Rite of Passage

Call it a rite of passage.  Call it a stroke of bad luck.  Or just shrug your shoulders and say, “It happens”.

And happen it did.

I have ridden a bike for about 4 years.  And since I have an affinity for the number 4, I like things to happen in either even numbers, multiples of 4, or with at least a balanced 4 type of a number.  It could be that my birthday is on April 4th (4/4), or it could be I am just that neurotic.

4 years.  During these 4 years I have thought about the possibility, but never knew when it would come.  And the other day, I achieved the miraculous 4 flats on my bike ride.  A pinch flat.  A CO2 dud. A broken nozzle.  A faulty tube.  1, 2, 3, 4.  At least it was 4.  It was hopeless.

I was stuck.  Stranded.  Walking my bicycle.  Miles from home.  After utilizing both my and Olivia’s spare tubes, I plead martyrdom and sent her on her productive 4 hour way sans any flat fixing equipment.   I was stuck at the mercy of fate.  It was raining.  It was a week day.  Where are all the cyclists?  Oh right.  People work.  People don’t like drizzly cold mornings.  I went from feeling tough to feeling alone.

Eventually I was rescued.  Thank heavens.  Upon reaching home, I self appointed the day a rest day.  I was not meant to do my training that day.  I was meant to take that day as a gift.  A gift of gratitude for those that helped.  And that I survived the rite of passage.  4 years.  4 flats.  Now what.  Hopefully broken pelvises don’t come a pack of 4.

I learned the more prepared you are for these events, then better… To pay it forward.  Help those in need, and it will come back to you at times you need it most.


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