bikemare
Last Tuesday I woke up to a flat tire on my bike. Groggily, I changed my tire and headed off to work. Upon my arrival, I noticed that the wheel was slightly out of alignment, so I reset it.
No problem.
But did this minor incident set off this latest bout of paranoia? I've been feeling a little off balance on my bike lately. No doubt this is due to my recent commuting with only one pannier and a head cold that may be causing an inner-ear thing that I don't quite understand but skews my balance nonetheless.
Evidence: a sudden inability to balance on one leg in yoga class. Progress: stunted.
Given my recent instability, last night's dream is no surprise:
I'm riding my bike to work. Clumsily plodding along, having extreme difficulty keeping the wheel straight. When suddenly, I loose all control, the wheel spins around and I fall to the ground (a gravelly patch of road I am not familiar with). I look at the bike and both wheels are warped, reminding me of the time a car backed into my bike while it was parked at the Dog & Duck. I suddenly remember that a new bicycle shop has opened near work (this is not a figment of my imagination – a tiny little bike shop recently opened on Guadalupe & MLK, and I've always been curious as to how a bike shop could operate in such a tiny little space).
I take my bike into the shop and the tires are there, as if they were waiting for me. They take my bike into the back and tell me to wait in the back room while they fix it. I walk around the counter, through a door, and immerge into what looked like a giant LAN party (my dork side always seems to shine through, even in my subconscious). There were swarms of people, some seated around clusters of computers, others kicking back on a couch. Each cluster of computer was intended for a different activity: digital music-making, programming, I can't remember what else. A lot of it was very artsy and hipster-esque. There was music. And someone I worked with was there, showing me around this secret clubhouse. A woman I didn't recognize was trying to sell me on a pair of hipster cycling shoes (red 80's high-top sneakers).
The shoes set me off. "Fuck this hipster shit," I thought. Get me out of here.
Fortunately my bike was ready. When it emerged, it looked nothing like the bike I had brought in. It was kitted out with all sorts of weird do-dads, like a saddleback that was basically a sheet of black plastic that folded over onto itself, drastically inferior to my Ortlieb bags. They had changed the bike seat into this ultra cushy number. And after a few moments, I realized they had completely redesigned my Jamis to be one of those incumbent bikes.
I was PISSED.
That's when I woke up, relieved it was only dream…
…and even more curious about that bike shop on the corner.
