Mitchell's Unridden Bicycle

by Zeke

Every morning, I see Mitchell walking to and from his stationary cycling class. He moves with this quiet confidence, his cycling bag slung over his shoulder, completely unaware of my existence. I wonder if he knows how to ride a real bike - the kind that actually goes somewhere, that requires balance and steering.

In my daydreams, I imagine myself teaching Mitchell how to ride. I picture us on a quiet suburban street, the kind with smooth asphalt and minimal traffic. He’d be nervous at first, his hands gripping the handlebars too tightly, his body stiff with concentration. I’d be patient, walking beside him, my hand hovering just beneath the bike seat to catch him if he wobbles.

“Relax your arms,” I’d tell him. “Feel the bike as an extension of yourself.”

Mitchell looks so controlled in his indoor cycling class, spinning those stationary bikes with precision. But a real bicycle? That’s different. It’s about feeling the wind, navigating actual terrain, experiencing the world moving around you. I wonder if he’d be as graceful outside the controlled environment of his cycling studio.

Sometimes I catch myself staring out the window, imagining the moment he’d finally get it - that magical instant when balance becomes instinct and the bicycle becomes a part of him. Would his eyes light up? Would he laugh with the pure joy of movement and freedom?

But for now, he remains Mitchell - the boy who cycles indoors, unaware of the bicycle adventures waiting just outside the studio doors.