Do it Yourself Part 2

I am naive about a lot of things. Like actually thinking my bicycle cared about me and wanted to be my urban chariot on fun adventures around the city. So I'm officially changing the name of this post to "My bicycle hates me and wants me to die." Or maybe it's homesick? 

As I left off in my last post, I had been blissfully cruising down to the ocean when-FLAT. Boo. A string of curse words and another doleful trudge up that blasted hill later-I was back at my friends place. Since it was getting dark, I brought Bike inside to inspect tire. No obvious holes, didn't seem like I ran over anything. I called my avid biker expert friends to see if they had any tools I could borrow-they did, of course. I contemplated taking my tire off that night and checking the tube, but decided I had done enough manual labor for one day and would work on it tomorrow.

Two days later....and I still hadn't touched it. I was sort of busy with things like procuring a bed and shopping. This town seriously has the best clothes. But I also have a lazy streak, and procrastinate on everything in life...so why should changing my bike tire be any different? My friends got back in town Friday and asked if I wanted to go for a ride tomorrow. I had to admit that, in fact, I had just been too busy having fun to change my tire...they laughed and said they would help me tomorrow.

Which brings up a good point-so, when you don't know how to do something, do you admit it and ask for help, or do you try to figure it out on your own? I used to think that I was never too prideful to ask for help, yet lately I've noticed that I feel like I am admitting a weakness if I need assistance from someone. Even mundane things, like a stranger holding a door for me, seem to invoke my inner five-year old, who used to declare "I can do it myself!!" about any and everything with a fierce scowl and a lower lip that could rival Bubba Gump.

So Saturday AM rolls around. Sunny. Beautiful. Perfect day for a ride. After a leisurely, perfect breakfast we set about getting our bikes in gear. Stefanie and I removed my tire and after some major maneuvering with the tire levers to pry the tire off (if you've never changed a bike tire, trust me, it's a pain in the ass!) and patching the leak in my tube...which coincidentally, was a pinch flat...probably from not filling my tires up with enough air...Oops. We pry it back on (an even bigger pain in the ass), pump that sucker up, and get ready to go. Hissssss. I glare at my tire as it again, deflates. Well, at least this time we hadn't actually left the yard. After finding the second hole we decided to replace the tube altogether and FINALLY got it back on. Two hours later.

I'm usually pretty good about picking up on signs, omens, etc. I'm not sure why it escaped me that day. I should have just hopped in the saddle and gone on a ride. But nooooo....I was elated from my "success" with "doing it myself" and decided today would be the day I would try out my clip-in bike shoes! 

If you're unfamiliar with clip-ins, they are basically special bike shoes with cleats on the bottom. As the name sounds, they clip in to special pedals so your feet are anchored to the pedal while riding. Yes, it sounds a bit like madness. However, it does improve the mechanics of your stroke, gives you more efficiency, is better for going up hills, etc. Or maybe it was just another one of those things designed to separate the amateurs from the pros, like bumpers on a bowling lane. Because clip-ins are hard to get used to. It's not really second nature when you're stopping your bike to go "Oh, guess I should unclip my foot from the pedal now so I can put it down!" No, what happens is, you go to stop, realize your foot is glued to the pedal, have a momentary freak-out, lose your balance, and topple over like a domino. At least that's what happened to me. 

So back to my personal version of how to be a Crash Test Dummy. My friend Stefanie is the most patient person ever, and offered to teach me how to ride with my clip-ins. We cruised up and down her street, with me practicing clipping in and out as I was moving. Not to brag, but I was doing pretty well for a first-timer! This wasn't so bad...well, until I fell right in front of her driveway as I was going to stop. We laughed about it and how practicing with your clip-ins is a rite of passage for all bikers, and how everyone falls, you just gotta get used to it, etc. Again, I should have paid attention to my signs, but I was not about to be a sissy and call it quits after one little fall.

So off we go, down the hill to the ocean. Doing well, until we got to our first major intersection. As I went to stop I again panicked when I couldn't get my foot out and lost my balance, falling over right in front of a busy restaurant, a lot of cars, and a couple that was crossing the street. "Are you ok?" they asked in pity, as I untangled myself from bike and pedals. "Yeah, I'm fine..." I decided to run my bike across the street to where Stef was waiting rather than risk falling down in front of a car. Her sincere, friendly eyes looked at me with concern and asked if I was okay, we really didn't have to keep going? No, I'm fine, I replied with "I can do it myself!!" echoing in my head. We took off, and this time I didn't make it another block without falling again. This one hurt. Like really hurt. I somehow twisted my body as I fell and landed right on my coccyx

 As I scraped my bruised ass and pride off the pavement, I started to cry. Yeah, I really started to cry. No, not from pain, it was like a reflex cry. Like when you're a kid, fall down and scrape your knee, knowing it doesn't really hurt, but tears well up anyway and mom comes and wipes them away? It was like that. But instead of my mom, I had Stef, and she did a pretty good job of wiping away those tears. She is going to be an awesome pediatrician :) 

We realized that perhaps I had taken it a bit too fast, and spent the rest of the afternoon with me doing stopping drills while she ran alongside me to catch me if I fell. Which I did, several more times, as perplexed pedestrians wandered by. But this time, we had moved to the sidewalk, so at least we didn't have to worry about getting run over. I finally learned to stop properly without losing my balance, and as me, my bruises, and my wonderful friend walked our bikes back up the hill we laughed about the day and how clumsy I was. I really hope someone was hiding in a bush somewhere with a camcorder, because those falls were definite YouTube material.

 We went out that night to celebrate life, and as I sipped my sangria in an impossibly loud jam-packed trendy tapas restaurant I looked at my friends and realized that as asinine as I felt that day, I was not the only one to ever experience public humiliation. For there is nothing that bruises the ego more than taking your falls out in the open, for everyone to see. But part of growing up is being able to fall and help yourself back up and dry your own tears...yet having the wisdom to ask a friend when you truly do need help. I had a lot to be grateful for that day. A good friend to pick me up, dust me off, and encourage me to keep going. The courage to try something new even if it hurt like hell and made me feel like an idiot. And for once, I was glad to have enough padding on my ass to soften the blow of my falls. Because thanks to my booty, my coccyx is only bruised instead of broken.