A Bedtime Story for Bicycles

Once upon a time there was a Bicycle who believed the road could be shared: cars and bikes together.

The Car didn't think. The Car was bigger and louder and faster. It didn't have to think.

And the people fell in love with the Car. It was so shiny.

The people so adored the shiny Car that soon Bicycle was left behind, squeezed to the side.  "Oh, that's just for children," said the people. 

Meanwhile the people began to worship the strange idols of the Car . . .

. . . and to believe that what the Car told them was true.

Soon the Car had conquered mountains and marshes and all levels of government. Car believed it had it made.

In the shade.

And the Car smiled.

But something was missing. The Car looked around - something was certainly missing - was it time to adopt a pet?

Still the Car felt unsettled.

Sometimes the Car would suddenly burst into tears for no reason.

The Car could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Car began to worry that there was a plot afoot . . .

. . . (or even awheel) to jostle Car from its place of pre-eminence.

Car's sleep began to fill with bad dreams of a world where cars were left undriven and the briars grew up over them until they disappeared . . .

. . . and all their places of resort were abandoned and fell into ruins.

"Why can't we just live as brothers?" demanded the Car of the Bicycle one day as the latter went spinning past.

"We'll have to see about that," said Bicycle. On its way up to the top of the hill.