Sunday, 4am: I buy a brand new Schwinn bicycle from a shady fellow who has a sad story about his parents and rent money (total bike price: $30). He is sad to see his bike transfer ownership to me, and even tells me he'll probably jump me someday to get his bike back. I laugh uneasily at what was hopefully a bad joke. I then realize that I had told him earlier my dorm hall of residence... I'll just keep up it in my room and hope it was a bad joke.
Sunday, 8pm: I ride my slick new bike down to Walmart to buy a bike lock. Two miles in and I feel a thud-thud-thud. I stop and check it out; my back tire is flat. So I ride/walk it the last half mile to the store.
Being there to purchase a bike lock, I naturally didn't have one. And being at a Walmart, I naturally was worried about leaving my slick new bike outside in the dark unlocked. I ask the crusty old greeter if I could place it somewhere. He tells me to put it in the area between the entrance doors. I smile and say politely, jovially, and jokingly, "you take real good watch of her, ok?" He frowns and angrily tells me he is not responsible for its well being. I think to myself that I would love to kick this man in the knee caps for being so rude, and start to wheel my bike into the store; I wasn't going to leave it out there for some other Walmart shopper to steal it while the old bastard greeted the thief out without a care. The devil-man then got VERY testy and made me place the bike back, being a big time d-bag and making me place it in a specific spot and specific position by the FRONT door.
I sprint thru the store, buy a lock (total bike price $40) and a tire pump (total bike price $50) and fake out the old greeter back at the door by pretending to almost run into him. I wheel the bike outside and start to attach the pump frame and lock to my bike. A friendly man comes over and helps me pump up the tire, explaining that he was the bicycle assembler for that Walmart and that the tire was just low, not blown, in his expert opinion. I thank him, and he tells me his name is John the Walmart Bike Repairman (I added in his title) and to stop by the next day after 10 and he'd take a look at it. So I spend about half an hour more finishing attaching the $20 in new accessories to my frame. I feel the back tire. Its flat again. It WAS blown.
I ride home, stopping every half mile to refill my back tire. And get back to Daum late. I plan to myself to return to Wally World the next day, meet John and have him fix my blown back tire.
Monday Night 10pm, the Shit gets heavy: I leave quickly for Walmart at ten o'clock to meet my good friend John the Repairman. I have to stop every quarter mile or so and refill my back tire, its getting worse. I arrive at the store and ask to see John. The first cashier I talk to pretends I'm crazy and pushes me off to another lady- who asks if I want to leave my bike and call a cab, because John left two hours earlier, but could fix it in the morning and call me back. Problems: I don't have a phone, and I'm not leaving my pride and joy at a Walmart overnight (I mean, come on, I bought my security chain at a freakin Walmart!) So I spend the next couple hours employing the help of a bearded midget, a nocturnal Mexican, two lesbians, and a hick to repair my tire using some patches (total bike price: $55) and a handy little tool kit (total bike price: $70).
I get back onto the road and speed off happily ever after. I ride into darkness on a quiet, smooth road running next to the airport. As if the scene weren't eerily mysterious enough, a light fog blanketed the road and adjacent corn fields. It was mystical. It was magical. It was what I had bought a bike for. I even thought to myself "this. this here, makes it all worth it."
The end.
I wish. Literally seconds after processing that last thought, I feel a thud-thud-thud-thud. It felt different this time- my front tire was popped. I then spent an hour removing, patching, and replacing the tire using my $40 in handy Walmart accessories. I feel the tire, the patch didn't work. The valve on the tubing was completely busted, and I had just wasted another hour in the cold dark. I decided to ride it home on the flat tire, which was IMPOSSIBLE to fill because a valve can't be patched.
I hop on and spin my legs wildly three times around, fall over and look at my bike. The chain fell off. I couldn't fix this. I scream, cuss, cry without tears, and laugh hysterically. Then proceed to walk my bike the final 1.5 miles home.
Exhausted and crazed, I laugh and talk outloud to myself. Its the only thing I can do to keep from tossing the Schwinn and all its fancy new equipment directly into the thick Iowa River. I smile when I realize what is going on: I am walking a broken bike, in the dark, shouting at myself, and laughing hysterically... in the cold dark 2am night- I am a crazy hobo, and there is nothing I can do to deny it.
Whenever I have enough sanity recovered to return to cycling, I'm going to wash my bike (it was drizzling the whole time, by the way) and go out and buy some new wheel tubes (total bike price: $100).
