I rode up to
Donlands and O’Connor and then across. My bike started riding funny and it felt
like I had a flat tire, but when I stopped to check, both wheels felt hard to
the squeeze of my hand. I turned right on greenwood and the bumps seemed to be
particularly sharp as I went over them, so I stopped again. Still my tires felt
firm. When I got just north of Danforth, it started to feel pretty obvious that
I had a flat. I pulled over. The back wheel was fine but the front was soft.
It’s so weird that it hadn’t felt that way before.
I walked along
Danforth, looking for a Bank of Montreal and a bike shop. I stopped at a scuzzy
bar to take a pee. It seems to be a pretty run down area east of Donlands. At
Carlaw there was finally a BMO. A bike shop though was nowhere to be found. I
took out twenty dollars on an overdraft because it couldn’t be avoided. I
walked to Chester and got on the subway.
I hadn’t been on
the subway for at least two years and so the new trains were a surprise to me.
I think that the whole long train consisted of two cars, with the effect that
from where I was standing I could not see the front of the train. It just
seemed to stretch into infinity. Where there used to be separate cars linked
together there are now bending parts for turning. I stood on a rectangular
platform that floats above such turns. It was kind of fun to feel the platform
shifting like a surfboard under my feet. If I hadn’t been holding onto my bike,
maybe I would have tried to balance myself without holding on as the platform
shifted with the turns.
The Danforth and
Yonge trains were quick rides. That wasn’t so true for the Queen Streetcar. It
didn’t take long to pick me up, but it had to turn south on Spadina to King to
go around the construction and then it was supposed to go north on Shaw.
Unfortunately there was an accident on Shaw and so the tram stayed on King. I
got off at Dunn and walked up. I went to Bike Pirates, forgetting they are
closed on Wednesdays. But the space just happened to be open for a “Bike Law
meeting”. There were about ten people in the lounge when I came in. Everybody
ignored me until I spoke up and asked, “Could anyone sell me a tube?” The
little old septuagenarian half Santa, half elf volunteer spoke up and said,
“We’re having a meeting!” I responded with, “I can see that! I’m just asking if
anyone can sell me a tube!” There was silence, then I added, “You can say ‘No’
and I’ll leave!” A woman in her sixties, with taped glasses, who I often see
helping out in the kitchen, got up and said she’d go ask “the keyholder”, which
is the Bike Pirates name for their initiated bicycle priests who are the only
ones allowed to consume the sacrifices offered to the bicycle god, among other
privileges that they enjoy. She couldn’t find the keyholder because he was
probably having a smoke somewhere outside. Finally she took the initiative and
sold me a tube, though she warned me that if I was captured or killed they
would deny any knowledge of this transaction, which she reminded me did not
happen.
I went home and got
all the stuff I needed to change the tire. The adjustable wrench is annoying
but it was a useful purchase all those years ago. I put a piece of chicken and
some frozen fries in the oven and I was done changing the tube by the time
dinner was ready.
I
watched a hilarious episode of the Honeymooners in which Ralph, who has
recently gone to the doctor for some tests, intercepts a telegram meant for
Alice. She had recently taken her mother’s dog to the vet and the telegram
contained the results. Ralph though thinks that the message contains the
results for his tests and is devastated to read that he has only six months to
live. He begins to make preparations for passing on and the comedy ensues.
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