WEEK 7: Eternal Shame

Bright and early one mid-morning afternoon I set off on my bike, luxuriating in the usual uncanny cessation of the downpour that had been pulverising the window glass into sand just moments before it was time to leave. Off I went down the road, stopped at the give way, patiently waited for bus driver and white van man, crossed the road and slowly freewheeled down the gradient towards the lights at the junction. I’m so practiced now I can vary my speed so that I arrive at the lights just as they turn green, then I increase my RPM, hit the next gear and am away sometimes before the first car has released his brakes.

Most days I avoid the potholes along the margin between the resurfaced tarmac and the messy bit where three generations of road surface collide opposite a bus stop. Near where new grates for the drains have been shoehorned in there are several deep holes that I like to avoid as they rattle my panniers and squash my gonads. This morning Mr. Bus Driver didn’t leave me any room so I had to grit my teeth and take the plunge.

CLUNK

Hmm… that was heavier than usual. Probably just something loose in the panniers.

Across the junction and onto the cycle lane, the surface here looks like someone dropped a pebble in it when it was wet and the ripples expanded all the way up the road. It’s not a problem. Mostly it’ll just rattle loose objects in your panniers.

GA-DUNK GA-DUNK GA-DUNK

Aye? What? What’s doing that?

Very slowly my clueless monkey brain begins to come to terms with the physics involved and concludes that no, my branch is not being rattled by a Sabretooth Tiger and that no, I’m not being humped by the local Alpha Male. It’s something much, much worse! Stop, get off, bend down, squint at rear wheel. Oh my God! I’ve got a flat!

ARGH!

When did this happen? How did this happen? This morning? I haven’t gone a hundred yards yet! Why did I not notice this earlier? Oh the shame of it. Having to get off the bike and turn around and wheel it back home past all the drivers I just swished past at the lights.

It’s been a long time since I repaired a puncture and never on an internal gear hub. 45 minutes of creative swearing later I was on the road again… and it was raining. I will admit that I was a little less than careful and considerate the second time. Visibility was down, the rain was turning everything into a grey static haze, my front tyre spewed a fountain of water ahead of me and the speed of my passage streaked the raindrops left and right across my lenses. I sped down the cycle lane, flashed past near stationary traffic and came to a sliding, skidding, splashing, squealing halt at the lights. Panting heavily, eyes glazed from oxygen deprivation, I stared around me, taking in the three other lines of waiting cars across the way. I watched the lights turn and spotted an opening. They’d switched seconds too soon and I could get across before anyone else! And I was flying again, carving through the rapidly forming puddles like a horizontal power shower, my trouser legs soaked and the taste of acid in my mouth. Imagine how surprised I was to get pulled over by a Police car.

Mr Policeman was not very impressed. He pulled up beside me after I had stopped, wound down his window and gave me a stern talking to. The lecture included words like stupid and references to brown jam. I very quickly came down off my speed high, nodded, tried to look contrite and agreed with him completely that I was a prat and assured him that I would be much more careful in the future. All the while cars were passing by and drivers were getting an eyeful of an errant cyclist getting a good dressing down. How marvellous for the reputation of cyclists everywhere. This only increased my sense of embarrassment even more.

I slogged into work against a sudden headwind and even more driving rain and slunk off to the kitchen to mope over a cup of tea.