Your Gentle Climb Has Teeth
Brian Armer
Her brother had called it a gentle climb.
Halfway up, Claire decided that either his memory was failing or he owed her an apology. The road curled around another bend, exposing her to a wind that seemed personally interested in sending her home.
She stopped beside a gate and sent him a photograph. Your gentle climb has teeth. His reply arrived while she was still catching her breath. You found the easy side, then.
Claire laughed despite herself. They used to ride together every Sunday, arguing over routes and stealing fries from each other’s plates afterward. Now he lived two states away. They still traded hills, although these days the photographs traveled farther than either bicycle.
She looked up the road. One more bend. Probably.
At the overlook, she leaned her bicycle against the railing and pulled off her gloves. Her lips felt dry.
She remembered checking the ingredients when the balm arrived. Coconut oil and shea butter for conditioning; waxes to help hold moisture in. Not just a nice smell, then. With the wind drying her lips, she was glad she’d tucked it into her pocket.
Claire applied her Zombie Lips balm and tucked it back into her pocket. Then she called her brother.
“Well?” he asked. “Gentle,” she said. “Very gentle. I barely noticed the part where my legs tried to resign.” He laughed, and suddenly she could almost picture him beside her, leaning over his handlebars.
“Tell me about the view.” She turned toward the ridge. There was plenty to describe.
For the next few minutes, the hill belonged to both of them.
Who would you call from the top? Share this story with your favorite riding partner. You’re welcome to explore Zombie Sport Co and the care you can bring along.