It's My Turn
A True Story
I made careful plans yesterday to be able to bicycle to the bank about 10:30 am. I had LOTS of business stuff to do at the office, but I felt I could at LEAST find time to cycle on this errand. It would take only 40 minutes. So I get Big Bike out of the garage, mop up its tears of disuse, hop on and stop at a stop sign a block from my house (in front of a park). Right there in front of me is an old car coming down the street, running with one tire flat. It turns into the park and stops. Thinking that there are at least 100 ways for that tire problem to get resolved without my intervention, I decide to press on to the bank. First ride in weeks. Forty available minutes. Go! With my foot in the toe clip of my flawlessly performing Big Bike, I raise my right pedal halfway to start position and push smartly down. The chain inexplicably jams. Foot captured by the toe clip, I fall gracelessly to the right, thunk, greeting the pavement like a long lost friend. God did that. God pushed me over, suggesting on my way down that I reconsider my responsibility for my fellow human beings.
As I’m getting up, the young female non-English speaking hispanic car owner comes over and just stands there. She HAS to choose me. I’m the only human in sight. I prepared for this moment when I went to language school in Mexico, in 1977.
In Spanish, I ask, “Spare tire”? No. “Jack?” No.
“Friends close by?” No.
Mr. Bicycling Rescuer, knee still stinging, ponders his hydraulic floor jack and van just a block away. YES! The bike is ridden home and, crying, put away. Appropriate tools are transferred to van and to the park, tire is removed (unrepairable), rim and damsel are transported 5 miles to a tire dealer of matching brand, tire is purchased, damsel is relocated back to the park, wheel is reinstalled by Rescuer. Everybody lives happily ever after.
Lesson Learned: You can’t turn your back when it’s your turn.
– Richard Vallens