Small black line tattoo of a bicycle on the inner forearm, with a hand gripping the handlebar of a white bicycle behind it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bicycle tattoo on a forearm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A simple black outline of a bicycle sits on the forearm, showing the wheels, frame, handlebars and saddle in single weight lines. The ink is solid black with no shading or colour. The forearm is in sharp focus in the foreground while a hand grips a white bicycle's handlebar in the blurred background.

Forearm Bicycle Wheel Frame Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bell had stopped ringing somewhere below the third hairpin, and Nell Pryce noticed only when her own breath became the loudest thing on the road. She was pushing now, the chain ticking as the gradient bit, and ahead the road to Bwlch-y-Gwynt folded itself into the mist like a dropped ribbon. The envelope in her jacket had gone soft at the corners from being checked.

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Her father had ridden this road every Thursday for forty years on a black roadster he kept spotless. He rang that bell at sheep, at the vicar and at the dog that chased him past the chapel gate. He left the bike leaning against the chapel wall the week before he died, its tyres still hard, the saddle worn to the shape of him. Nobody in the village had the nerve to take it out, so Nell had. The letter was from the county about the roof, and it needed a signature from someone who could reach the box at the summit before the last collection.

At the top the wind came off the reservoir sideways and tried to take the paper out of her hand. She propped the bike against the iron post, pulled out the pen and found her hand reluctant to write her own name, as if it knew what the form was for. She rang the bell instead, once, out of habit. The note went out across the grey water and didn't come back.

She posted the letter, freewheeled down the far side with both hands off the bars, and let the hedgerows blur into a single green wall. Halfway down she remembered to brake, and the bell gave a small, sharp answer to every bump in the lane.