The Golden Bike

The Golden Bike

The mother rolls over in her early morning sleep, awakening from a deep dream, suddenly feeling an irrational urgency to get her son a new bike. It is imperative. It is ridiculous. It is a snowy cold day in the deep-freeze of February, the world buried in thick snow, more swirling down in the early morning light. Bikes and bike-riding are the last thing anyone would think of today. It can wait. She rolls over, ignoring the call. But the feeling pushes back in, insistent. She has to get him his new bike, today!

She has been paying attention to her intuition recently, wanting to be more open to input from the unseen world of spirit. She is learning that her higher self can send messages in many ways. It might be a small thing, like seeing a particular number on a license plate or clock that brings her attention to the moment, reminding her that spirit is present and she can connect if she wants to. Sometimes the moment is more specific, like when a hawk flew low over her car, tracking along the highway with her for a spell. As she paid attention she received an idea out of the blue to back out of a situation she was mired in and see it from a higher perspective, like looking through the hawk's eyes. This was very helpful. The most explicit time, she heard a clear voice tell her to give a deck of unused Tarot cards to a woman she hadn't even met yet. She thought it was crazy, but the following day as she was running a workshop, the unknown woman, who was a participant, helped in an unexpected way, and it was very appropriate to offer the cards as a thank you. To her great surprise, the participant was ecstatic, thanking her vigorously, claiming to be in a group studying those very cards, and not able to afford her own deck! That had been a stunner and made her pay more attention, developing some trust that something bigger than just her own imagination was at play. But there has never been anything as insistent or urgent as this call to get her son his new bike!

Her adolescent son has taken up mountain-bike riding, and loves it with a passion she hasn't seen in him before. His soul shines out as he manoeuvres through the forest trails at high speed. Her heart is often in her throat for him, but she realizes that any injuries he might sustain are likely to be minor. He isn't crazy or wild, just enjoys the thrill and the freedom of his ride. Although he is still a bit young, he joined the high-school cross-country team and the kids and teacher-coach have travelled around the province to race. She was so proud of him the day he came home, exhausted but grinning, announcing with great delight that he had completed the race! It was a very challenging course, with adult riders as well as youth. It turned out he was the very last rider to cross the finish line, but finishing had been his goal, and his accomplishment was not marred in any way by being the last one in. He was chuffed and she was thrilled for him. She is so proud of him, of his character, his resilience, his self-confidence.

But he did take a major fall in the last race of the late autumn, coursing down a rough, leaf-covered trail in a dense forest. His wheel got caught in a tree root, and twisting, had thrown him against a huge old maple tree. She walked the trail with him later to see the spot, and was simultaneously deeply impressed with his courage to ride such a steep, treacherous section, and quaking with her mommy-fear-gratitude that he hadn't been more seriously injured.

That day, she had been waiting at the finish line with a friend who was himself a cyclist and racer, watching for her boy to appear from the trees for the home-stretch sprint. It was a long race, the fastest riders taking almost an hour to complete, so she knew it would be a long wait. As time wore on and her son did not appear, her eyes became glued to the opening in the forest where the trail emerged. She saw riders of all ages, dressed in gear of all colours, on bikes of all types, but not her beloved boy. Finally, as daylight was fading, the last stragglers still emerging from the woods, her eyes were drawn to a familiar small figure crossing toward her from the other side of the road, through the dwindling crowd, without a bike, a blanket around his shoulders, accompanied by a medical person, searching for her in the crowd. He held his arm gingerly, it wrapped in bandages, supported in a sling, gauze taped in other places on his legs and arms.

She leapt toward him, terrified for his wounding, but he smiled as he saw her, bright-eyed and glowing, still his cheerful self.

“I wiped out Mom. But don't worry, I'm okay, just a sprained wrist and cuts and stuff.”

Then his face fell as he said more quietly, “ But my bike is wrecked. It's completely mangled.” Ignoring everything about the bike she blurted,

“Don't worry about the bike Honey, we'll get you a new one. But how are you!? What happened?! Are you okay?!” and she hugged him and kissed him and wanted all the details of the story, worried about his pain, his wound, his trauma. He told her about coming down the steep, slick hill, how some older, faster riders had passed him and set him in a slightly different line than he had picked for himself, how he didn't see the root under the leaves until it was too late, how he was thrown off the seat, protecting himself with arms outstretched, and how both he and his bike had collided with big old Mr Maple. Finally she was able to hear about the damage to the bike, it seeming very unimportant until she knew he really was okay, untraumatized, still his wholesome self. But, oh dear... the bike really was done for. The medical person showed it to her, saying her son had been lucky it took the brunt of the collision. The front forks were twisted, the frame scraped, the wheel mangled. All she could think was thank god it took the impact, and all he had was a sprained wrist, scrapes and bruises.

