Bike Mechanic in a Dress

I miss Rick for several reasons. I miss his affection, his support…but lets get practical here: I miss that he opens jars for me, I miss that when I can’t find my phone I use his to call mine, I miss his fingernail clippers, (I always know where his are, mine, I have no idea) and I miss him because he works on my bike.

Working on my bike has never been an area of success in my life. I would rather pay someone ten bucks to fix a flat tire for me than try to patch it or replace the tube myself. (However, I have enjoyed making a dress out of bike tire tubes.) When I met Rick he was appalled that I would pay someone else to put any labor in to my bike. Being the great guy that he is, throughout our relationship he has always worked on my bike for me: an abundance of flat tires, fenders on my old bike, fancy magnet lights that work with the spinning wheels, any other random adjustments.

I needed fenders for my bike. I enjoyed my new bike all summer and with the pending rain I was preparing myself by purchasing waterproof shoes and digging my other rain gear. But, I was putting off the fenders. It was on my “to-do” list in my head every time I pass a bike store I thought, I should just break down and spend the cash to have them put on for me?

One Wednesday after work I found myself with some free time. I had plans with a friend to see a show at eight. I was biking North at about 6:30. I had already looked at the fenders at the bike co-op on N Mississippi. I remembered Wednesday nights they stayed open exclusively for women to work on their own bikes.

“Are you here for the workshop?”
One of the bike mechanics asked me as I wheeled my bike through the doorway.

Once I clarified that it wasn’t a special workshop and I was in the right place she waved me over to an empty bike stand. Bike stands make working on your bike loads easier than any experience I ever had in my living room with my bike upside down.

There were five women working on their bikes and three women from the coop. I tried to ignore the fact that I was still wearing a dress from work. It was comfortable, but the bright green print was out of place for this group of bike mechanics.

Trying not to disturb the flow of anyone’s work, I weaved my way in between the people and bikes, back to the front of the shop to pick out my fenders from the retail section. Just as I removed the last of the packaging and held one fender up to my wheel, one of the coop women looked at my bike and said, “That’s not going to work.” She pointed out the shocks on the front forks of my bike. “There’s no room here for a fender.”

Obviously disappointed she said she would look in back for a different style of fender. I stood there, trying not to get in the way, and trying to look half way busy at the same time. It seemed to take a really long time for her to return. Morrissey was playing from the coop’s stereo. I bought that CD in college. She came back with a shrug. She couldn’t find anything. We looked at the bike together. I tried to explain to her that I just found this bike on Craig’s list. I got it because it was a great price, and it was my size, but the shocks weren’t really important to me.

“Mmm” she said, “yeah, that’s too bad.” I started thinking about pricing some regular forks and then she said, “Wait, I didn’t see this before.” There was a little bridge kind of thing sticking off the forks with an eye for a screw that would be perfect for a fender. “This is a new hybrid feature.” She said.

My sprits lifted and I got started. With this little bridge the front wheel was easy. Tightening tiny silver screws into bolts to hold the curve of this plastic fender over the rubber of the tire. The allen wrench was not quite comfortable in my hand. My confidence grew with every turn.

“The back tire is a little trickier” The woman from the coop checked my progress after working with someone else. “You are going to have to take the wheel off.” I saw her eyes give me a once over. “Do you want an apron?” She asked. My hands had already picked up some bike grease. I nodded yes.

Working on the back tire put me back to back with the folks working at the counter behind me. This was a tight space for 5 bikes and their respective mechanics. With one finger I lifted the chain off the wheel. I wiped my greasy finger on my apron.

I started attaching the back fender near the center of the bike and worked my way out. Amazed with the puzzle that was coming together, the geometry, angles and curves.

The coop gal stepped in again to make a suggestion. “This cross bar is a perfect place to hold the fender close to the bike. Lets drill some holes in the fender and put a zip tie through there.” Wow, I was feeling like I was in an art class. The expert idea of the instructor inserted at just the right time to make my project extra great. I let her use the drill. I threaded the zip tie through and pulled the fender to the frame. She checked it out. “I mean really pull this snug.” She handed me the needle nose pliers. Oh yeah, she was expecting excellence.

With the tire back on and both wheels were friction free, I was ready to roll (pun intended).

The fenders looked great, as if they had always been there. The bike coop women joined me in the admiration of the work completed. I looked at the clock. 7:40. “Plenty of time to bike over to Alberta for the show at eight.” I said handing her back the apron and thanking her for everything.

“Cool” she said.

A Story About my Mom

There is a quick story I want to share about my mom when my dad was deployed.

First you have to understand that my parents have been married over 50 years. Even as I write that it seems improbable, but, yes just a few summers ago we celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. Amazing.
At this stage of the game and certainly for several years they have a deeply intertwined relationship.  On the surface it may seem like my mom would never make a move with out my dad.  They do fall in to traditional roles, and that works for them.

In 1990 my dad was deployed, just my younger brother, David was still home with our mom. David was a junior or senior in high school, he already had his drivers license and his first job.  One afternoon he was driving home and just one block from the house he was in a car accident.  He was not even injured, but the car was totaled.  I wish I could remember the details, but I can't remember if he was rear ended or t-boned or what.  Some how, the other car came over the hill too fast and ran right in to him.

Instead of letting an incident like this totally overwhelm my mom, she really rose to the occasion.  Maybe I am not giving her enough credit, but lets face it, since she has been with my dad, or any time in her life for that matter, I would be really surprised if she had ever bought a car on her own.

She didn't just sit back and say, we can work this out with one car.  She respected my brother's schedule and her own.  After holding her own with the insurance company she went out, did her comparison shopping and bought a used Datsun.  I remember being so impressed with her.

It wasn't just the new car purchase that got me, it was the way she got so fired up about the injustice done to my brother in this accident.  There was not a moment when any fault or blame was laid against my brother, the young driver.  Our mom was up in arms about the carelessness of the other driver and she really stood up for David. Maybe for the first time. (I cannot explain in one blog post why that was so significant.)  She created something that no one expected.  When teen age boys are likely butt heads with their parents, without my dad as a buffer or to be there to lay down the law, she built a foundation of trust with David and had her own relationship with him.

Now I'm Making Up Words

Tonight I was so tired, when someone asked me what I was up to I said, "Riding my bike around a lot."

Then I went into the reason I am riding my bike around a lot.  I was thinking Car and I was thinking Husband and I started my story off by saying, "My cusband..."

You have to say it aloud to get the full effect.