On the night of Monday, June 13th, I packed up my guitar and got my bike ready to go to the Tranzac open stage. I checked the back tire and to my relief it was still firm. I rode up Brock and my back tire was still wobbling like it had been the day before. I went under the railroad bridge but as I started climbing the hill to Dundas, the wheel felt even worse. I stopped at the next corner and discovered that I had another flat tire. Since I didn’t have another tube, there was nothing to do but walk home and cancel my plans for the Tranzac. Fortunately it was only about a ten-minute walk. I got some writing done instead.
My goal had been to not take out any overdrafts on my bank
account during the lean times this year because it just costs more money in the
long run. As far as food goes I can manage, but because I need my vehicle to be
functional at all times, I had to plan to take it to Bike Pirates on the
Tuesday evening of June 14th, and since I didn’t have the money to
buy a new tube from them, I walked to the Bank of Montreal at King and Dufferin
that afternoon to take out twenty dollars. Walking gives one a different
perspective than biking. I took streets that are different from those I would
take while cycling to the bank.
On the way back I walked up Gwynne Avenue
and when I saw the alley called the Milky Way, decided to go home by that route
and to check out the graffiti. The alley murals of the Milky Way are fairly
conventional, but when looking at their interaction with both the design of
them and the decay of the backs of the very old Queen Street storefronts, made
for some very interesting viewing. I pulled out my camera several times as I
walked and took some shots of what I thought was most interesting.
As I was crossing Elm Grove, I noticed a
unique decoration above the gated courtyard of a small, fancied up two-story
apartment building. I walked up the street to get a closer look and saw that it
was a netting made from hundreds of different colours, designs and types of
interwoven fabric. I stood looking at it from outside the gate as a man who
obviously either lived there or owned the place, came out. He looked at me and
was about to leave, but hesitated a moment until he said, “May I ask what you
find so interesting?” I pointed out the quilt-like web and he said, “Oh that’s
something somebody did and it took them a long time.” I told him, “I think it’s
very interesting!” He just nodded and would only acknowledge that it had been
“time consuming.” I asked if I could take some pictures of it and he said it
was okay, so he left and I went into the courtyard. I took some shots from
below and then climbed one of the two fire escapes to snap a few from above as
well.
I walked back down to continue my journey
through the Milky Way. At the end of the alley, behind the library was a broken
basement window framed by graffiti. I sat down in the middle of the alley and
leaned forward to take some pictures of myself reflected in the broken glass. I
had to get up a couple of times to let cars get through. I got off a couple of
shots, but not as many as I wanted to because my battery needed recharging.
I went home and took about a one hour
siesta and then I brought my velo to Bike Pirates. I counted five people ahead
of me as we stood on the sidewalk, but one of them must have left because when
Dennis came out to write everyone’s names down, I was the only one that claimed
number five. Dennis said that there would be one volunteer for every two
stands, and since he was the only one there at that time, he would let in the
first three. I didn’t quite get the math of his decision, since one-stand holds
two bikes.
The late afternoon sun had pried most of
the shadows out of the buildings on the north side of Queen till they almost
covered the sidewalk. There was strip of warm light left that in front of the
shop was mostly obscured by the shade of the trees, but I found a little
clearing to stand in while waiting.
After about five minutes, Dennis called
my name and I went inside to put my bike on a stand.
The simple problem was the flat back
tire, but the big one was the wobble of the same. At first I thought I needed a
different rim. After searching amongst their available second hand rims, I
found one the same size as mine but when I put it on the trueing wheel it was
so wobbly that I was told it would take too long to true it. Another volunteer
came along who seemed younger than the rest and smelled like he’d been
drinking, but he seemed fairly competent nonetheless. He wanted to have a look
at my original rim and told me that it wasn’t very much out of true. He
suggested that the wobble might be the result of my needing new ball bearings
in the axle, so I took it apart, cleaned everything out and greased it, and
then I put in new ball bearings.
Then because mine was worn down, I needed
another second hand tire. I went downstairs and brought one back up that was the
same size and with the same kind of treading. My young, drunk volunteer wasn’t
around, so I showed the tire to a volunteer named Ted, who said that treads
aren’t very good for street driving. So I went back down and brought up a
semi-slick tire with treads on the sides. I found my volunteer and told him
what Ted had told me. He dismissed it saying that, “Ted was just being Ted!”
Ted heard him and came to say, “Look, I didn’t tell him he shouldn’t use
treads, just that smooth is better!”
The oldest volunteer I’ve seen at Bike
Pirates is a short, stout man with white hair and a white beard, who kind of
looks like a cross between an elf and Santa Clause. He had been serving a woman
at the front and after she left he walked over to my volunteer to declare, “She
had really nice tits!” and then he walked away. My young volunteer was
speechless for a moment and then called after him, “It’s not really the kind of
place for that!”
I got everything working and the wobble was
gone. I gave them $15 and kept $5 for food. The woman behind the counter said
she had drawn me at OCADU. I told her that I’ve run across quite a few people
over the years that have seen me naked. I related a story about a girlfriend
that I’d had who, when she found out from a friend of hers that she had drawn
me at George Brown College, asked her, “How come I’ve never seen your boyfriend
naked?”
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