Small black fine line tattoo of a bicycle centred on the upper back between the shoulder blades, with the wearer's hair in a bun.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small bicycle tattoo on upper back

Fine line · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman seen from behind, with her dark red hair pinned up in a loose bun, shows a small bicycle tattoo on her upper back. The bicycle is drawn in thin black linework with simple outlined wheels, frame and handlebars. The blurred autumn leaves in the background keep the focus on the tattoo, which sits between the shoulder blades beneath white thin straps.

Fine line Back Bicycle

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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

The chain came off for the third time on Ings Lane, so Nell Garside walked the last mile into Hollin Cross with the bicycle on her shoulder like a sack of wet post. Lorna at the Bell said she could have taken the van. Nell said the van had no bell and no opinions, and the bicycle had both.

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Tomasz Wrenn ran the repair shed behind the garage, where the yard smelled of oil and damp leaves blown in from the beech hedge. He turned the back wheel slowly with one hand and watched the spokes flicker through the open door. The frame, he said, was older than the road it had been ridden on. He reset the chain, checked the brake blocks, and then tipped the saddle back to look at the underside, where someone had scratched a row of initials and a date. 1961. Under those, a second set, 1974, then a third, and a fourth with the year rubbed almost smooth.

Nell took the bicycle back without paying for the work, because Tomasz said the initials were payment enough and he would not explain what he meant. She rode the lanes that afternoon with the basket full of letters, reading the names out loud at every gate she passed. Some of the houses had been empty for years and still received post addressed in careful biro to people who had long since moved on. She kept the letters in order of their addresses and decided, somewhere near the bridge at Crosby Beck, that she would scratch her own initials under the saddle before the winter came in.

That evening she found a penknife in the kitchen drawer, sat on the back step with the bicycle upturned beside her, and carved the letters N and G small enough that no one would notice them unless they were looking.