Running Shorts

I broke one of our cardinal rules.
Well, it turned out to be more like a vulture rule, I guess.
I went bike riding alone.
When I was a wee one I used to bike everywhere, any time, with or without accompaniment. Of course, back in the pre-stoned age, bikes didn’t have gears. Tires were fat. And everyone knew everyone and every car in our small hamlet. Life was simple and biking was, too.
Today ... you don’t ride alone.
You might get run off the road while trying to change one of the myriad gears with the doohickey that never seems to work properly. You might run off the road while trying to put your water bottle back in its proper cage. You might run off the road when 15 yappy dogs chase you, nipping at your skinny tires. You might fall in the middle of the street when you can’t get your fancy shoes unclipped from your fancy pedals.
Do I sound like the voice of experience?
There also is the chance that you might just end up in a ditch when a car passes just a little too closely.
Or you might have a flat tire.
Yesterday was beautiful ... 80-some degrees. Frankly, it’s harder to ride this time of year, when the air gets colder, the dark comes earlier and each of your biker buddies has a life.
So not wanting to waste the golden sunshine, I got my bike and headed to Earlysville.
It was glorious. The sun was shining. The leaves were changing. I left early so the traffic was light. At mile 15.6 I was just thinking how lucky that I was the only member of our biker clan that hadn’t had a flat tire.
Bleepf, bleepf, beepf.
The back end was behaving badly.
Sure enough, I had a flat. Darn thorn.
Not to worry—I had a pump. I pumped and rode. Pumped and rode. Pumped and rode.
By the fourth stoppage to re-inflate my uncooperative tire, I pulled out my cell phone and called ... Easy Deb.
I could have very easily called any one of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Long Black Pants, but I knew Deb was the closest.
“Hello.“
“What’s up?“
“I have a flat.“
“Where are you?“
“Yappy Dog.“ (That’s the name we call the route because of the above-mentioned collective of canines.)
“I’ll be right there.“
And she was.
Easy Deb left work, put my obstinate two-wheeler in the back of her brand new used Saab, toted us both back to safety, then rode off into the sun rise.
And no “I told you so’s.“
Just a good friend.