Weekend distraction: Flashback Flash Fiction--Biking in Hell

I apparently originally wrote this one in 2014, and I know exactly what climb and descent were in my mind at the time! I don't bike much anymore, but can still relate to this version of hell, though I forgot to put in the saddle sores and knee pain...

 

Biking in Hell

 

"They're always there," Phil said. "If you get up enough speed to have fun, they'll nail you. And if you’re making headway on the hill, they’ll belch exhaust at you."

 

"How do they do it?"

 

Phil shrugged. "I used to call those things the spawn of Satan. Turns out I was right."

 

The two cyclists struggled up the hill, which grew steeper as they neared the top. A jacked-up pickup passed them, leaving a cloud of thick black diesel exhaust in its wake. By the time the summit was in sight, both stood on the pedals, straining every fiber to make any headway at all, gasping for air.

 

Jim sighed with relief as he topped out, but even as the riders settled back into their saddles the wind hit them. Both faltered and swerved, then stood up once more, with a sort of resigned determination. All the way across the rolling headland the winds buffeted them, often shifting to attack from unexpected directions. Every few minutes an oversized farm truck raced by, belching diesel fumes and passing within inches of the swaying riders.

 

At last by unspoken agreement they pulled off for a break. Jim unwrapped an energy bar, studying it without enthusiasm. "Whatever it says on the wrapper, these are always the same."

 

"I know," Phil agreed. "Banana-flavored. The absolute worst. Remember chocolate?" he asked dreamily. They forced down the disgusting paste. However unpalatable, the bars did restore the energy depleted by the long climb and the battle against the wind.

 

"We start down in half a mile. Don't forget the blind turns."

 

"I'm not likely to," Jim said, shuddering.

 

Soon the cyclists began the descent, finally out of the wind. The road was near perfect. Smooth pavement and banked turns tempted ever-rising speeds. Jim allowed his speed to creep up a bit, enjoying the first two swooping curves.

 

The next turn was tight and blind, and the pavement changed from smooth to rough and broken as he entered the turn. He cursed and dragged on his brakes, heaving the bike around to stay in his lane as a giant black SUV appeared in front of him, filling more than half the road.

 

A moment later Phil entered the turn. Another large black SUV appeared, blocking all but a narrow strip on the roughest edge of Phil's lane. He braked further, swerved, and shot past, clearing the behemoth by inches.

 

After that, it was all hairpins, and each one held an SUV, appearing at just the time and place to cause the greatest panic. Even when the vehicles had crossed well into the downhill lane, invisible drivers yelled abuse at the cyclists as they squeezed past, holding their speed to a crawl.

 

At the bottom of the hill the road straightened, allowing the riders to lay off the brakes and relax. That was when the wind hit again. Phil pumped hard to pull up next to Jim so they could encourage one another, but as soon as he did, he had to drop back in a hurry as another truck thundered by. It was much too big to have come down the road they had just descended. Moments later it disappeared in the distance.

 

After an eternity, they sighted the end of the ride. Wind-burned and exhausted, the riders racked their bikes and filed into the House of Gruel for their post-ride meal.

 

"Another day in Hell," Phil said. "Where you get to do the thing you loved most in the ways you hated most."

 

~~~

I knew I had the right photo in there. My husband managed to get something messed up on his phone on one of our rides, to interesting effect.

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 ©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2026 

As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated.


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