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A Bike Dream Turns Nightmare -- Keeping Fit at Odds With Keeping Wits in Cycle of Follies

Posted on: Friday, 19 November 2004, 15:00 CST

In the early '80s when I lived in Los Angeles, my boyfriend bought me a beautiful bright red English bicycle, so we could ride together.

I was nervous at first, it had been years since I had owned a bike, but riding every day I quickly got the hang of it. My confidence grew as we rode all over Santa Monica and the beach area on the bike trails. I was probably in the best shape I had been in years.

Moving back to Germantown I rarely rode the bike and finally sold it to a girlfriend. Two years ago I got to thinking of the fun I had riding, and got to hankering for another one. Knowing about the laws of creating, I got a clear picture in my mind of exactly what I wanted my bike to look like, and visualized riding the bike in my neighborhood and my body becoming strong and lean.

It was almost a year to date while visiting Jim, a longtime friend, that he remarked he had just purchased several bikes at a yard sale. "Jim, did you get a girl's bike in the bunch?" I asked.

He took me to his garage, I couldn't believe my eyes, the bike I had pictured was before me, a deep purple mountain bike, to me it looked to be in good condition for a used bike - but Jim wasn't ready to part with it.

Another year passed, and every time I saw him I would bug him about selling me the bike, I was convinced the bike belonged to me because I had created it in my mind first and then the Universe just brought it to me through Jim.

I kept seeing myself getting the bike, and finally Jim called and said he was cleaning out his garage and I could have the bike. His investment in the bike was $20 and I could have it for that. Wow, what a deal I thought, it was definitely in my price range, it would be perfect for my needs, a bike to ride and get some fresh air and exercise.

When Jim delivered the bike he explained that there were some spokes missing in the back tire and I needed to have them replaced before riding. No problem, I thought, I'll just get my roommate, David, who owned a big SUV to help me get it to a locale bike shop in Germantown.

A week later we went back to find the bike had not been touched; the reason being said the owner, that it would cost more than the bike was worth to repair it.

I was not ready to give up, we brought the bike home and I called another shop , and they quoted me a lot less to repair the tire. Again I had to ask David if he would mind carrying my bike to yet another shop. Grumbling, he said the bike shop was too far away, but would take it to one closer, in Bartlett, and he had one more stipulation - whatever the cost, he was going to leave it to be fixed. "OK," I said.

Upon his return he handed me a bill for $60, I couldn't say a word because I had consented to his conditions. I was now $80 into this used bike, my English bike had cost a hundred and it was brand new, and the best part it was a gift. It seems my creating skills had become a bit rusty, there was definitely something wrong with this picture.

The next day I was beating myself up and feeling guilty about putting all that money into a used bike, when another expense came up - my tape recorder broke, and being a hypnotherapist, it's the one thing you can't do without. I bought it five years ago, so I got my money's worth out of it.

It was time to go to Wal-Mart, they had a good selection and I found the perfect one for the price I wanted.

On my way out I passed the bicycle section, and decided to check out the bikes. You guessed it. Right in front sat a great-looking brand new purple mountain bike. The sale sign read $49.95. I groaned, for some reason I didn't believe that first bike shop. Oh well, lesson learned.

A few weeks later I rode my bike for the first time, and was returning home when I decided to take a short cut through a small shopping center. A young lady, not looking where she was going, backed into me. Not having a horn, I couldn't warn her. To keep from getting run over, I quickly jumped off my bike and fell, scraping my hand and knee. Several people stopped to see if I was OK. I was more embarrassed than anything, and my bike wasn't hurt, but the young girl in the car was totally freaked.

I decided then to put my bike in the storage room for a while until my knee and pride were healed.

A few months passed, and on a warm sunny day I decided to get my bike out and go for a short ride. No such luck, my back tire was almost flat. Not owning a bicycle pump, I called my best friend Annie to see if she had one. I was in luck, and the next day she showed up with a small pump that was used to fill up her son's soccer ball. It seemed questionable, but I was willing to try. Well, I tried for 30 minutes to put air in the tire to no avail. Not being mechanically inclined, I thought there must be a trick to it. I decided to leave the bike on the patio and see if David could fix it.

A week later when David was home I approached him with the pump and asked him if he could put some air in my back tire. Taking the pump and looking at its flimsiness, his mouth fell open, "Pam are you crazy? There's no way I can pump up your tire with this, you need to take it to a gas station!" And he handed me back the pump.

"I would, but it's too hard for me to get into my trunk." I said.

Giving me an exasperated look, he grabbed the pump and went flying out the back door past the patio to the carport, following him I said, "David where are you going?"

"To pump up your tire," he said. He was a bit agitated, to say the least. It finally dawned on me, he thought I was talking about the tire on my car!

I started laughing, picturing him trying to pump my car tire with the small pump. "I want air in my bike tires not my car." I could see the red creeping up in his face; he turned and stormed past me to the bike. After wrestling with connecting the pump to tire, he vigorously pumped for a short time, and said, "Something's wrong with this pump, no air is going in." Upon closer examination he showed me that the pump was broken.

Well, you guessed it, folks - weeks have passed and I have yet to go and buy a bike pump, just another expense to add on the cost of "The Bike."

As Angel Karma strikes again!

Source: Commercial Appeal, The

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