So the Jamester has been hemming-and-hawing over buying a bicycle for months, years at this point. Oh how he has wanted a bike, but ohhh which bike to purchase? And there is the added quandary of, “Do I wish to bike all on my lonesome? Or must I buy that girlfriend of mine a bicycle of her own? For the sake of cycling companionship??” With all these questions assaulting his senses, the bicycle purchasing process has been an arduous one, for sure.
Then lo! Last week came upon us and he was reinvigorated with resolve. Cheap bikes were researched and it was decided that the most logical (and pathetically non-hipsterish) move was to purchase the cheapest of the cheapos at the cheapest of the cheapo mega-chains: Kmart. And so it was decided.
And thus I embarked on a journey that would solidify my status as a not-so-cool blogger, but those are the brakes, my friends, and I made my peace with it.
So it was then decided that Thursday was the day to do a reconnaissance mission of the cycling persuasion. Off we travelled to the only Kmart that carried the type of bike James had settled on. And it came to pass that this Kmart was in a section of town that can only be described as the type of place where the bank will instantly cancel your credit card when you try to make a purchase, for surely, surely it has been stolen. And that is the truth.
But of course this mission was no longer for educational purposes and all engines were a GO and the purchase was to be made. For when the time is right, the time is now for James. Only the time was getting precariously close to the hour when James must go to work. And naturally we were only armed with James’s sedan-sized car and a severe lack of tools (to remove gigantic bicycle wheels) and common sense. So thus began the task of stuffing one (1) bicycle into the trunk and James tying his very best sailor knots to keep the trunk somewhat closed while I traipsed off to customer service to leave my bicycle. And I was instructed that I would have to put on my big girl pants and pick up the bicycle later with my somewhat-more-bike-friendly hatchback.
Dusk. I traversed the journey back to reclaim my lonely bicycle armed with only a bit of rope, my car and the grace of god. Getting my bike back from customer service was surprisingly non-eventful and suddenly I was so overcome with relief that I hopped on my bike for the quick 35 yard jaunt back to my car. Oh the wonders of self-propelled transportation!
Yet as the sun was setting I came to the awful realization that my hatchback was no better suited for a full size bike than James’s sedan and my sailor knots are not nearly as technically proficient as his. Panic set in as I tried to twist and turn that demon-bike. Somehow this would fit, I thought. Somehow I can bend the laws of physics. I just have to. After all, there is a significant lack of a place to tie rope to the hatch of my car. No loophole… literally.
So I pleaded with all the gods, to cover all my bases, to allow me to get this minion of Satan into the back of my car. Somewhere between Mother Earth and Zeus I reached the point where I just knew I could not do this anymore and that I would die alone in this parking lot with half a bike in my car. And so with nothing left in my willpower reserves, I opened all doors to my car and angrily pushed and pulled at the bike, without purpose, nor conviction, nor the will to live.
And would you know it, a miracle happened unto me. The bike twisted in some way I still don’t fully understand and, just like that, it fit. It fit!
And from then on out, that night came to be known as the night of The Bicycle Miracle.
Only on the way home I realized my age is showing and my back was verily strained. And then I was old... but still in awe of the events of the evening, so thankful!