Traditional flash design of two tattooed women riding bicycles on rollers above a banner reading Roller Race, with roses and a laurel wreath.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two women on bicycles roller race flash

Traditional · Colour · Flash

A traditional-style flash drawing of two identical women with short dark bobbed hair, each riding a bicycle on a set of striped rollers. Both figures are covered in small tattoo-like designs, and the scene sits above a ribbon banner that reads Roller Race. Bold black outlines frame the flat colour fills in blue, red, cream and green, with red roses at the corners and below the banner, set against a beige background.

Traditional Bicycle Banner Rose Laurel

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rollers were still damp from the morning tide when Vera nudged her sister's front wheel with her own and muttered, "Don't you dare blink." Dot never blinked when there was money on the line. She just smiled at the crowd leaning over the promenade rail. Behind them the striped drums turned as slow as church bells, blue and cream on one side, red and white on the other, while Mr Hobday chalked the odds on a board that had been wrong every August since 1931.

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The rules were simple. Two sisters, two bicycles, two drums, and the first to pedal the length of Saltcombe Pier without touching the banner won the purse and the right to call herself champion until next summer. Nobody had ever touched the banner, which was the trouble. Half the town swore the sisters were so alike the rollers couldn't tell them apart. The other half swore the rollers had a grudge.

Halfway down the boards Vera's back wheel skipped on a loose slat and the drum juddered under her like a cough. She could have fought it. Instead she felt Dot slow beside her, not much, just enough, and then her sister drew level and they crossed the line wheel to wheel with their hands locked on the bars. Mr Hobday squinted, scratched his ear, and declared it a dead heat. The purse went to the gulls, who fought over the crumbs for a good ten minutes.

That night the sisters sat on the pier steps counting coppers into two neat piles. Dot tied a scrap of the ribbon from the banner round her handlebars and tucked the loose end in her pocket. "Next year," she said, "we race the tide."