The biker who rode uphill

Once there was a young biker who rode with his people. They pedalled hard across long stretches of road, flanked on either side by much colourful scenery. But they only ever stopped for food and sleep.

The biker’s extended family rode with him, as well as the friends he had grown up with. The journey was spent talking. The old ones told stories of races they had won in their time. The young talked of what they hoped to see a mile or two ahead.

Our hero though, had his eyes fixed on a peak some distance ahead. It had been there for as long as he could remember and grew in size as they drew close to it. But nobody paid it much attention. They missed its enormous presence and the fact that it rose right past the clouds.

As they got closer to the mountain, the biker noticed paths on the slope. “It has been done before!” he couldn’t help but speak out loud.

“What has been done before?” his mother grew attentive at once.

“The peak has been scaled before,” he said and pointed to the mountain.

His mother turned and looked at what the boy was pointing at. She decided she didn’t like where this was going. The boy was too dreamy for his own good. Even before the boy spoke of it, she knew he wanted to ride his bike uphill.

“It can’t be done,” she told him.

“How do you know it can’t be done?” asked the boy, a little angrily.

“Remember your uncle?” she asked as her gaze shifted to the other side. “He once tried to scale a mountain on his bike. He didn’t make it. What’s more? He fell and broke his leg.”

The boy followed his mother’s gaze and saw his uncle. He rode a modified bicycle these days.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t do it,” said the boy. “It only means uncle couldn’t do it.”

The mother groaned at the boy’s arrogance. She wanted to tie the boy up, bundle him in a basket and carry him past the mountain and keep going until his arrogance subsided. But she knew such ideas only appeared to be workable.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But don’t be in a hurry. Those who ride too fast meet accidents. Ride with us till we reach the foot of the mountain. Then you can go your way.”

The boy considered this for some time and finally agreed. Even though his heart wanted nothing more than to ride as fast as he could and not stop pedalling until he was at the top of the peak.

It took the family a little over one week to reach the foot of the mountain. During this time, almost everyone around him had tried to talk the boy out of his foolish dream. But he refused to listen to their wisdom.

When the path uphill was the closest, the boy said his goodbyes to the family and started pedalling uphill.

His bike went smooth for sometime. Then the real climb began. The boy was panting very soon. His legs strained against the pedals and he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, go any further. He braked, but the wheels couldn’t hold on to the slopes and he fell.

Fortunately, all he suffered was bruised knees and elbows. His loving family gathered around him and tended to his wounds. He knew what his mother was going to say. His mother took a look at him and knew that he knew what she was going to say. Then she said it anyway, “I told you so.”

The boy groaned at his mother’s lack of imagination. This wasn’t failure. It was a setback. Besides, now he knew why he couldn’t make it.

He shouldn’t have waited for the foot of the mountain. He shouldn’t have taken it slow for the last seven days. He should have started pedalling as hard as he could as soon as he decided he wanted to scale the mountain. He should have built up speed.

The young biker got up and dusted himself off. “Go on without me,” he said to his family. “I am going the other way. I will ride for a day or two and then turn around and charge the mountain. That is what I need to do.”

His mother knew he was past reasoning. Why someone would give up the pleasures and comfort of a steady riding family and go after a wild dream out of nowhere, she would never understand.

The family rode into the sunset and the lone young biker rode the other way, into the darkness.