The Bike Workshop – Part 2: Canal Ride

They rode out at dusk, side by side.

The canals of Amsterdam glowed copper in the setting sun. Houseboats bobbed at their moorings, strung with lights. Cyclists streamed past in the thousands, ringing bells, laughing, carrying flowers and dogs and children. The air smelled of rain and frying and lime blossom.

Omar rode his battered bike with newfound confidence. He no longer wobbled. He no longer froze at tram lines. Beside him, Jasper cycled easily, one hand in his pocket, whistling.

"You've become Dutch," said Jasper.

"I own an umbrella and a bike."

"Also you ate a herring."

"It was a disaster."

"It was a triumph."

They rode out past the old harbour, along a quiet towpath, between rows of poplars and meadows going green in the dusk. A heron flapped up from the reeds and flew low over the water. The sky turned lavender. Stars appeared.

At a little arched bridge, Jasper braked. He leaned his bike against the rail and sat on the stone wall above the water. Omar joined him. The canal lay below, silent and silver, doubling the sky.

"Thank you," said Omar, quietly.

"For what?"

"For not charging me."

"I don't charge friends."

"Is that what I am?"

"Can I ask you something?" said Jasper, turning on the wall.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you, Omar?"

Omar's heart gave a clumsy double beat. "Yes," he said. "And if you say stop, you must teach me to cycle one-handed."

"That's very dangerous."

"I'll hold on."

Jasper kissed him, gentle and slightly shy, a greasy hand rising to cup Omar's jaw. Omar kissed him back with a warm and wholehearted sweetness, tasting of mint and rain. Frogs began to sing in the reeds. A bicycle bell rang far away.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Jasper.

"Green," said Omar. "Very green."

The workshop has a second bicycle outside it now, with two seats and a single bell. It rings only at corners, and only for them.

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