A Bicycle

I remember myself at four and a half years old.  My father, mother, my sister Hila and I    were then living in Kiev.  Dad had promised to give me for my birthday a long coveted tricycle. But alas, I don't know if the money was not enough, or my parents didn't want to clutter up our apartment, but I didn't get the tricycle. The joy of my 5th birthday was overshadowed by this, despite my father's assurances that he would buy it as soon as possible. Exactly two weeks later the war started, and we left for the east - 120 kilometers on foot, then in a car, and finally in a boxcar of a train. On a side of the boxcar was written: 40 men or 8 horses. In fact, no one considered how many of us were in the car. People were sitting and standing next to each other. Everyone wanted to leave as soon as possible and get away from the war. Life went on a path in which one does not dream of a bicycle or a trike.

When I started working in the profession of geodesy in Kiev I was seldom at home and even then of short duration because my job was in the expeditions. Geodesy in general is field work. We were sent to different places in which we had to make measurements for the purpose of mapping, surveying, positioning for construction, and putting up signs for navigation . We were in demand and our next job could be unpredictable, especially with projects for the military. When my daughters were born, and mindful of my own disappointment, I bought for them a bike as soon as they had grown up to the height of its saddle.  Somehow they were not so attracted to this type of fun, but in spite of that I encouraged them in this matter as it was a healthy and affordable pastime. When Inna, the eldest, celebrated her 18th birthday and I, respectively, my 42nd, I happened to see a good sports bike in a shop and bought it for her as a birthday present. It was a pure luck as to buy anything good in the USSR was a problem and a challenge.

She was delighted, and even rode it on a several-day trip to Karelia. Unfortunately, she felt there and hurt herself, so my wife and I anxiously drove to Moscow to meet her when she got off the train from Karelia. It was not too bad, just a few bruises and a broken bike. The bruises healed, and I fixed the bike. Nevertheless, her enthusiasm died. The bike stood alone in its place in the corridor. Then I came up with a bold idea.

Waiting until Saturday, my day off, I got up at two o'clock in the morning and dragged the bike into the street to learn to ride. At this time, the streets were empty and no one saw my clumsy attempts to ride. It was tough. Once I tore the skin on my leg so that the scar is visible even now. Unfortunately, in Russia at that time, Pond's Extract wasn't available to alleviate my wounds (Mark Twain, “Taming the Bicycle”). Two hours later, I was exhausted enough to sleep through the rest of the night until almost lunchtime.

The next night I repeated the escapade, and a miracle happened! I rode half a kilometer on our street and never fell. True, the street was not very wide and I barely had room for a ride, but it was still a very satisfying accomplishment. Several times I repeated the trip to secure the skills and then dashed through the town. I decided to go to my garage. The garage was located five kilometers from my home. I usually got there by tram and travelling to and from by tram takes half an hour. By bicycle - less than twenty minutes. And it was much more convenient not to have to wait for the tram. So I became a cyclist!

Several years passed and I immigrated to Israel. There new immigrants were given money for the first few months. Money was so scarce that the local people that I talked to did not believe that it was possible to survive on that amount. Now I do not believe it even myself, but then I did. If I had to go to Tel Aviv, I would try to accumulate a number of errands to run in one trip by bus, since the bus fees seriously affected my budget. Often I just walked there on foot; the round-trip was 12 kilometers. After a few weeks I decided to buy a bike. When I managed to scrape the necessary sum together to buy it, my horizons expanded widely. The bicycle was a "Peugeot", and it was a great acquisition. It was not a problem to visit almost any place in Israel (the whole country is about half the size of Nova Scotia). So, until I found a job, I didn't use the bus anymore.

The bicycle also took a special place in my life as a therapeutic agent against stress. Without language and friends in a foreign country, I experienced a constant state of tension. And then, when the unbearable anguish oppressed my heart, I sat on my bike, rode 30-40 kilometers, and afterward it seemed possible to continue to live.

