Free Two Wheels on my Wagon by Paul Howard Page B

Deanna was wearing considerably more: waterproof overtrousers and a windproof smock, with several more layers hidden underneath.
    â€˜Aren’t you hot?’ I spluttered.
    â€˜I’m just fine,’ she smiled serenely. ‘It’s only 92 degrees on my bicycle computer.’
    I felt strangely reassured – at least I wasn’t making it up. The gradient eased and we exchanged photo-taking opportunities.
    â€˜Do you mind if I ask why you’re riding that bike?’
    â€˜Everyone asks, it’s not a problem. I just like it. It’s awesome. It’s so simple, and I can get a really good rhythm on the flat on it. It stops me from going too fast, which is great for endurance rides.’
    â€˜But what about the hills?
    â€˜I just get to 4 mph and then stop. I can push the bike almost as quickly as that anyway.’
    And about as quickly as you can ride with all your fancy gears, she might have added after our experience the previous morning on Elk Pass.
    â€˜But you can’t even freewheel downhill,’ I persisted.
    â€˜No, and I broke off my front brake before the start in Banff so I only have the back brake. I get to do some awesome skids.’
    In spite of this chastening exchange, I was beginning to feel confident that the day would end successfully. The only remaining concern was the heat. We had begun to descend the other side of the pass, a descent in which I came to resemble even further a lobster in a pot as the cooking water surrounding it came slowly to the boil. When it became clear that the turn up the Wigwam valley would lead to another upstream slog, without the beneficial cooling effects of a significant gain in altitude, I decided to take action.
    After the success thus far of having asked the fates to let me see one bear – at a safe distance – and no more, I ventured to make another Faustian pact. This time, I decided to ask for some cooling rain. The fluffy clouds ahead looked promising, if I could make it there before heat exhaustion set in. I should have known better.
    I was on my own again. The smothering humidity continued to build, and my yearning for refreshment from the heavens grew. Yet it was quite clear that I had become like a moth drawn to a flame. No sooner had I made my compact with the devil than the clouds ahead had transformed seamlessly from visions of cuddliness into bastions of battleship grey. Worse, they had now adopted the terrifyingly familiar shape of an anvil, on which it was obvious Thor was about to beat out his particular form of devastation. The only question was when. Far away, on the other side of the valley, I saw a teepee; then I realised that in this valley, of all places, it must have been a genuine wigwam.
    An hour later and the full folly of my deal was brought home to me. Even though I had been expecting it, the first thunderclap caught me by surprise. The lightning must have been lost in the clouds above, which was a sort of reassurance. I wobbled precariously in the aftermath of the blow. It would have looked comical had there been anyone to see me. At the same moment, the rain began to hammer down as heavy and as stinging as hail. Exposed muscles were instantly tetanised. It was already too late to cover up.
    As a distraction, after the next lightning flash I counted the seconds like an excited schoolboy. In fact, I counted them like an over-excited schoolboy. After reaching a count of five, I consoled myself with the announcement, to nobody in particular, that things were OK – the storm was 5 miles away. Then it dawned on me that five seconds should actually represent one mile. One mile seemed a little close for comfort.
    The storm intensified. Lightning and thunder began to follow in such quick succession that associating the two became impossible. My debate about its proximity had been resolved unfavourably. I was uncertain what to do. Conventional wisdom at home said don’t stand under trees, of