Once, and by once I mean just now, I spent two hours working on my bike tires. The problem was a nail and the problem is that I have too much faith in patches. And I lack a back-up plan when the patches fail. Then there I am, sitting on the porch steps, covered in bike grease and dirt and sweat, out of tire tubes and luck. What is there to do but trudge back inside and douse myself in soapy water and chase that down with wine?
I will take this as an opportunity to walk. I've noticed that I like that. Shall I make a bet with myself that I can do this for a week? By then I'll have forgiven the indignity of black smudges on my forehead.
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