What will life be like on a bike 10, 20, 30 years from now?
Miguel wheeled up to Bernard’s doorstep and rang the doorbell, did a track stand. The door opened. “Ready Bernie? Let’s saddle up. I’m in the mood for mayhem.” He sped in a tight circle around the patio, popped a wheelie.
“You’re early. Just a sec. I’ve got to change.” Bernie left the door open, disappeared inside. He bounced back after a minute, got his bike out of the garage, clipped into pedals.
Miguel still maintained his track stand. “What’s your record for a track stand?” Bernie asked. “Five minutes. Could go longer, but I get bored.”
“Stevens Creek Boulevard. Let’s check out the spaceship and do it there.”
“That’s sick. Right in front of Apple headquarters.”
“Why not?” Miguel replied. “We’ll give those overcompensated carpet crawlers something to talk about during lunch. Maybe even get our mug on Snapchat.”
“I just polished my nose ring,” Bernie replied.
“You wish,” Miguel shot back. “They don’t call you Mr. Clean for nothing.”
Miguel removed his long-sleeve jersey to reveal an arm full of tattoos. “It’s warming up Bernie. Warmer every year.”
“Tell me about it. They’ll be selling beachfront property in Antarctica.”
Bernie and Miguel headed west on Pruneridge Avenue, breezed right through the Saratoga Avenue intersection without stopping. Cars obediently slowed as they rode by.
“We should have slowed down,” Bernie griped. “It’s the law.”
Miguel sneered. “Like it matters.”
“Some little old lady might bang her head.”
“Doubt it. She probably asked Uber to put it in creep mode.”
Bernie laughed. “I’ve seen those drivers. Road boulders of the autonomous-bahn.”