The Flat Tire Blessing

I finally talk myself out to the bike around 9 am.  Within minutes I make a very bad decision.  Can you believe that I actually looked down, realized I'd left my patch kit and pump at the house and decided to continue the ride regardless?  It would have taken me about 5 minutes to go back and grab all of that.  And that I rode hard for 15 minutes up and down hills away from my house, miles from a phone or gas station without a mobile phone or money or anything buy my water bottle?  Well, why not?  I mean, I had never had a flat tire before. 

Bart always gets those.  His tire goes pffffffffft!  We stop.  I watch him only because I feel I should.  Maybe I'll remember his procedure.  He loosens the bolt, releases the brake,  pulls the tire off, rips out the tube (usually dripping sweat everywhere by now).  Next he spits on it looking for little air bubbles fizzing indicating the hole.  He grabs a little abrasive disk and rubs like crazy then carefully applies the adhesive followed by a little perfectly round patch of rubber which he patiently smoothes and pats.  The edges have to be flat.  Finally he puts the whole thing back together again.  Kelli happily watches as he pumps up the tire then pops the cap back on the metal stem.   "Good Job Honey!"  I say.  Usually I have felt quite grateful for the rest.

Well sisters (and the odd brother or two who may have logged on by accident!) it ain't the same when  it's you, alone, out on the hightway!  It's not restful or interesting.  It's stupid.  Especially when you're missing all of the ingredients required for a successful repair.  If I'd had that I would have just looked, you know, cool.  The girl on the side of the road in the hot sun, independent, resourceful, capable. 

Instead, I find myself feeling remarkably ashamed as I walk, pushing my beautiful bike, in my stocking feet down the long road home.   Bike shoes are impossible for walking.  Those bike shorts are no treat  either.  They  are great for bike comfort but not a cute or comfortable thing for those of us with a more generous thigh.  Feels like you're wearing a loaded diaper, too, that's not cool, ever.  

Honestly, I nearly cried.  I wanted to but I kept the faith and continued on my journey.  "Should I flag someone down?  Will someone just stop for me?  I am so dang embarrassed.  Prayer.  Prayer.  Bart, come and get me.  Bart. Bart. Bart.  You're wife is is trouble come get her.  Prayer.  Prayer.  Prayer. (Might as well talk to someone that can hear me)  Geez, Kelli, why don't you stop at that house back in the trees?  I am way too embarrassed.  Just keep walking.  It shouldn't take more than ....well, than .... hmmm, oh my goodness, an hour and a half!!  Ohh, it's hot.  Why isn't anyone stopping?!  What's the matter with you people?  That guy had a truck and everything.  C'mon people.  You think I am just out here for joy walk?!!  You guys are sooo stupid!!"

"Hey, here comes a biker!"  "What, no cell phone either?"  "No worries, it's not far."  "Yeah, thanks for stopping anyway."   "Have a great ride."

At that point I knew from that little act of kindness from someone who knew exactly what I was going through that this problem would solve itself.  Two minutes later a lovely lady by the name of Claire stopped,  asked me where I lived and then offered to take me home.  The bike slid smoothly into the back of her SUV.  We chatted for the short ride to the house.  She is from the Mauritius Islands and, you guessed it, she's a biker.  Hopefully I'll run into her again when I start riding with the women's bike club.

So, a fellow biker saves the day.  She knew exactly what was going on with me because of her own personal experiences.  Truly living a life opens us up in so many ways.  Could it be that the sweetest part is that we recognize better when someone needs our help.  And we are prepared and willing, even desiring to give it.  I can't wait for my next chance to serve.  I hope I have the eyes to see the need and am in the position to offer it quickly and willingly.

There you go.