On Becoming Self-Reliant

Yesterday could have been the day. Yesterday SHOULD have been the day. The day I took my recently acquired skills and became The Self-Reliant Cyclist of my dreams.

But it wasn't; because I panicked.  

Half-way through my second lap at the park, I heard it.  The sound that had put off making its arrival for so long.  So long, in-fact, that I thought I'd been blessed: one of The Lucky Ones.  No such luck.  The sound I was hearing, the sound I was trying my best to ignore, to wish away, was most definitely the thu-ud, thu-ud, thu-ud of a tire going flat.  

I even tried to fool myself into believing it was "just the wind," muffled through my headband.  Though the ears may lie, the fingers do not.  And my pointer-finger was definitely leaving an impression on my oh-so-soft back tire. 

Of course--it HAD to be the back tire.  The tricky one.  The one with the derailleur.  The one we did NOT practice removing in our "Fix Your Flats" class at the bike shop. But that's okay.  I had practiced this a little at home.  In my garage.  With Dave standing nearby.  Not that any of that practice served me well yesterday, because, as I said, I panicked. 

Instead of calmly assessing the situation, I called Dave and requested a ride home.  Because, I claimed, I wanted to change it in the garage; where I'd feel less anxious, where I'd be away from the doubting eyes of passing cyclists.  Even the nice ones who offered me their spare tube.  

"Oh no," I replied all smiles.  "I've got one.  I'm good."  But I wasn't.  I was five miles away from home and it felt like the other side of the world.  

"Even after all that practice," he asked, through the phone?  Which was really his way of telling me not to be such a baby.  It's just a flat tire.  And he was right. I had practiced.  I was being a baby.  

"Ya, I'll just do it at home.  With the big pump."  I wasn't fooling either one of us one bit.  But I pressed on, and after I reported my location, he said he was on his way. 

Instantly, I felt better.  And just as fast, I felt even worse.  What was I doing?  It wasn't too cold out.  It wasn't raining.  I had a nice patch of green grass to myself, somewhat removed from the road traffic.  Heck-I even had a nice view of the water if I craned my neck a bit.  And so I began.

I removed my wheel, laid my tools out on the grass, and got to work.  And with only one tire lever, I did it!  I fixed my own flat!  I couldn't believe it.  Maybe I am a real cyclist.  Despite my back-up crew that was currently en route, maybe I am self-reliant.

Then he rolled up, my roadside hero.  But, upon seeing my handiwork, he didn't gush congratulations.  Instead, he asked, "well, why am I here?"  

And from beneath my drooping head band, from behind the sunglasses I didn't really need, but was so glad to have at that moment, I mumbled, "to put my wheel back on, apparently."  Because, for some reason, I could NOT get my wheel back into the frame correctly.  No matter how hard I tried.  Or how hard I banged it around.  Which probably didn't help matters, but I was pretty frustrated at that point.  

So that's what he did.  In about ten seconds.  Maybe less.  It was that fast.  Then he offered me a ride home, which I declined.  I needed to ride.  I needed to find a big hill and ride up it--repeatedly.  I need to show myself I'm not a baby.  Although, I had to admit, I really just wanted to get home.  This was my first repair and I wasn't really all that confident it would hold.  So I thanked him again and pedalled away, humiliated.  

While I waited for that dreaded moment when he'd catch up with me, ask if I  was okay, if I needed anything else, I decided to stop at the mini-mart on the way home to pick up a Kit-Kat for him.   King-Size!  He earned it.  Then he was there.  I tried not to look at him, looking at Jack, his trusty steed, instead.  Jack, who was looking at me with a confused expression.  Wondering why I wasn't in the trails.  Why HE wasn't in the trails with me.  And why I wasn't getting into the car.  (oh, by the way, I can read my dog's mind--we are THAT tight)

"Still holding air," he asked?

"Yep.  Thanks!  See ya at home!"

And then they were gone, turning left where I'd turn right. 

Ah... Self-Reliance...it's a process.  

Pedal on....
S-