What happened to the ‘No-Hand King’? Troubled times for Raleigh’s former bicycle star.

For a decade, the most consistent and delightful spectacle in Raleigh was Rodney Hines zipping around downtown on one wheel of his purple Huffy bicycle, both hands in the air, a pair of American flags flapping behind.

He called himself the “No-Hand King,” because he could ride that way — usually shirtless and sporting mirrored shades — for 50 miles without stopping.

He showed off muscles cut from a statue of Achilles, and he spoke like a trash-talking boxer at a press conference, boasting he could ride one-wheel, no-hands from Raleigh to California — all as a tribute to U.S. troops.

In 2015, he drew enough attention to star in a documentary about his fixation on endurance tests performed on a kid’s bike, this one featuring a ride from Nags Head to Cape Hatteras, defying 90-degree heat, horsefly bites and the Bonner Bridge.

Then he disappeared.

For at least five years now, people have been asking me, “What happened to the No-Hand King? I never see him around anymore.”

So I looked around and found unwelcome news: Hines, 57, got arrested on felony drug charges in March. Raleigh police accused him of having 16 grams of crack cocaine to sell out of his Ford Expedition. He has a court date scheduled later this month.

My first meeting with the No-Hand King

I’ll pause here to say I have admired Hines since 2007, when I first approached him on South Person Street around the corner he circled for hours at a time, lifting weights in the back yard on his breaks.

I toured the bungalow where he kept a stable of Huffy bikes out front, pink and purple models all draped with flags, and heard him lovingly describe them all, stern-faced, like he was showing off a gun collection.

I knew even then that he had a criminal record going back to his youth in the Walnut Terrace public housing complex, mostly breaking and entering and larceny, and that he’d served several stints behind bars.

But I got hypnotized when he described sitting in his cell and deciding once and for all to become the best in the world at one thing, a mantra that kept him going inside. While he stewed in his cell, he balanced on two legs of a folding chair while his ab muscles turned to stone.

While I knew him, he never drank. Never messed with drugs. Never laughed. Rarely smiled.

He kept the focus of a sculptor carving his own life out of sinew and bone, cutting away everything that made him weak. When you saw Hines, he talked about his bike. He talked about riding it 100 miles, 200 miles, 1,000 miles — the feats growing greater.

I watched him ride over Oregon Inlet flashing peace signs as the sweat poured into his eyes, falling only when he hit a stretch of N.C. 12 that had been destroyed by a hurricane.

“I’m so good I’ll let you use everything I use, I’ll give you as many tries as you like, I’ll give you life,” he says in the 2015 film. “I’ll even tell you what to do, tell you what to look out for, help you get strong, and still beat you. So what’s your excuse? You don’t have any.”

So what happened? I don’t know.

Looking for the king

I went to the address listed on Hines’ charging documents, but he didn’t live there anymore. I called his lawyer and left my number, figuring my old friend would call. But he hasn’t.

I know he got divorced. I heard he’d been living in a storage unit for a while, then his car. I know a lot of us came out the back side of the pandemic looking and feeling older — tired, battle-scarred and far less certain things would all work out.

I suspect the No-Hand King took a heavier beating than most.

But whatever happens, if he’s found guilty of these charges and heads back to prison, I hope he rides out this setback like a wreck on a bad pothole.

I hope he keeps his head up, so his crown won’t roll off.