Colour neo-traditional tattoo of an anthropomorphic frog in a striped jumper riding a red bicycle, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Frog riding a red bicycle

Neo-trad · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A frog wearing a striped jumper rides a red-framed bicycle, with its hands on the handlebars and one leg on the pedal. The bold black outlines sit beneath flat, smooth fills of green, red, grey and orange spots. The bicycle wheels run across the top left and bottom of the design, and the frog's head is turned up towards the top right.

Neo-trad Forearm Frog Bicycle Wheel

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step, the lot of you, and stop fidgeting with those lanterns. Yes, that is the frog. No, she was not always a frog, and no, she did not win the bicycle in a lottery. Her grandmother's bicycle went down into the salt flats of Nether Wexley the winter the sea came back up the Thames. It was red, the red of a fire engine that has given up hope, and it had a bell that nobody could ever get to ring.

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Ada Brackenridge found it lodged in a drowned bus shelter, its spokes full of eel grass. She dragged it out with her teeth clenched, because her hands were needed for the rope. That summer she taught herself to ride on the old causeway between the wind turbines, wobbling past the dead heron towers while the crows argued over her jumper, a knitted thing striped in grey and red that her mother had unpicked from a dead sailor's blanket. Nobody had told her frogs were not built for handlebars. She rode anyway, one leg pumping, head thrown back to watch the sky go pink over the sea walls.

The turn came at the bridge. The council men had blocked it with a rusted sign reading KEEP OUT, DEEP WATER, and Ada, who had never once in her life read a sign, pedalled straight through the gap where the railing used to be. The bicycle landed on the far bank with a clang that rang across three counties. Behind her the bell finally sounded, one bright note, and every heron on the marsh lifted at once.

So if you want to know why the road to the coast is named after her, look it up on the map. Then go and find a bicycle of your own. Mind the step.