Hi, my name is Crusher, and I’m a non-mechanic.
Recently, my front tire received a cut from
some crooked bastard who should have looked where he was going some incidental contact with another player. The tube was sticking out a bit, but it wasn’t flat, and that was a cheery thing. So I did some research, talked to the more knowledgeable in the club, and discovered that I could probably just use a heavy paper (like a baseball card) to put between the tube and the tire, giving some more life to the tire.
Hell, that’s a pretty polo thing to do–having a messed up tire and still using it. Hipster points galore.
So I did the most natural thing and waited until the day-of-pickup before addressing the fix. I removed and deflated my tire, Queen of Spades in hand, and tried to get the tire off the wheel to slip her up in there.
And I tried.
And I tried.
And I threw the plastic multi-tool I had across the room. Walked over to it, and threw it back to the place I started.
Eventually I pumped the tire back up, made a kind of whinnying noise with my nose, and deflated it again.
Pissed off, I called Horse, who put the card in courtside within a matter of two minutes or so.
Oh man. Let’s just enjoy that for a little while. Look at the little guy. He wants those vitamins so bad, but has no thumbs. Poor little guy. Keep on trying, buddy. Keep on trying.
Anyway: I’m no good at it, and I depend on the good graces of the bike mechanics in our club (I think we’re up the three, now) to help me out. And they are willing ,which is great.
But all the help in the world doesn’t help out when I’m trying to take a crummy tire off of my bike and I end up cutting my finger HOW DO YOU DO THAT, CRUSHER? IT’S RUBBER FOR GOD’S SAKE?!
I don’t know, shut up.
Anyway, I’ve come to accept this, much as I’ve accepted that the next growth spurt isn’t going to happen, and that Keira Knightly isn’t going to call be back.