First of all, I want to thank everyone for reading my previous two stories. Your comments are always appreciated. As with the other two stories, this one is not a stroke story so if that's what you're after, it's best you move on now This is a romance, a character study if you will and what I've always enjoyed reading about is people, even here on Literotica. As with most true romances, this one may take some time to develop so be patient. Here is my contribution. As always, this is a work of fiction. Only the bicycles are real.
Part One
"I could never wear that. That's sick. How could you even think to ask me that? I never want to see you again."
With those words, the little world I had imagined for myself came to a crashing end. Susan stormed out of my life, out of the house I had bought for us, taking the clothes, (but not those clothes), I had bought for her, the jewelry and the BMW convertible I had put in her name, vowing never to return.
Luckily, we weren't married yet, not even living together. I had wanted to and now was grateful she had told me she wasn't ready. I wondered if she had somehow seen something I hadn't but decided not. She certainly wasn't that insightful. Perhaps she had just been in it for the money. I just didn't know.
I heard from her lawyer of course, but there was nothing much to say. She had no case. There really had been no "ours" just hers and mine. She had her job, her apartment and her own life as did I. It was just as well.
I had loved her, or at least thought I did and believed it when she said she loved me. Perhaps she did. She was no great beauty, hardly a ten, but neither was I. She was more like a five or six to be honest, but she was pleasant enough and I enjoyed being with her. I had no illusions about myself either. I was certainly not a "ten" myself and was realistic to expect that I wasn't going to get one. I was shorter than average (in more ways than one to be honest) and slightly over weight. Although only thirty, there was already a bald patch on the top of my head. My glasses were thick, my hair thin and I felt completely ill at ease around women. It was a miracle I had met Susan at all. I did not expect another.
With her departure early that summer, I threw myself into my work. I was a day trader, working out of couple of rooms in the house I bought with Susan's encouragement. I know what you think. Most day traders fail, most, but not all. I had a knack for it, a talent if you will, for spotting trends before they became trends, sensing when stocks would slide or climb. I was hardly perfect. In fact I had some really bad days where I lost more money than most people make in a couple of years but then I had those days where everything I touched turned to gold, and I had enough of those good days that at the end of the year, they more than made up for the bad ones. At tax time my accountant informed me that I owed the IRS a huge amount of money. I wrote out the check, almost glad because I realized that if I owed them that much, it meant that I had made a hell of a lot more than that. That was all that mattered. It had become more a game to me. Money was how I kept score, nothing more.
That fall and winter the markets had absorbed me but as spring rolled around, they calmed down and I gradually got over Susan. I realized one morning that I needed to get out and get some exercise. It would do me good I thought. When I was a growing up in Chicago, I had liked to bicycle and I now lived a couple of blocks from a good bike trail. In fact, the area where I lived, the so called "North Shore" suburbs just north of Chicago, seemed a great place to bike. There are quiet, safe streets, a couple of bike trails and limited traffic. It seemed ideal so I went to my local bike shop.
No thanks, the mountain bikes I tried were not comfortable at all, the road bikes were worse. I searched the internet and learned about recumbents, decided on one I liked and drove an hour to test ride it and a few others. "Now this is it," I smiled as I sat down on an eight foot long bike with a padded seat. It was called a Tour Easy and it had a twenty inch front wheel, a twenty seven inch rear wheel and it looked almost like a Harley Davidson motorcycle without an engine.
The bike shop owner and I somehow managed to squeeze it into my SUV but it was a tight fit. The next day I went and bought a used minivan and took out the seats. So, yes, I bought a twenty thousand dollar minivan to haul my two thousand dollar bike around. Go figure.
I loved the bike. In fact, I even started going out during the week, leaving my stocks to their own devices. It was such a joy to ride. I liked people's comments about it too. It became a conversation piece almost every where I went. I had so much fun, I even joined a local bike club that spring and started going on rides with them.
Most weekends, the club had (or actually has, they are still around) several scheduled rides, some planned and others that were so called "show and go" rides. Those who showed up decided where they would go. These were often shorter, slower, more informal rides than the planned ones and as I was still far from being in good shape, more to my speed and liking.
