And so it begins.
You may remember that I had a few bike incidents last year. Like popped tires. And more popped tires. I didn't even blog about them all, but I think that there were probably about four to five popped tire incidents. Every time I'd pop a tire, I'd call El Senor, who'd come over and replace a tube for me. He's the best.
This morning, I decided to go on a Sunday morning bike ride with Guido. I really thought that it was a nice, Sabbath day appropriate activity. I mean, believe me, I'd enthusiastically cast the first stone at anyone who would think it's okay to ride a road bike or a mountain bike on the holy Sabbath---those activities are clearly sports---but a cruiser? A cruiser has "Sabbath-Worthy" written all over it.
About a mile and a half into my ride, however, I noticed that dear Guido wasn't riding very well... There seemed to be some resistance. I looked and saw, of course, a flat rear tire. I phoned El Senor to tell him (with Ole Trusty, El Senor would come and pick me up, but Guido doesn't fit in or on El Senor's car). Then I walked the mile and a half home. My Sunday bike ride turned into a Sunday stroll. So maybe God doesn't think that riding a cruiser on the Sabbath is appropriate.
(NOTE: While I was strolling home, I reflected on the Jews in the old days who could only walk a certain number of steps on the Sabbath. Then I thought about what would happen if you used up your step quota before you were home. What would you do then? I thought really, it would be best if you used up your step quota at the top of a hill, and your home was at the bottom of the hill, because then you could just lie down and roll, letting gravity do all the work. Then you could crawl through the threshold of your home, because crawling is not walking.)
Anyway, El Senor laughed at me when I walked through the door. In fact, we'd even been joking before my bike ride about how many tires I've popped and the fact that I'd probably pop another one soon. We've determined that he bikes a couple thousand miles between popped tires and I manage approximately fifteen. Anyway, being handy and useful, he replaced my tube for me, and brought me the offending thorn that had popped my tire. A thorn!! How can I avoid those? It was two milimeters!
Anyway, I've had all day to think of this, and applying the principle of Occam's Razor, I've determined that El Senor has been pricking my tires with pins so that they pop. He does this so that I am reliant on him (men need to feel needed). He found the tiny thistle on our porch and brought that to show me as the "cause" of my popped tire. But I know the truth. I know the truth. It's really the simplest answer.