Do it Yourself...?

My bike got here on Tuesday. I was beyond excited. I think of my bike kind of as my kid, or a pet. A very expensive pet. I certainly don’t cuddle with it and it doesn’t wag it’s tail when I come home, but it’s beautiful and smooth to ride, and it is definitely the most expensive thing I own (because, technically, my dad owns my car). I love it as you love a cherished possession, and I think if my bike could talk it would say for sure it's fond of me too. There are few things in life I'm actually paranoid about and actually take precautions to prevent, these things being getting eaten by a shark, having a root canal, giving birth (trust me, don't do it), and getting my bike stolen. So, as you can see, my bike and I have a special relationship that will be cemented once I pay off my credit card bill.

I had been eagerly awaiting my bike’s arrival for several days. I don’t mind public transportation or walking, but I love my freedom more than anything and since I was going to be car-less for a year I was eager to get my wheels and go exploring.

So when the UPS man pulled up mid-morning I rushed to the door to greet him and my bike, which was mercifully undamaged in its cross-country journey. I quickly got dressed and called a cab to take me to the nearest bike shop in Berkeley, the Missing Links Co-op (yeah, I didn’t know bike co-ops existed either…apparently in Cali anything can be a co-op!) My bike is pretty light, but the box was super bulky, and as I learned several days ago, carrying large heavy things over long distances=not a good idea.

One quick cab ride later and I was there-I was all smiles as I came in the door to the repair shop and announced that I had my bike shipped here and would need it put together, how long would it take them?

The 3 mechanics stared at me blankly. “Well, do you have an appointment?” one asked.

“Um, no….sorry, I didn’t know I needed to…so what’s the wait time?”

“At least a week.”

I made a mental note to once again practice my poker face as my jaw fell open and my eyes widened. “A week?? Wow…um….ok, well are there any other shops around?” I stammered, embarrassed as I realized I had forgotten to take into account that this is Berkeley and there are more bikes here than people and obviously the shop would be busy

“Well, we do have our co-op space across the street with tools you can use to do yourself.”

Do it myself???

I’ve always wanted to be a “do-it-yourself” type person…when I got my first car I read the manual cover to cover and vowed I was going to be that girl who changed her own oil and tires and stuff….when I moved into my apartment in Augusta I bought all this tile and materials that I was going to make into a mosaic tray for my living room…I’ve sewn on buttons that fell off shirts…I really enjoy putting together my cheap target or Ikea furniture (as long as there is an instruction manual). But, try as I might, I never seem to have the time, patience, or common sense to do most things “myself.” Oh sure with many hours of frustration and curse words I feel that I can figure things out without assistance…but my time is precious to me, I am busy like most people, and I would way rather pay the $20 for an oil change or whatever by experienced quick professionals who won’t like accidentally put oil in the coolant container or something that my flighty self would inevitably do…besides, I like to support the economy. If we all changed our own oil, what would all the Jiffylube guys do? :-(

Ok, back to bike…as I trudged across the street to the co-op, I gave myself a pep talk. I know how to work a screwdriver. I’m sort of strong for a girl. I took physics like 5 years ago. How hard can this be?

A stern-faced gentleman pointed me to the workspace in the back of the store, told me I had one hour, and pointed at the “rules” posted on the wall, the most obvious of which said in all caps and bold: “NO ASKING FOR HELP!” What kind of co-op is this? I thought they were all full of happy hippies who liked spreading love, food, knowledge and the occasional joint. Apparently not.

As I opened my giant box I was relieved to see that my bike shop at home had left my bike mostly intact. All I had to do was put on the handlebars, front wheel, front brake, pedals and seat. Totally doable.

I started easy, with the seat post. It slid in easily. YES!! Ok, this was gonna be fine. Next-Handlebars. Took awhile to get them aligned right, but pretty easy too. SWEET!! Ok, now for the front brake. Like a glove!!! Ok, front wheel, check. Pedals, check. I was on a roll!! A very “slow” roll though, as it took me a good 2 ½ hours instead of my allotted 1. It turned out to be one of the easier things I’ve put together…My boyfriend was actually right for once, it was mostly common sense! The bike shop people checked in on me occasionally, but I pretended not to see their glares as I cheerfully made some of the final adjustments on my beautiful bike. I’m not gonna lie, I was super proud of myself. I noticed my back tire was a little low on air, I guess they had just let some out when they packed it for shipping. I hate to admit, I hardly ever checked my tire air pressure…I didn’t even own a pump yet…I had only had my bike a few months and kept meaning to buy one, but just didn’t have time. As I went to blow it up with the shop pump, I could tell I was doing like, nada. In fact I was letting air out of the tire. I checked the pump and the valve several times. Looked okay, obviously I was doing something wrong. I broke yet another rule as I went and asked one of five employees (who were like, not busy at all…so why couldn’t they help me again?) for a second opinion. He took one look at my tire and informed me that I needed to unscrew the valve. Apparently, there are 2 types of bike valves. Presta and Schrader. The Schrader is like your typical valve, like on a car tire. The kind on my bike was a presta, long and thin and you had to unscrew a piece before you could inflate it. I sheepishly shrugged and smiled at the irony of the fact that I put my whole bike together yet had difficulty inflating the tire, and hastily exited the shop before I embarrassed myself further.

I may have lost that battle, but I had won the war! I refused to let my small embarrassment ruin my DIY empowerment day. I decided to ride down to the ocean to celebrate, since it was too far of a walk from the house I was staying and my Piscean self had not seen a body of water in at least a month.

I cruised down the hill toward the water as the sun peeked through the clouds and a strong breeze whipped my hair back from my face. I had noticed how rough the roads were here compared to Georgia, so I was expecting a bit of a rough ride. But then, I sensed that something was up with my rear wheel, because this ride was way rougher than I was expecting. As I slowed down to check everything out I could hear a faint thunk thunk thunk…the telltale sound of a flat tire.

F Bomb.



To be continued.