I saw Carol there for the first time one Sunday morning. She seemed a regular, knew a couple of others and rode with them, not saying more than a polite "hello" to me. I wasn't sure if I cared or not either. I hadn't got completely over Susan and to be honest, wasn't sure if I found Carol attractive or not. I certainly don't mean to be cruel (those who live in glass houses etc) but it just seemed as if she was made up from pieces that didn't seem to fit together too well, leftovers perhaps. She was tall, perhaps taller than I was, and very angular. The nose and eyes didn't seem quite right, and her hair, tucked underneath the helmet, was of an uncertain and indeterminate color. It was a most awkward look and not at first a pleasant one either.
She rode her mountain bike that morning with almost the zeal of someone out to prove something. Like many of the others as I referred to them "gear heads", she seemed so serious in her riding, never smiling, barely looking up at the trails and streets around her. I was delighted to be leaning back on my recumbent. I smiled. I laughed. I looked around as I rode not being bent over. I had fun and it seemed that most others did not.
Her bike and clothes both seemed used but serviceable. I didn't, and still don't know one mountain bike from another. They seem so cookie cutter to me now, so ordinary, much like her that morning. She wore little if any spandex and her cycling shoes, while the clipless style, had probably also seen better days.
As we rode through streets, she barely talked, chatting only once or twice to the lone other woman in the small group of seven that morning. My advice to men is don't join a bike club thinking you're going to meet up with some cute young woman. You'll be far out numbered and if you are like much like me and hardly a "ten" you'll just be wasting your time. Me, I didn't bother even trying to talk to her. I was there to enjoy the ride and I did.
I saw her again the following Sunday. Another show and go ride as I'd decided against the main ride. Eight of us showed up including her. We decided to ride north to the Botanical Gardens, make a quick stop and then south along another trail and return back to our starting point in Evanston.
At our stop in the Gardens, she, along with several others who were there, stopped to look at my strange contraption. "Mind if I sit on it?" she asked out of the blue.
Of course I didn't mind. I offered to let her try riding it but she was not that ambitious that morning. I suspected that she could have ridden it, the seat being not too far back for her to peddle but she declined and smiled and said it was comfortable but strange. Exactly.
Our group made its way back and began breaking up once we hit Evanston. She split off before I did and I left and took a short cut home, and thought nothing of her.
Two weeks later and another small group rode north to Lambs Farm and back. It was my longest ride so far and on the way back, there was a McDonalds right on the way. We stopped as we were all hungry.
We locked our bikes and all went in except her. "Aren't you coming in?" I asked politely.
"I'm broke," she said quietly.
"I'm not. Had a good week myself. Let me get you something."
"It's not necessary."
"I know," I smiled. "That's why I'm making the offer. Besides, I was always brought up to be a gentleman and when a gentleman sees a lady who is too broke to eat at McDonalds, then he always offers to treat," I half laughed. "Besides, it's not like we're talking zillions of dollars here. Not only that, I like this group here today, so why not come in, let me get you something and join us? It really is OK, you know."
So, she went inside with the rest of us and I got her some fries and a Coke which seemed pretty good to myself and she sat and ate them pretty much alone as did I and I wondered why.
I didn't see her again for three more weeks. I'm not sure why really and wasn't sure it mattered either. Big deal, so I had bought her fries and a coke and talked for half a minute. It was hardly a start.
That morning in August it would all change, oh would it ever. The cloud filled sky was threatening rain yet the Weather Channel insisted it was not going to happen. I looked out the door and decided on the show and go ride, and stashed my rain jacket into the bag that was over my rear wheel and took off to the starting point.
I was the only one there at nine in the morning and I wondered if I had made a mistake. Were my clocks not working properly? Was I still asleep and only dreaming? No, I suspected the threat of rain was keeping everyone away.
Suddenly, she showed up.
"No one else?" she asked.
I shrugged and mentioned the forecast.
"Could go home," I suggested.