Orange Bike inauguration day. Helmet and backpack strapped on, pant legs tucked in, Alex was proud to finally join the growing ranks of bicycle commuters.
I was worried sick. I accompanied him outside to see him off as if he were going to war. I wondered if I would ever see him again in one piece.
I was a nervous wreck until he called to assure me he arrived safely. He was exhilarated from the bike ride and mentioned that he might need to pump his tire.
He came home drenched in sweat. "Que pasa?!?" I asked. "Flat tire. Took train. Carried bike. Up and down !@#$ing stairs." he gasped between breaths. If Alex isn't exaggerating something, he's understating it. Apparently "might need to pump his tire" meant "faulty tire devoid of all air".
While he waited for the manufacturer to send him a free replacement tire tube, the bike once again invaded my living room. 7-10 days shipping time, just my luck. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why he didn't just pay a few bucks to buy one. When the part arrived, Alex disassembled his bike into various piles of rubble in a vain attempt to install it. "This is ridiculous, pay someone to install it for you!" 48 hours later, Alex left a bike shop $10 poorer and one viable bike richer.
Alex was thrilled to ride his bike to work the next morning. And I was even more anxious about his survival the second time around. I was relieved when he called me from work, but my stress built back up as 5 o' clock approached. Alex had to stop at the optometrist on 86th Street on his way home to check if his new eyeglasses were ready, and I didn't expect him to be more than a few minutes late.
At 5:40 PM, I started to get concerned and went down to the lobby to wait for him. I knew calling would be futile because he would be on his bike. I just prayed he had not taken a tumble somewhere in Central Park. I had witnessed a few bike mishaps and they weren't pretty.
5:50 PM: Panic. My heart started to race. I fought the temptation to call the police. I cursed the day I ever laid eyes on that stupid widow-making bike.
Alex's story:
I left the optometrist and walked my bike up to the corner. As I waited for the light to turn green, a woman rode up on her bike and idled next to me. She took one look at my bike and asked, "Did you put that bike together yourself?" Wow, was she some kind of fortune teller? "Cause I used to put a lot of bikes together, and your handlebars are on backwards." Oh. I turned the front tire around 180 degrees. It did feel better, although the handlebars were still sticking straight up in the air. Mental note, maybe adjust those when I get home. "Thanks for the help!" The light turned green and she rode away. She must have also been a bike racer because I was barely pushing down on my pedal by the time she was a quarter of the way down the block.
Thankfully, I was unscathed. I looked up. The woman wasn't as lucky. She hadn't been able to look away from the disaster unfolding behind her and had run into a double-parked truck.
After the initial shock and chagrin, I was so glad that this malfunction hadn't occurred mid-ride. Imagine if a whole gaggle of bicyclists had fallen off their bikes because of me! I would have really felt guilty. That kernel of gratitude, however, quickly evaporated as I carried my bike home in near 100 degree heat.
End transmission.
5:55 PM: Alex walked into the lobby. Sweat pouring from his brow. Bike frame in one hand. Front tire in the other. I wanted so badly to soothe his hurt ego, but I was too busy laughing.
The saga is not over yet! Stay tuned for Orange Bike, The Trilogy: Part Three!
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