Do you, dear reader, ever find that the universe is sending you signals?
When it does, are you able to decipher their messages?
If so, maybe you might be able to help me with a bit of a conundrum I’ve encountered lately.
You see, I keep having mechanical issues with my bike(s)
It started with my commuter bike The WindBreaker. I keep getting flat tires. In total I’ve had three on it alone.
This is particularly frustrating. I’ve probably ridden it a mere two hundred miles this summer. Given that I’ve ridden other bikes two hundred miles over two weekends without any mechanical flaws, my rate of tire damage commuting is far too high.
So what’s a troll to do?
I pulled out another bike. That bike made it to work three times before I got a flat.
No worries though, I slid into a bike shop and had an emergency repair that day.
I felt like Mr. Smartypants with my freshly repaired tube. This bike’s a faster bike than my commuter. I thrilled myself hitting 60kph with a tail wind on the downslope of the bridge to Dartmouth.
At the lights I was bragging to a couple of other cyclists.
Then?
I set out to hammer my way home.
You see, every ride to and from work is a race. The other cyclists? They are my unwitting competition. I love blowing by people like they’re standing still.
One day recently, I even blew past someone I sort of know. He’s the husband of a former client. I helped her suggest bikes for him. I passed him like a hot girl streaking by a nerd on her way to a sugar daddy in a Porsche.
His reaction once he caught me up at a light?
Are you a messenger?
My heart was swollen three times its normal size that day.
My head swirled: He thinks I’m a messenger? I must ride really aggressively. Cool. Still got it.
When we realized who we were to each other, we had a bit of an awkward laugh and then I hammered on leaving him in the dust.
My hammering style around town might have caught up to me.
The same day that I fixed the flat on my fast bike, as I pedaled away from the pack on the Dartmouth side of the bridge, my left crank arm and pedal fell right off!
I stumbled a moment but caught myself before wiping out. I reacted so quickly I managed this without even hitting myself in the nuts.
Did you just break your pedal off? Are you ok?
A fellow rider watched as I nearly flopped onto the ground.
Yes and yes were my responses.
I collected my crank and pedal, crossed the street then called Laura for a bail out.
Only a couple of miles from home, I didn’t want to walk the rest of the way.
And as I waited for her to come pick me up with my truck, I contemplated what this message meant.
Sure a flat tire is inconvenient but it’s a quiet protest. There’s nothing really critical about getting a flat. It’s not nearly as dramatic as having your pedal fall off in a busy intersection.
But actually losing my pedal?
Is this the universe telling me to slow down, take it easy and stop racing?
If so, what should I do dear reader?
What would you do?
Well,
You know what I did?
I fixed my bike and rode it to work the next day and passed every motherfucker in front of me.
And if the universe is listening?
Fuck you buddy, I’m still winning.
