|Utica Ave., more than 3 miles of this.|
Under a Florentine sky I saddle my beast and we ride into the early dusk. She is slow to get going but responsive to stop. I’ve had to take care of her often lately; I ride her hard.
Yesterday she had a broken spoke so I took her to Larry’s Bike Shop down on Flatbush Ave. It took a while to fix and true the wheel, so that by the time I was ready to roll I had scoped the map and devised an alternate route home – up Utica Ave.
Lined with auto stores and flat fix shops, I was doing just fine when I heard a nasty hiss. Too good to be true. I laughed at what the fates had dealt, walked, tried to get on a bus, was denied.
I was the only white person on the streets, which is fine by me, but the closest subway was about a mile an a half east. How to get home to Bushwick? About to take a cab, I asked a nice woman and her son if they knew of a car service.
They told me to get my bike fixed at a shop right there, next to the yellow store. A dude who rode a teal fixie with a rainbow colored chain named Duiight, d-double-i-g-h-t, laughed at me for not having a spare and said, you gonna learn ow to patcha tube today. But the tube wasn’t all – the tire itself had popped too, and he cut a piece of rubber to brace the wheel to make it work “that much mo’ bet-ta’.” I thanked him, now I won’t even have to get it fixed. He laughed, you will, he said.
I’m calling Duiight this weekend to get my baby remodeled – front free wheel fixed. Ooooeee!!