Ira, my youngest daughter, the one who came to Israel with me, lived in a kibbutz. There she learned the language and worked in the fields. For the Passover celebration, she invited me to come and join with locals. The kibbutz was located 120 kilometers away, in the Negev desert. I decided to bike. Since it was Saturday, the highway was almost empty and one would not be afraid of traffic. For the trip, I took a dozen oranges.

I left early, at dawn. Once on the highway, I felt a gentle breeze in my face but did not attach any importance to this. On the contrary, I thought it would not be so hot. It turned out that even the lightest breeze significantly reduces one’s speed. Instead of the expected five to six hours, I would have to pedal much longer. Okay, what is our age! (This is a Russian expression meaning you are not old enough to give up!) I pressed on, stopping from time to time to quench my thirst with an orange. By midday, I had run out of oranges. I was fraught with problems. No water, no shelter around to be seen. The sun began to bake me. I was also hungry, but that feeling I was used to, however, I was  without water in the desert, and had to pedal hard against the wind.

After a while, I suspected that I had strayed from the right road. I was riding along by  a fence with barbed wire.  I pulled out a map and tried to figure out where I had gone astray. The map was so small that it was almost impossible to understand. I realized that I was on the way to Gaza. If I moved in this direction a bit further, I could be in a situation of “no return". But this was the only road going south, and around me, as far as you could see, was only sand. I rode on in the hope of finding an intersection with sign posts. Thank God, an intersection soon appeared, but without signs. I turned to the east, hoping to get on the right road. Meanwhile, my thirst tormented me deeply. The highway was empty and there were no houses around. Well, I thought, I'll go as far as I can.

Suddenly, I spotted on the shoulder a two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola with a colorless liquid inside. It looked like water, but who actually knew? I unscrewed the lid, and sniffed. No smell. I put a drop on my finger, and sniffed again. Finally, I licked it. Water! Well, if I did not quench my thirst, I would not make it. I drank. I thought, if three hours later nothing bad happens, I'll be lucky. To find in the desert a water bottle is a miracle, isn't it? I hurried on, mentally humming a song from some advertising I had heard. On the left side of the road there seemed to be a strip of trees. Hence, there would be shade where I could rest. Slowing down, I see that there is not only some shade, but also grass. A little prickly, but it does not matter; I'm not a princess. I laid down on the grass, closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

I had a dream, or should I say a nightmare!  Someone was whipping me on the cheek. Well, I thought, what nonsense! Even my dream is unkind.  This beast whipped and lashed me to no end. Finally, I realize that it was, alas, no longer a dream, but I still couldn’t open my eyes. Finally, I opened one and froze in horror. A few inches from my face, was a writhing snake, and beside it some other monster. Another second or two, and I had opened both eyes and saw that monster was vigorously flapping its wings, hitting me once more and at last soared into the air.

Recovering from this terrifying scene, I was able to restore the picture. It turned out that next to me was a big lizard. She had spotted a hawk. The lizard had tried to hide by crawling under me. But the hawk was alert and managed to grab it. Trying to capture a lizard, the hawk had flapped its wings, slapping me in the face, and what I mistook for a snake was the wriggling lizard's tail. After this brutal battle in which I was a random victim, only the tail lay on the grass.

Still somewhat stunned by experiencing this drama, I perched on my Rosinante and went on. When nearly at the entrance to Kibbutz I saw a beautiful snake (this time a real one), creeping along the highway. Suddenly, out of nowhere, appeared an oncoming car which ran over it. He did it intentionally, slightly changing direction to hit it for sure. I regretted at that moment that the bottle I had found wasn’t a Molotov cocktail!

The rest of the journey was without incident. The whole trip took ten to twelve hours. Ira gave me a bed where I rested before the celebration, and then the traditional Jewish ceremony "Seder" in honor of the Exodus began. Everything was new to me. It was a pity that I couldn't establish a dialogue with the local people. My vocabulary was then at the level of "Hello, how are you"; it was an interesting experience anyway. After a night's sleep, I returned home. The wind was still the same gentle breeze, but now at my back. The road was familiar, and after six hours I was home without a problem.

Now it would be logical if I said that I was very grateful to the inventors of the wheel, and, in particular, the bicycle.