt like at least fifty kilometers since breakfast, and it was now nearly lunchtime or at least should be. They parked their bicycles and took the last table in the shade of a tree with a sigh of relief.
The meal was served at a sensible pace and to a high standard. The chef/ owner came out to talk to his customers and noticed their bicycles.
“Have you come far?” he politely asked.
“Yes! A very long way it seems to have taken us hours, but it was worth it to enjoy your chilled wine and beautiful food” they replied smiling contentedly.
“How far have you come” was the next question.
Pointing proudly at the ‘Arona Gran’ beside the bay they said “From way over there”
“It’s only a few hundred metres away?” said the chef incredulously “But I suppose I should be grateful to get you out of their restaurants. In fact I should be flattered that you made such a great effort to get here, in spite of all the ‘Arona Gran’s’ temptations”.
