Rod Serling

            The knee that I’d banged against my bike frame when my chain came off while I was riding standing up was a little less sore on Thursday morning, though it was still very difficult to go onto my knees during yoga.

            At noon I took my bicycle over to Bike Pirates where I found a young woman waiting with her velo outside of the locked gate. Dennis arrived at least ten minutes late but we were his only clients for the first hour or so and so we had lots of attention, in between Dennis’s frequent nicotine breaks.

            We had problems right away trying to budge my broken seat post from inside of the seat tube. I couldn’t even get the bolt untightened on the ring that secures the seat post to the seat tube. Dennis told me to soak it in “magic juice” and then wait five minutes. The little bottle had “magic juice” and “not lube” written on it in magic marker. The bolt still wouldn’t budge. Dennis gave me a longer Allen Key and a longer tube to put over it for extra leverage but there was still no movement. I had already told him that I had another bike at home to fix up. He told me to soak the bolt and the seat tube again and while I was waiting I should probably go get the other bike.

            So I went home and got the bike that Nick Cushing gave me about a year and a half ago. I had always intended on fixing it up but when I had the time I didn’t have the money and when I had the money I didn’t have the time. Now I had the necessity. I told Dennis that my main concern off the top was to have a post of the proper length. He had me go through the post drawer and I found one that both fit and would extend my seat. I took the old seat post off and put the extension on, then tested it out for the height and it seemed pretty good.

            The next thing I noticed was that the back wheel was dragging and the brakes were not catching very well. So we worked on adjusting the brakes. The end of the cable was frayed so Dennis persuaded me to splurge three dollars for a new one. The chain was deeply rusted so I bought a new string of links as well.

            There was a young woman there trying to fix a flat tire but she was an absolute novice. Dennis was very encouraging and nice to her but she expressed dismay about her difficulty working the air pump.

            For the first three hours Dennis was the only volunteer and all of the stands were occupied. I had never seen just one person helping the clients for that long on a Thursday. I asked him about it and he told me that none of the volunteers make any pre-commitments to come in. He confessed that he had almost not come himself. I inquired what would have happened if that had been the case and he responded that we would have been screwed.

            Volunteers started to trickle in at around 15:30, including those that do the cooking. I suspected that there was a connection between when the volunteers showed up and the meal that would happen after closing time.

            I had been there for almost the whole five hours they were open before I was ready to take a test drive. But as soon as I took the bike out into the alley, the pedals froze. I informed Dennis, and then he got on my bike and seemed to ride it with no problem. He explained that I’d started in the wrong gear. I just took his word on it at the time and didn’t ask him to elaborate, but it seemed strange to me that one could start driving a bike in the wrong gear. There might be difficult gears to start in but I’m pretty sure there are no gears that make the wheel freeze. I think that’s what the brakes are for. When I got back on to resume the test, the bike rode fairly smoothly up the alley, then across the O’Hara and back down to Queen, but the seat definitely wasn’t high enough. I came back into Bike Pirates from the front and as I was walking back into the shop I was confronted by the short, muscular, very stern looking volunteer in the short peaked mechanic’s cap. He never smiles and everything he says to me sounds like an accusation, like, ”Are you already in?” I nodded. “Test drive?” I nodded again.

            I raised the seat and took it for another test. It seemed better. When I came back in, another volunteer sternly advised me to use the new automatic door button to avoid struggling with the door manually.

            I took my old bike home and then came back for the newly fixed mountain bike. The chain was twelve dollars and the cable was three, so I gave them twenty-five, which was pretty much all I had.

            I certainly do appreciate Nick Cushing having given me that bike, because it saved my ass to be able to fix it up the day before I had to be downtown the next morning for work.

            I don’t even know the brand name of the bike that Nick gave me since nothing seems to be written on the frame. The seat says “Supercycle”, which is a Canadian Tire brand.

            I thought about riding to the bank and then the supermarket because I was out of fruit, bread and yogourt, but when I got home I was tired. Since I had to work the next morning I decided I could make do with what I had for the night and just go grocery shopping on my way home the next day. I went to sleep until the evening.

            I heated up some frozen egg patties that I’d gotten from the food bank along with some frozen French fries. I watched the rest of the Kraft Music Hall Friar’s Club roast of Don Rickles, which included George C. Scott and Milton Berle. Carson said that it’s only fitting that a cheese company would sponsor a dinner for a rat. When everyone had spoken, as usual with roasts it was the guest of honour’s turn. Rickles tore into everybody, including one audience member that was innocently sitting in front row center. He said that Alan King likes to go to health clubs and rip people’s towels off. He was paying mock homage to George C. Scott and he ad libbed, “Let thy spot be thy spot!” Then he said, “What worries me is that George is nodding like what I just said made sense!”

            I watched the first half hour of a live television play for the Kraft television Theatre from 1955 called “Patterns”. It was a corporate drama with a small part played by a young Elizabeth Montgomery. The only other actor’s name I recognized was Ed Begley, mostly because I know who Ed Begley Jr. is. The play was written by Rod Serling and it was apparently his first television breakthrough, although he’d been writing for radio since he’d returned from World War II. Serling won an Emmy for “Patterns”.