We were all set to ride to the boys’ volleyball game at school today - my whole family. Inexplicably, the front derailer on the Betz would not work. At all. And it was not that little wingnut, which is the only thing I know to fix. Also, the Cygolite is missing a piece! I’m the only one with access to this bike and I didn’t crash it - a true mystery. Fine, I’ll ride the stolen Clem, alright? My husband has a big ugly e-bike, so he won’t miss his old under-appreciated Clem. I had to move Baby Bear’s little Hotrock out of the way, at which point I discovered his front tire WAS TOTALLY FLAT. This is the same tire I posted about a couple of months ago. That’s it; it’s going in, along with my Betz.
I arrived at the shop and the owner loves me because I’m totally worthless but I pay my bills. We have a mutual affection - he performs hocus pocus and sprinkles fairy dust and my bike comes back to life; and I pay the bill and shower him with all the praise and appreciation for returning TBBITW in fine form. I decide that every single major and minor issue with these bikes will be written up and addressed this trip. His assistant kindly writes it all down (and I am not one to use words sparingly) and then tells me to expect the bike back on Thursday. Thursday? I gulp. The weather is going to be sublime all week long - FINALLY - and we need these bikes for it. It’s one thing for me to lower myself and try to commute with the Clem instead of TBBITW, but Baby Bear has *nothing* to ride. I am, essentially, bike-grounded. “Oh,” I say, “I suppose this time of year gets busy.” “Yes,” chirps the helpful employee, “People bring their bikes in and say the weather is nice and maybe they should ride the bike they have in their garage. And I tell them, ‘Of course!’ I mean, that’s great, right?!” I smile and nod and pretend to agree but really I’m thinking that these people and their under-utilized, garage queen bikes that they will likely throw a leg over once or twice this year are AHEAD OF ME IN LINE. I am selfish and impatient and don’t want to see from Saturday to Thursday the empty place in the garage that my bike occupies. My mind is racing but I keep my composure and slide in a sly, “Ok, well I guess I can drive the kids to school this week. What a shame the weather will be so perfect. Let me know if it gets done sooner?” I know that I’m whining and that I have only myself to blame. If I knew a thing or two about bike maintenance and repair, I would not be in this fix. Don’t trouble yourselves coming up with solutions; I know I need an education but I just haven’t done it because that shop and its agreeable owner exist. Now you’re here having to read this drivel and it’s not your fault and you don’t deserve this BUT....I will leave you with the feel-good video because you’ve been such good sports. Patrick Moore posted it eons ago and I’ve watched it dozens of times because I love is sooo much. It’s about a very old bike shop in Europe and the man who owns it. And if you watch it to the 9:15 mark, you’ll see me guest-starring. I’m a 70 year old woman who can’t fix a flat and comes crying to the bike shop. But unlike her, I make a mean sandwich. https://vimeo.com/133432406 -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "RBW Owners Bunch" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to rbw-owners-bunch+unsubscr...@googlegroups.com. To post to this group, send email to rbw-owners-bunch@googlegroups.com. Visit this group at https://groups.google.com/group/rbw-owners-bunch. For more options, visit https://groups.google.com/d/optout.
