I have a bike, but I probably shouldn’t have a bike – Part Three

[If you’re reading this, make sure you read “Part One” and “Part Two” first – context it almost necessary… they’re the backstory, and this is the final chapter.]


OK. Flash forward many years. Many, many, many years later from where we last left off, to today.

I recently bought my first bike since the fancy new (read: cursed) bike I last rode many, many years ago. You know, the bike I rode only twice and had horrible experiences both of those times? The bike upon which I was infested head-to-toe with baby ticks the first time out, and then attacked by the ocean the second time out? Yeah… that was the last bike I owned until now.

So, I took the new bike out for its first run. Other than the wind being a little chilly, resulting in gigantic pain in my ears, things went as planned, and I looked forward to the next ride.

As planned, I took the new bike out for a second ride a few days later.

And wouldn’t you know…

Flat tire.

I shrugged it off, but was immediately curious as to what really was going on in the universe.

So then I took the new bike on its third ride.

And… flat tire. Again.


As expected, by this point in time I’m beginning to think that I wasn’t meant to own or ride a bike.

Ever.

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