my brother. My dad is stranded up north.”
“Yes, yes.” His brow creased. “This is the kind of news I hear. Come on in, young Mr. Marriss.” He led me to the back of the shop.
As he read the list he gave it a few sharp whacks with the side of his pen. “Okay. Yes-yes. I have these crank sets. Oh, these…not sure. We’ll check this model. Brake shoes, no problem.”
A couple of the mechanics looked up to say hello. They knew me. Sort of. I’d been in with Dad before, back in the days of free-flowing gasoline. Now I tried not to look like the annoying kid down from Rocky Shores just wanting to grab up parts.
Most of Team Bocci’s riders were either in sales or worked as mechanics. A couple of those guys hadn’t even gotten out of their purple cycling jerseys, but already they were working on bikes. Tools flashed. Wheels spun. They were fast and good at what they did.
“Ack, they will ruin the uniforms,” Mr. Bocci muttered. “Degreaser. Lubricants. All petroleum products, you know?” Mr. Bocci handed me an empty cardboard box. He began pulling items from the shelves. “A carton of twenty-seven-inch tubes…just one of this twelve-speed gear set…Oh, yes. My last one.” He plunked it into my box.
“Mr. Bocci,” I said. He stopped and looked at me. “Maybe…maybe I shouldn’t take it then. If it’s your last one. It’s going to be hard for all of us to get parts now.”
“Yes-yes. So this one goes on a bike you fix, or a bike my guys fix. What’s the difference? Not to worry,” he said. “There will be a way to get more parts. For clever people, the world does not stand still.”
I thought for a moment. Hadn’t Dad saidsomething like that just the other night?
“You know the team?” Mr. Bocci went on.
“Your team, sir? The bike racers?”
“Yes. They don’t just ride for Bocci. They work for Bocci. So times change. So maybe I need them to ride to Elm City. Pick up some parts for me there. We are looking to get deliveries off the train. The other shops are going to do the same.” He thought for a moment. “It’s simple. These teams of riders can meet each other. Pull the trailer like you do. We can hand things off all the way across the country if we have to.”
“Y-you mean like the old Pony Express?” I felt my eyebrows rise.
He laughed. “Yes! Sure! But on bikes!”
“Seems primitive ,” I said.
“Going back isn’t going backward . Not if it’s the only way to keep going forward .” Mr. Bocci waited. Maybe he knew that I needed a beat to let that sink in. I liked what he was saying even if it made my brain ache. “Okay, young Mr. Marriss…” Mr. Bocci paused again. “I am thinking. And what I am thinking is that you shouldput as many parts as you can into your shop. How about we pack this box a bit tighter? Maybe it saves you another trip. Then if you don’t use these, I take them back.”
I hesitated over some of the high-end stuff he was putting in there. Most of our customers wouldn’t need that kind of performance. But I didn’t want to seem rude, either. In the end I peeled him off most of the bills I had with me. Sort of a shock, but I’d seen Dad spend for parts before too. Mr. Bocci printed me a receipt.
“Do check the prices of parts, young Mr. Marriss,” Mr. Bocci warned. “Everything has gone up. Terribly up . Don’t cheat yourself. You can carry all of this out to your bicycle, yes-yes?”
I almost said yes-yes back, but I caught myself. “Yes, sir, I’m sure I can.” I stacked the boxes and got under them to lift them from the counter.
“Bike carefully,” Mr. Bocci said. He smiled warmly. “Regards to the Bike Barn!”
I thanked him and went on my way.
15
VINCE HAD AT ME WHILE I RESTOCKED OUR shelves. I let him vent.
“You’re supposed to be here,” he said. “ You’re the manager. The people person. That guy Jerrod came in to get his bike. I had to deliver the bad news. He thinks I’m an idiot,” Vince said.
“Yes, yes.” His brow creased. “This is the kind of news I hear. Come on in, young Mr. Marriss.” He led me to the back of the shop.
As he read the list he gave it a few sharp whacks with the side of his pen. “Okay. Yes-yes. I have these crank sets. Oh, these…not sure. We’ll check this model. Brake shoes, no problem.”
A couple of the mechanics looked up to say hello. They knew me. Sort of. I’d been in with Dad before, back in the days of free-flowing gasoline. Now I tried not to look like the annoying kid down from Rocky Shores just wanting to grab up parts.
Most of Team Bocci’s riders were either in sales or worked as mechanics. A couple of those guys hadn’t even gotten out of their purple cycling jerseys, but already they were working on bikes. Tools flashed. Wheels spun. They were fast and good at what they did.
“Ack, they will ruin the uniforms,” Mr. Bocci muttered. “Degreaser. Lubricants. All petroleum products, you know?” Mr. Bocci handed me an empty cardboard box. He began pulling items from the shelves. “A carton of twenty-seven-inch tubes…just one of this twelve-speed gear set…Oh, yes. My last one.” He plunked it into my box.
“Mr. Bocci,” I said. He stopped and looked at me. “Maybe…maybe I shouldn’t take it then. If it’s your last one. It’s going to be hard for all of us to get parts now.”
“Yes-yes. So this one goes on a bike you fix, or a bike my guys fix. What’s the difference? Not to worry,” he said. “There will be a way to get more parts. For clever people, the world does not stand still.”
I thought for a moment. Hadn’t Dad saidsomething like that just the other night?
“You know the team?” Mr. Bocci went on.
“Your team, sir? The bike racers?”
“Yes. They don’t just ride for Bocci. They work for Bocci. So times change. So maybe I need them to ride to Elm City. Pick up some parts for me there. We are looking to get deliveries off the train. The other shops are going to do the same.” He thought for a moment. “It’s simple. These teams of riders can meet each other. Pull the trailer like you do. We can hand things off all the way across the country if we have to.”
“Y-you mean like the old Pony Express?” I felt my eyebrows rise.
He laughed. “Yes! Sure! But on bikes!”
“Seems primitive ,” I said.
“Going back isn’t going backward . Not if it’s the only way to keep going forward .” Mr. Bocci waited. Maybe he knew that I needed a beat to let that sink in. I liked what he was saying even if it made my brain ache. “Okay, young Mr. Marriss…” Mr. Bocci paused again. “I am thinking. And what I am thinking is that you shouldput as many parts as you can into your shop. How about we pack this box a bit tighter? Maybe it saves you another trip. Then if you don’t use these, I take them back.”
I hesitated over some of the high-end stuff he was putting in there. Most of our customers wouldn’t need that kind of performance. But I didn’t want to seem rude, either. In the end I peeled him off most of the bills I had with me. Sort of a shock, but I’d seen Dad spend for parts before too. Mr. Bocci printed me a receipt.
“Do check the prices of parts, young Mr. Marriss,” Mr. Bocci warned. “Everything has gone up. Terribly up . Don’t cheat yourself. You can carry all of this out to your bicycle, yes-yes?”
I almost said yes-yes back, but I caught myself. “Yes, sir, I’m sure I can.” I stacked the boxes and got under them to lift them from the counter.
“Bike carefully,” Mr. Bocci said. He smiled warmly. “Regards to the Bike Barn!”
I thanked him and went on my way.
15
VINCE HAD AT ME WHILE I RESTOCKED OUR shelves. I let him vent.
“You’re supposed to be here,” he said. “ You’re the manager. The people person. That guy Jerrod came in to get his bike. I had to deliver the bad news. He thinks I’m an idiot,” Vince said.
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