On the drive home her friend had engaged her son in racer-cyclist-talk. They compared notes on steep sections and treacherous bits of various trails. They shared scary stories of near misses and bad falls. Every rider has accident stories, and they regaled each other with more and more dramatic recounting of their tales. By the time they arrived, her son was wearing his wounds as badges of glory, and she was grateful for her friend's perspective. But they had all agreed he would need a new bike for the spring, although, it being late October, the purchase could wait.

So it is crazy that she has been awakened this morning with an urgent need to get him his new bike today! It is still February! He won't be riding again for months and the purchase can wait. Her habit is to meditate each weekend morning before getting out of bed, but try as she might, she can not get her mind to quiet. The need to get a bike is too strong. She tries setting the thoughts aside one last time, but the call is truly insistent. She has to get him his new bike, and it has to be now! Okay, she knows when she feels compelled in this way that she should pay attention, that spirit is at play, so she will check with her son to see if it fits in his day.

Heading down to the kitchen, she runs the idea by him and he becomes very excited. He tells her he had some band practice scheduled but it has been cancelled so he is free, and yes, of course, he gets on board with the purchase of a new bike, even if it is February! His excitement is contagious, inspiring her own enthusiasm, so she begins to figure out how to do it. She had been planning to ask the cycling teacher-coach for ideas, but being a Saturday in the winter, that seems impossible. She knows very little about bikes and would like to get a better one than the one he crashed. If he is serious about racing, she wants him to have something that suits his new level. But she doesn't know about brands, tires, derailleurs, or gears, and she knows she doesn't know. Then a picture of her friend pops into her head, the racer who was with them the day of the accident! Of course, he is the right person to ask for advice about where to go and what to look for.

She calls her friend and he politely points out it is February, but accepts when she explains that she was awakened from a deep sleep with an urgency, so she's going to do it anyway. Okay, he says, he's on board, and starts talking with interest about her son and the needs of a young racer. He suggests a small out-of-the-way bike shop on the outskirts of a neighbouring town that he knows is the best place to go. She has never heard of the place and he explains it is a specialized shop for serious riders, not the general public. It is on a back country road in an unfamiliar corner of the region, and as he describes how to find the place, he suddenly offers to take them instead. She had thought to go in the afternoon, but he has plans for later, so they agree to go right away. This is the answer to her prayers, to have someone who knows cycling help them get a good bike. She is delighted he can take them.

A little while later he draws up in front of her place and she and her son bundle into his car. It is a frosty cold morning, their breath hanging in clouds in front of their faces, the snow twinkling all around. They all laugh at how crazy this adventure is, but off they go. The drive is almost an hour, through winding back roads. Eventually they pull up in front of a somewhat dilapidated old wooden building in a snow-covered dirt parking lot, surrounded by forest. There is only a weathered little sign announcing the presence of a bike shop and she realizes she would never have known about the place without her friend's help. They tumble out of the car, her son alive with anticipation as they make their way across the icy lot to the door.

Entering, she has to adjust her eyes to see in the dim light. The place seems ancient. It is very well-used, dusty, cluttered, piles of stuff lying about, bits and pieces of bikes strewn everywhere. There is an old-style mechanical cash register on a wooden counter by the door worn smooth with years of use. Bikes parts are piled in all directions, hanging from the ceiling, on old wooden shelves, in dust-covered boxes of all shapes and sizes. Small windows let in the winter light through layers of dirt. The place smells of grease, metal and rubber and she knows this is the right place to have come.

An older man emerges from a back room, wearing a work apron stained with years of axle grease and who-knows-what over dusty work clothes, glasses smudged, wiping his hands on an old rag as he walks. He is tall, muscled, somewhat stooped, once strong and handsome she can tell, silver hair now all askew. As he sees them, his face breaks open with a genuine smile and he greets her friend with fond familiarity. The men are glad to see each other, old buddies in the world of people who love bicycles and riding. She hears the remnants of an Eastern European accent as they share cycling news and community gossip. Finally her friend gets around to introducing her and her boy and explains what they are there for. The old man becomes very attentive, looking her son over, asking perceptive questions about his riding style and racing needs. She tells him the maximum she can spend. She lives on a tight budget and has been putting money aside, knowing this purchase would come. She can't go a penny over her top price. He nods and says he is sure they will find something good for that amount.

