The other day as I lay napping, I heard a cyclist in peril. You see, his chain jammed between the hub and freewheel, and I, the bike mechanic, thought it was an easy fix. Unfortunately, I conjured no way of releasing the links. I pried and prayed but nothing budged. How could such simple transportation betray ones trust?
Upon further inquisition, I deduced a Yinzer (Pittsburgh) background, and immediately extended a helping hand. I agreed that he must arrive at his destination (his wife’s boss’s barbeque.) My only reasonable solution became offering my bicycle on loan.
For anyone who knows me, I value my 1987 Diamondback Topanga similarly to how Cameron’s Dad venerates his Ferrari 250 GT California. Yet something persuaded me to trust a stranger. So, I went back to my garage and retrieved my precious. I assured him that he wasn’t imposing, and that people in Boulder genuinely help their neighbors. While he rode away, I realized I obtained nothing more than his name and an assurance he would return the bike at 8:10 A.M. the next morning.
As 8:20 turned the dial, a car rounded the corner. It was Greg, the person I helped but a few hours earlier. He thanked me for my deed, while complimenting Topanga’s exceptional performance. He explained his move from NYC to Boulder, and how pleased he was with our bicycle culture. Greg never expected a hippy in a hammock to save his day, but that’s what Boulder can be, a community of caring cyclists.
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