Last week, Hubby and I went bike shopping.
We got one for our lil girl and while we inspected it an orange sports bike caught my eye. The moment I saw it, I wanted it.
I haven’t ridden a bike in what, six years. I remember when I got my first bike. It was a black Raleigh with gold letter etchings on the side and a black leather seat. Yep, I remember with vivid details. The bike was a gift from my grandmother. She’d promised me one if I passed my common entrance exams. I was nine years old in primary four. Common entrance was for primary five or six or you should at least be 11 years old. I was neither.
But I passed and I got the bike. It took me a few days to learn. I’m usually a fast learning (If only I would attempt more feats. Lol.) Anyway, I got off on my own with smug confidence I didn’t need anyone to help me ride.
With the wind behind me and the road sloping downwards, acceleration wasn’t necessary. I rode with the wind until I saw her too late. She crossed the newly tarred road baring a bowl of freshly ground pepper, oblivious of me careening down towards her. I was on auto-pilot and didn’t get to the brakes on time.
Wham! We collided. Pepper splattered everywhere. Limbs tangled. Gasps and groans. The bike’s wheels still turning on it’s side. Fear gripped me and yanked me off my feet like a rag doll. Though dazed and in unimaginable pain, I got up and pulled my bike up.
Guess what I did next? I took off like a Gazelle. I was petrified. My gran was going to kill me, I’d have to pay for the pepper and of course, the girl’s mum would have her pound of flesh. Worst still, my bike might be confiscated. I was having none of that. So I ran.
I thought I had my tracks well covered. I changed my clothes and washed the pepper off of my bike. The pepper sting stayed on my fingers. It burned like crazy. I kept dousing it with cool water, but it took hours before I got any relief.
A few hours later, a friend popped into the house and as we chatted we kept walking towards her house which was on the same street where I had the pepper accident. We got to the spot and I cringed at the sight of the dried up splattered pepper on the asphalt. Then my friend went, ‘Aha!’ I turned to her and she told me the sad story of an unknown girl who had an unfortunate pepper accident. And how her mother beat her senselessly for lying that she was hit by a speeding bicycle. Of course, she didn’t see the rider and there were no eye witnesses.
The woman had pulled her daughter’s ears and promised she would have no meals that day. I felt hollow inside and remorse tightened a noose around my neck. I asked my friend if she knew who the girl was and where they lived. Perhaps it was time to pay penance and save someone from pain and hunger, but my friend shook her head.
I lost my appetite that evening and skipped dinner altogether. At night, I tossed and turned and tried to court sleep but it eluded me. I was eaten up with guilt. So much so that I became petrified to ride my bike on that particular street and I eventually gave up bike riding, not trusting myself any longer.
Wouldn’t it have been simple if I had just owned up and stayed with the girl? Yes, punishment would have been meted out to me but after a couple of days it would be all over.
Guess what? You can’t run away from the consequences of your sinful actions. No matter how long it takes, it eventually catches up. What’s worse is justifying your sins or not confessing them. 1jn1:9 says God is ready to forgive us of our sins when we confess. Confession takes away the weight of guilt and puts us right back in favour with God.
I never rode a bike again until about six years ago and I now get to own a new bike after my Black Raleigh of the 70s. Yah!
I rode down the street last week, but I was ever so careful. Lol. It was fun though and brought back lots of memories.
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