To those of you who read the title of this blog, saw Serendipity, and thought, "Now really, Ali! There's no need for such pretentiousness," Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you my opening arguments.
[For the record, Exhibit 1 is the following account of events that primarily took place this very day, relayed without tweaking, embellishments, or hyperbolization.]
Last Saturday, Riva -- key player; will be given full and proper introduction in a forthcoming post -- gave me a booklet listing a huge variety of courses offered throughout the city. I poured over it the next day and was intrigued by the bike maintenance courses. I made note of them in my trusty planner, in particular those listed as "hands-on." I would question the practicality of a theoretical bike maintenance course, but seeing as the number of those is almost double that of the hands-on version, someone must be signing up.
I've been meaning to take a bike repair course for a while. I really enjoy mechanical stuff. If I had any interest in cars, that would be my thing. But my love is for bikes (another upcoming post). In public school, I excelled at, of all things, the motor component of shop class and the gears/pulley/physics component of science. My parents still occasionally tease me about the results of my 9th grade aptitude test: in mechanical reasoning, my score was in the 99th percentile for females and the 95th percentile for males (I scored similarly in abstract reasoning, except I think the genders were reversed). My top suggested profession: mechanic and related fields. Just what every teenage girl wants to hear. Much like Cory, who sat behind me in math, felt when it was suggested he be a secretary (he scored high on the clerical component).
Jump forward to this morning: on my way to class, it occurs to me that I really should look into the course offered at the end of September, instead of waiting until the next one, which is in November. Sure, I carry around a set of hex keys and picked up some fancy all-weather lubricant, but I rely on my bike too much to not be comfortable with basic repairs. What really got me thinking about this, however, was the annoying fact that one of my gears was slipping.
Mid-afternoon: meeting a woman to see an apartment, I lift my bike up onto the curb and hear *snap*. Not good. I do a quick survey. Everything seems to be in order. I start to walk the bike over to a post, and notice that the brakes are dragging on the back wheel. Fine, no problem. I adjusted them last week; probably didn't tighten them enough or something. I poke. I prod. I start to get a little panicky because, no, it's something much worse. The wheel is all warped. Why? How did this happen? And how am I going to get to home in time to meet up with people for Spins & Needles (another upcoming post -- have to go first)? A few people stop to help and we discover that a spoke has snapped. And lucky for me, there's a bike shop up the street. OK, crisis likely averted.
I proceed to cruise rather distractedly through the beautiful apartment and rush off in search of McCrank's. There I find Peter, a delightful guy who in appearance is equal parts Steve Buscemi and William H. Macy. We chat it up as he, very expediently, fixes my bike. As he's working, two gentlemen come in separately. The first is looking for a lock, which I just happened to be sitting beside. So, I guess I kind of helped him pick one out because, after he chose the one for him, he went to pay me for it. "No, she doesn't work here," Peter informed him. The next man came in looking to get quite an overhaul done on his handlebars, which were presently the street-bike style. Peter tallied it up and it was going to run him about $100. The man and I started discussing the pros and cons of different handlebar positions (I'm pro-upright). My bike was finished and I left while the handlebar debate continued.
As I rode toward the canal, I started to think that I should have asked Peter about whether taking the course would be worthwhile. In fact, I was tempted to offer him the course fee and have him teach me. "I'll call the shop when I get home." I went to change gears and suddenly remembered why I was on this train of thought to begin with. Back to McCrank's to have Peter look at the gears.
"You sold that guy on the handlebar change," he tells me when I walk in. And there it was: there's nothing like being in with your bike mechanic! So I ask him his opinion of taking a course. "Funny you should ask that. Funny you should ask that today, of all days, " and he goes over to the desk. He begins to tell me how winter is really slow for the shop, naturally, and even though he does skate sharpening, that's becoming less lucrative, too (the canal didn't freeze until March last year). So, "I just got this yesterday," shows me a big book for teaching bike repair, "and we're going to run a course, probably in November. We were thinking of calling it 'St. Vlad The Impaler's Bike Repair Course'."
Seriously, Universe, I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am. I left him my contact info and it looks like I'll be bike repair savvy after all.
I'm quite excited about the whole thing. Well on my way toward being able to refer to myself as a girl with an extra r and no vowels. Grrl! After the course, I expect to at least be deserving of a u in place of the i. Maybe even that r, if I work really hard.
