The Tricycle Rodeo: Part III

Doesn’t it seem as if a person who wanted to ride my tricycle should sit on the seat? I certainly assumed that would be true.

I was wrong.

The seat is to sit on for photos, or perhaps when riding down a smooth and level urban bike path. 

Sitting on the seat while riding over a Vieques street that is cambered, patched and full of holes is akin to sitting on a bull in a rodeo. The seat tips and bounces, pitches and rolls, and bears no relation to something intended to support a human body in an upright position.

And finally—finally—I figured it out. I must stand on one pedal over the rough patches. The pedals, at the bottom of their round, are close to the ground; the motion is not exacerbated by two feet of height—just as the movement of the open sea is less on the deck of a sailboat than at the top of its mast. Standing on a pedal rattled me; it did not threaten to throw me to the ground as sitting on the seat did.

I enlisted Linda to help me solve another problem. The mirror on the left side was really essential for safety, but it wouldn’t stay put. Every bump jiggled it out of place. Linda stuffed it with plastic bits created from wall anchors for screws and wrapped it with duct tape. For the first time ever, I could see behind me to see what was coming. That was wonderful. I pulled over and let all the cars pass before I attempted that left turn that used to feel like possible suicide.

The daily rains blew away, and Thursday, I tested my new realization by a trike ride to the hardware store a few miles away. My theory worked. My foot and ankle took the bouncing as a matter of course; it was only a little scary to lean way to the left when the road fell off to the right; and that blessed mirror put me in control of my situation at last. Exhilaration is not too big a word to describe the feeling of rolling down a hill on smooth road at 24 MPH!

Rosa’s Hardware, Superdescuentes Morales (the big Morales grocery store), Isla Nina Laundromat, the Farmácia, I did it all. Fun, fun, fun. And freedom.

It was time to go to Esperanza, the town on the other side of the island. Saturday, I removed the duct tape and examined that mirror. It was made to be tightened down and I had the kit of tiny tools that had come with my Cyan baby. I fixed it.

I made a day of it: D’Frozz first, three blocks away, for a cup of coffee and the morning rosary. By the time I parked, the mirror had moved. I asked Victor, who works there, for his help with it. Clearly, the job needed a man’s hand strength. He tightened it so it knew it had been tightened.

And so I started. I knew the way. With the ability to see all the cars on the road, I felt in control. The road had been recently paved and had few rough spots. All our roads here are the width of what would be a lane and a half in the states; two cars can squeeze by each other, cautiously. I watched behind me and when it was safe for a car to pass me, I drove right at the edge and waved it around. 

And I arrived. Not much was happening. Tourist season is almost over and Esperanza is primarily a tourist town. A man on the malecón (the long walk at the edge of the sea) was preaching to a standing audience of about twenty people. He used a mic and his voice boomed over the restaurants and stores across the street. Food was my next objective. Bananas had been recommended and was my first choice, but when I went there, the man and woman in the outside eating area told me they didn’t open on Saturday, hadn’t for the past two years. I could go to Duffy’s next door; it opened in half an hour at noon.

I was having a vacation, no study, no work, only play. I had my Kindle with me and a novel first up in my library list. Half way down the malecón was a shady tree to sit under. The Spanish preaching was quieter there and I started my book. 

Duffy’s was a joy. The host gave me a seat at a table facing the Caribbean, brought me a glass of ice water and forgot I was there. I was reading; it didn’t much matter; “island time” suited me just then. After another half hour, a server wandered down to my end of the deck and I asked him if I could order. He was properly chagrined. I ordered a garden salad with chicken, and since I was on vacation, I had the chicken breaded and fried instead of grilled. Words can’t capture the enjoyment that salad gave me. The chicken was moist and tender, the mixed greens and cherry tomatoes fresh, the roasted walnuts a delight, finely shredded cheeses flavorful, and the ranch dressing a perfect complement to it all. I ate for a long time, slowly, glancing at the sunlit sea between chapters. The preacher had gone, the breeze was fresh and cooling, the book fun.

I lost my head and bought a souvenir, a big plastic mug with a handle and a picture of a cartoon iguana in a beach chair. The words, Duffy’s, Vieques, Puerto Rico, sealed my madness.  I’ll be 82 years old in a week and this is the very first souvenir I’ve ever purchased. The server filled it with ice water for me. 

After lunch, I returned to my seat under the shady tree and finished my book. It was great to have that tall drink of water with me.

And so, to home—another half hour of glorious travel lay ahead of me, a proper finish to my vacation day. 

But wait—was the battery getting low? Instead of being carried up the hills at 18 miles an hour, I was going only 12. That couldn’t be right. I knew I had more range than that, even if the motor did all the work. Was I going to have to pedal all the way home? Were the hills steeper going this direction? Finally, I was slowed down so much that I was actually able to pedal in low gear and help out. And at the top of that hill—I was suddenly at the top of the island. It was all downhill from there.

The battery showed a 2/3 charge after I parked it. Some study is in order, some rereading of the manual. And maybe I’m going to actually learn how to pedal; it was fun pedaling up that hill, and it should be safe; one doesn’t need to sit on the seat all the time to pedal. 

A Facebook group of bicyclists exists. One of them read a post I made about Cyan, the trike, and asked me to join them on a ride. I was still in a state of terror at the time. If I can find them and get invited again, I bet one of them can teach me how to shift gears.