Karma, by its very definition, has a way of coming back around, and the payback can be tough.
He was young, certainly restless, and out to have some fun in this small university town wedged in the valley between the Cascade and Coastal ranges of Oregon. After evenings of music, reading, incense, and meditation while sitting on the back porch of his brothers rented flat, he headed up the street on foot, searching.
On foot is consistent with how he traveled exclusively in those days. Or by thumb might be more accurate. Never the less, he was accustomed to getting somewhere one way or the other. So what prompted him to act in such a way which would begin this karmic kick in the head is still to this day, unclear. Yet, when he saw the bicycle lying in the front yard, and knowing the wild roadhouse tavern he heard about was a few miles out of town, he just grabbed it and started peddling away. He stole a bicycle.
The lights, music, people, and free pool table were enough to light him up. Drinking beers and dancing with the pool stick fit right in. But as the evening passed he found himself betting on his skills with that cue, and he was winning. After winning games, and there were many, he would stuff the crumpled bills in his jeans pocket and yell out the proverbial “rack em up.” Oh he was living the dream alright, eighteen years old, out on his own, and holding his own.
But he did feel bad about the bicycle. So he knew it was time to return it and free him of that weight of guilt the catholic nuns had sewn into his psyche. Although he may have upset some losers, overall he received a gracious “so long” from the fellow patrons.
Stepping to the back of the saloon by the dumpsters he found “his” bicycle where it had been hidden out of sight. Once mounted, and taking a deep breath for bearings, he commenced his return trek by rolling out across the back of the gravel parking lot.
His mind briefly remembered a few of the angry souls that had crossed his path that evening. And he remembers one saying that he would not leave till he got his losses back. Evidently he meant it. The truck ran right into him and knocked him to the ground. Before he could even get his legs back under himself he felt the swift kick of a cowboy boot in the ribs, followed by many more as he began to blur.
After they pulled the cash from his pockets and essentially told him to get his ass back to Chicago, they backed up the truck and sped off, leaving nothing but dust and gravel in the air. Oh boy that karmic girl packs a punch, or perhaps a kick.
Walking the bike back now, as the pedal motion caused pain, he contemplated his arrogant sense of self. He left the bike where he found it along with part of himself, and began a new route down a humbler path.
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