Nothin' But Blue Skies

Willie started vomiting spokes Monday so I had to buy a back wheel. Den Haag’s Centraal train station has its own bike shop. I thought it was worth trying since it is so close to my house. For a back wheel I have received quotes of, 30 Euro (of which he was out), 50 Euro, and 65 Euro. Back wheels cost 45 Euro at the train station. I’ll take it. The only caveat is that you have to install the wheel yourself. No big deal. I used to do all kinds of bike maintenance. Up until the age of eight, I disassembled and reassembled bikes like I was getting paid for it.

I got the bike home and set to changing that pesky back wheel, poised to enjoy a life of cycling freedom. I employed my trusty multi-wrench to do the work. The only thing I took for granted was that everything on a bike is fastened with a nut and bolt. This seemed like a logical assumption to me since they sell this multi-wrench. If I needed an Allen wrench, they should include that as an attachment to my multi-wrench. I had the wheel almost off when I realized my hardware shortcoming. One little bolt required an Allen wrench; an Allen wrench I did not own. I sat there frustrated as the Dutch stared. I don’t know why but the Dutch stare, especially if you are working on a bike. It was like I had found the Ark of the Covenant and no one wanted to get too close for fear of getting Raiders of the Lost Arked. I was hungry and frustrated. I had two choices- put the bike back together (a task that would take another half hour) or find something to substitute for an Alan wrench. I looked everywhere for a solution. None of the removed nuts would work; neither would any of the coins in my pocket. I tried to use my keys as a substitute to no avail. Then I cussed.

I gave some other unmentionable theories a shot before going back to the keys. Finally, one of the keys worked. In the greatest (of five) handyman experience of my life, I removed the wobbly wheel and replaced it.

My life has changed. Old Willie would take several seconds to get from dead stop to moving straight forward. I would usually sway from side to side, avoiding the onslaught of annoyed Dutch to my left and right. Now I’m like Don Garlits off the line and Dale Earnhardt in clean air, leaving all challengers behind in a wake of despair and frustration. I’m Undutchable. My commute time, and this is no joke, has been cut in half. It once took me thirty minutes to get to work. No more. I can now make it there in fifteen, ten if I get up on the wheel like Stroker Ace.

Travis gets here Friday. Our rental car is reserved and we’re headed for Munich.