rite of passage

So, there I was today, minding my own business, on my bike ride, when I got a flat tire. Lots of people get flat tires so what’s the big deal?

I have had my fair share of bike things happen. Mostly accidents. There was the legendary wipe-out on the Munger Trail in 2005, yielding a spectacular road rash on the entire front of my right calf. Later that summer, while cycling around beautiful Lake Kampeska (coming from the east, nearing The Prop), I hit a dog off-leash that charged at me, resulting in a concussion when I crashed my bike and whacked my helmeted head on South Lake Drive.

My chain has slipped off the chain ring countless times. But I have never ever, in thirty-five years of bike riding, had a flat tire. Never. Ever. Not even on those crappy bikes I had in high school and college, which is to say, the bikes that were never maintained. Not even on two RAGBRAIs, each one five hundred miles in distance (seventy miles a day for seven days, times two). That’s what I’m saying: Never. Ever.

My handlebar bag has an inner tube, and typically (though, clearly, not today) I have a portable pump strapped on my bike’s frame. Mea culpa. I’ve got the gear but I don’t know how to use any of it. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a bit of a girly girl, and I HATE getting dirty, so it’s not surprising that I have never changed a flat. Though, you sort of have to have a flat to change one, and, remember, I’ve never had one.

Over a month ago, as I was still prone to procrastinate going on a ride, I dished out an excuse to John: I can’t go on a ride; I don’t have a tire-changing kit. As he held up my cell phone, he said—and I quote—“Here’s your tire-changing kit.” Naturally, I would get a flat during the middle of a workday. If I’d had a pump, I would have tried changing it. Even though I would have had no idea what I was doing. Really. Instead, I called John. At the office. And, he kindly retrieved me.

I was having such a really good ride, too. Feeling strong. Flying along. Listening to some good tunes.

Oh well, getting in half a ride is better than not riding at all.

I know what you’re thinking: Don’t ever go on a bike ride with that Jennifer-girl. Sheesh. I think it’s time to take the bike maintenance class. Finally.