My commute to work normally involves a bike ride to the local station, followed by a train ride then another bike ride. In the early months of this, I was still new to the idea of owning and riding a bike. Should I fold my bike when in the train? Or shall I just lean it against the unopened doors? How shall I carry it down the flight of stairs so that I don't loose balance? I was in a way lucky that there was a fellow cycler who did the same commute I did, also on the same schedule. It was serendipitous that she had the exact same bicycle as I did, even in the same colour! The only differentiator was that hers was a little bit older and scruffier. After a few encounters with her on the lift, and a few "Hi, how are you?", we finally established small talk.
"Your bike looks so new! Not like my old thing."
"That is because I only picked it up a few days ago. I still have the receipt," I laughed. "I am still very much struggling to cycle uphill though."
"Ah, you will get the hang of things. It takes practice."
"How do you cycle in a long skirt?"
"I just hike it up, it is so easy!"
Thus started our mini-conversations on our morning commute. It starts whilst waiting for the elevator on the platform and ends as we ride off to our separate destinations. She gave me tips on gears, and how to cycle in the rain. To this day though, I still don't know her name.
After a while, I stopped seeing her and her twin bicycle on my way to work. I didn't think much of it because I thought maybe she was on holiday or maybe she just changed workplaces. It was only when I was on my way home one night that I discovered what actually happened. As I pushed my bicycle along the bridge hanging over the rail tracks in our local station, a voice said, "Hi!" I looked over and spotted her. She wasn't accompanied by her companion bicycle this time. Instead she had a few red bruises on her face and her left arm was in a sling. Surprised, I said, "Oh gosh, what happened?"
"I got into an accident. A car hit me when I was cycling. Apparently I didn't see the car coming out of the junction. Or he didn't see me. But anyway, my bicycle is gone, destroyed too badly to repair. And I am in all accounts, lucky to leave only with a few bruises and a broken arm."
She told me this whilst we were walking amongst a large, hurried crowd during peak rush hour, so it was a less than an ideal place for us to have this intimate conversation. I told her how sorry I am that this happened to her, and wished her a speedy recovery.
"Its just, when I spotted your bike just now, it reminded of my own bike. The one I lost."
Thinking about it now, my bicycle must seem like a ghost of hers then. A shadow of what was once something so essential, akin to an extension of her physical being. But from where I was standing, she also appeared like a ghost to me. Maybe even a glimpse of a future self. To be completely honest, I have not been the safest of cyclists at the time. It was getting dark quite early on in the day, and I wouldn't wear my high-vis vest or sometimes my lights needed charging. Looking at her in her broken state, it shook me. It faced me with the reality that that could have easily been me. Cycling on roads is in parts risky, and I should be more careful. God has protected me thus far, but it doesn't give me permission to be reckless.
Funnily enough, I didn't see her again after that. Although her presence was fleeting, I do want to remember this in years to come. So this entry is part evidentiary documentation (that yes, this strange encounter actually happened and is not a figment of my imagination) and part reminder to always strive to be safe. There are times to take risks, but never should it be whilst on the road. God gives you warnings or messages in mysterious ways sometimes, and I definitely felt a divine presence in this meeting with her. I hope she gained something from me, as I did from her. And I hope that despite this setback, she will find the confidence and strength to get back on the two wheels once more.
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