He ushers them through a door into the other half of the building, a large room packed with bicycles of many makes and models. Now the three cyclists get down to business, and she stands back, watching with a happy heart as her son is included in the familiar jargon and knowledge of these men. He tries sitting on one bike after another as the three of them talk and gesture, the men asking him questions and making suggestions. Seats are raised and lowered, tires pumped up and let out. Slowly, the choices become defined, settling on three possibilities. They are all the same price, just under her maximum, and it is now up to the boy to choose the one he wants. The men retire to a back corner, lounging in conversation while she works with her son, helping him decide which bike he likes best. He switches from one to another, moving back and forth between them, narrowing his choice. They take their time. It is an important decision and a delicious choice and they are both excited.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the old man gets up from his conversation and calls out to her,

“Wait a minute before you decide... I have something in the back I'd like to show you,”

and he disappears through the door he had first appeared from an hour earlier. Moments later he reappears wheeling a beautiful golden bike that even she can tell is an advanced model compared to the ones they have been considering. The frame is a different size, the tires a different dimension, the handlebars a different shape, the gears and other parts all seemingly more sophisticated than the more hearty ones they have been looking at. Her friend exclaims, “Wow!” and the old man offers it to her son to try out. Her son's eyes are agog, popping from his head as he sits tentatively on this gorgeous creature. It is a most beautiful bicycle, in a class of its own, far surpassing the others they have seen. She isn't sure if the man is showing it to the boy as a teaching about what a high quality bike feels like, or if he is actually offering it to them. When she asks, he replies, “Yes, for that amount of money, I could let you have this one.”

It is a done deal! On the spot they choose this glorious, beautiful, high end gold bike. The boy is glistening, grinning from ear-to-ear. The man describes the bike's special features, sets it up to fit properly, and gives instructions on how to care for it well. Her son proudly walks his new glory back through to the other side. Resting it against the worn counter, he and her friend stand aside chatting as she gets her wallet out to pay. The old man is starting to ring up the sale when he pauses, looks directly at her and says,

“You know, it's a good thing you came in when you did. I was planning to close at noon today to put this bike in my truck and drive it back down to the city. A guy down there made it as a prototype. He wanted to know if I would carry it in my shop, but it's too high end for my customers. I was about to close up to return it when you came in. Now you've saved me the trip, so thanks.”

The woman is stunned! She feels a potency in the moment as everything slows down and crystalizes with importance. How can it be that she rushed them here with the urgency of the morning and the result is this shining bike!? If ever she needed proof that there is more to life than eyes can see or ears can hear, this moment is it! Spirit exists, for sure. She doesn't know how, but she knows that from being awakened with that crazy insistence to the old man's unexpected offer, the whole experience has somehow been guided by a higher power.

As they say their goodbyes and thank yous to the man, she feels awash with gratitude, for both the bike and the insight. Outside, the world seems brighter, cleaner, the snow twinkling with prisms of brilliant colour. She feels held and comforted from above and there seems to be rejoicing going on in some unseen realm, as though spirit worked hard to get this exchange to happen, and everyone involved has been blessed. When her friend carefully loads the bike into the car, she suggests her son ride up front so the men can continue talking cycling. She wants the quiet time in the back to explore and integrate the spiritual lesson she has been offered.

As they make their way home through the glorious winter woods, she is clear about the wisdom teaching this experience entails. Her mind could never, ever have known or imagined all the bits of life that had to line up for this perfect ending. It was Spirit waking her, making use of her son's cancelled practice, reminding her of her friend, making use of his need to go early, and probably nudging the old man to let the boy have the bike as well. This really is proof for her that something bigger is at play in life, that the web-of-life is a network of consciousness that links apparently separate things together. It is also certain proof that staying open to guidance and obeying those urges leads to good outcomes for everyone! At any point she could have ignored the impulse or argued with the idea, letting her human mind over-rule the guidance, and her son would not have ended up with this gorgeous bike, and the old man would have made a trip in the snow. Instead, everyone has benefited. She has heard that in the normal, physical world, people need proof before they will believe something, but in the world of spirit, the belief has to exist before the proof can follow. She understands that now. If she hadn't had those earlier intuitive experiences setting her up to believe that something could happen, she wouldn't have obeyed today's urgency, and she wouldn't have received the proof of spirit's benevolence. She had to have the belief before she could get the proof.

She will never again question the constant presence of a higher consciousness that has her best-interests at heart, watching over her even when she isn't paying attention. Riding along there in the snow, she makes a deep commitment to stay connected with her higher self in her ordinary life, to pay attention to subtle input, to follow inner nudges, to obey without question when she feels called. Spirit knows more than she could ever know! She is relieved to have such a good friend always with her.

As they arrive at her place she feels transformed, with a lightness in her step she hasn't felt before. Her son is thrilled, carefully carrying his new treasure in to show his brothers. She hugs her friend and thanks him sincerely, promising him dinner on another day. Normally she would feel a tender sadness at his leaving, heading back in to her life alone with her kids, but as she stands on her porch, waving him off, she knows for the first time she really, truly is never alone. She can't be! She is always connected with the unseen presence of love and kindness that just wants to help if only she will let it. The more she connects, the better the outcome, for herself and all life everywhere. While her son was gifted with a golden bike, she has been gifted with this golden insight. She is never alone, Spirit is always present, and when she listens and follows, good things will happen. Her smile is as broad as her son's as she steps through the door to her waiting family.