Chapter 19: Native Tourists
We had the bike shop put all the accessories on the bike for us while we went walking about the downtown area, hand in hand. We spent most of the time in one of the town’s several small tourist-oriented museums. You know how it is: you never visit the tourist attractions in your own town until you have a visiting guest along to show them off to. I had Kaitlyn, and she had me.
We walked back to the shop an hour and a half later, and they’d finished her bike, even filling the water bottles for us. We thanked them, then wheeled it outside and transferred most of the stuff she’d brought in her car to my bike, which was locked up nearby. I kept some back to give Kaitlyn a starter load.
“Now remember,” I said, “this extra weight is going to make the bike tippy, and it’ll make it sink more in sand. It’ll also make acceleration harder. Once you get used to throwing this much weight around, I’ll transfer some more of your stuff to your bike, and we’ll iterate until you’re carrying your half of the load.”
“And you’ll be okay hauling 95% of the weight for the first part of the trip?” Kaitlyn worried.
I pulled up one shorts leg and flexed. I had quads almost as defined as a weightlifter when I flexed.
“Ooooh,” she cooed, half sarcastically.
I smiled. “I’ll be fine. I put more than this much weight on the bike when doing one of my multi-week trips. Even at its worst, it’s not as bad as a motorcycle.”
“The difference being that you don’t have to pedal a motorcycle,” she pointed out.
“True, but…” and then I grabbed the lower hem of my bike shorts leg again.
“Got it, Mr. Buff Buns,” she teased.
“What in the world are you talking about? I haven’t flexed my buns at you yet. You’re talking about what you know naught of.” Then I spun around and started pulling the back of my shorts down, threatening to moon her right there on the sidewalk.
“All right, all right!” she panicked. “I yield! I meant to say, ‘Mr. Iron Thews.’”
Five minutes later, we were out of town and gaining speed on a gentle downhill stretch. We were headed back to the same place we camped at last week to finish cleaning up the litter that had blown and washed into that canyon.
I let Kaitlyn lead for the first part. There were no tricky turns on this road at all; it basically led straight to the canyon mouth, so there was no point in me leading. Second, I wanted to see how she rode, to make sure the bike fit her and that she was controlling it well. The guys at the bike shop had done a good job of setting up its adjustments for her body. Third — the real reason — I wanted to see her buttocks and thighs pump. I admit it. It was very, very nice to watch.
…So nice that at some point after the road traffic had thinned out, and we were going up a rise steep enough that she stood up on her pedals to climb it without dropping down to a lower gear, I also stood up, but instead I jammed on a sprint, passing her with enough delta vee that I got in a good spank on her ass as I passed.
With the padded bike shorts on, it couldn’t have hurt at all, but she still let out a yelp of surprise as I flew past, escaping retaliation.
I then set about providing her with a nice show of flexing buttocks and thighs in return. She must have liked what she saw, because she stayed back and watched. I thought I’d gotten away with it, but several standing sprint climbs later, once my guard had fallen…SMACK!
I stood up on the pedals, arched my spine, threw back my head, and howled like a movie werewolf.
She cackled, wobbling enough to make me worry that she was about to spill the bike. She steadied out quickly, but I decided she needed more practice controlling the bike under adverse conditions. For safety, you know. Yes, I had only her safety in mind as I crept up behind her and gave her Spandex-clad ass a gentle swirling stroke, covering everything I could get to without tucking in close enough to collide.
She held a nice straight line, so I fell back and made a new plan. On the next standing sprint, I overtook her again, giving her a quick goose!
In her startlement she stabbed the next few strokes much harder in a clear analog to running away, shooting her bike forward about a half length before she sat down and let me catch up.
I called over, “Truce?”
“Yes! I’ll dump this bike if we continue!” she complained with some exasperation.
“Time to shift some cargo,” I said.
I thought I’d gone a bit too far on that last trick, so I confined myself to caresses and the occasional swat between cargo transfers, and she gave as good as she got. A few swats in, I swore she stood up a bit taller and swayed her hips with the pedal strokes a lot more than she really needed to; she was purposefully giving me a target now!
Kaitlyn had half our gear on her bike by the time we hit the canyon mouth and was now rock steady in the line she took down the road, despite my little challenges to her balance and attention.
At the canyon mouth, we were forced to dismount. Our tires weren’t much good for riding up a sandy wash, especially with a load on.
We were both a bit shaky-legged, for more than one reason, so it was just as well. We needed to walk off the lactic acid buildup and calm down a bit.
About halfway to our concealed campsite, Kaitlyn gave me a good, sharp goose. “Ahahhai!” halfway between a cry of startlement and a laugh, dancing forward on the balls of my feet, back arched, utterly surprised.
“Owed you that one,” she said triumphantly.