I don’t know if the term “bicyclist’s high” exists, but what I do know is that once I’ve built up a little momentum on my vintage Triumph bicycle (circa 1970) a feeling comes over me that is simultaneously invigorating and relaxing.
I can’t resist for long the pull of the Rillito bike path, gently coaxing me from the speed and squawking of motorized vehicles on our city streets.
Just the anticipation of bicyclist’s high can occasionally cause me to forget heaven, home and cell phone, and even throw caution to the winds. That is what happened a few weeks ago.
It was a cool, overcast Sunday afternoon. I hadn’t had a chance to exercise for a couple of days and couldn’t wait to get on my bike and hit the trail. In my excitement, I forgot to grab my cellphone and throw it in my basket, along with a few other essentials.
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A quick once over to my bike in the garage revealed a low back tire. My attempts to pump air into it didn’t bring much success. Where was my upper arm strength after all that five-pound weight lifting? I later discovered that the problem wasn’t my arm — it was the tire.
As I was cycling out of my development, a man and his family were driving in. I waved and asked if he could check out that pesky back tire. Happy to oblige, he got a little more air into it with my bike’s baby pump. Nevertheless, he strongly suggested that I nix the bike ride.
“Let me give you a tip,” he said. “Take your bike in for a tuneup ASAP and let the experts check it out.”
I should have heeded that advice. But bicyclist’s high was tempting me, and it won.
I headed west on the Rillito. My energy was up and I decided to ride a little bit further than the time before. My desire to surpass previous limits should have been tempered with common sense, especially the knowledge that I was biking on borrowed time. But I had long since forgotten my back tire and cellphone issues. Anyway, who needs a cellphone so close to home? I was about to find out.
During the return ride in the vicinity of the Rillito race track at about 4:45 p.m., it became increasingly difficult to pedal. Suddenly the back tire issue moved to the forefront of my mind. I stopped to check it. Totally flat. Slight panic set in.
Several bicyclists I flagged down tried to help. I felt like part of the great cycling family, where all members go out of their way for one another. Unfortunately, nothing worked.
It was growing colder. Too tired to walk that heavy clunker of a bicycle home, I was running out of options.
I then noticed a young man with a name tag — Robert — in the Rillito parking lot. Turned out he’s the parking supervisor for this season’s horse racing. Robert went out of his way to help. He called me a taxi, and checked back periodically to see how things were going. No taxi appeared. Robert called the company a couple more times, with the same results.
As I continued to wait alone in the parking lot, Robert brought me a chair; he also walked the bike back to where I was sitting and promised to keep an eye out for the taxi.
How was this story going to end? I’m a master at worst-case scenarios and came up with a few doozies while I waited.
At 6:15, a taxi finally appeared. The driver maneuvered the bike into his back seat and at last we were off.
Still upset from this avoidable incident, I offered weakly, “Well, at least there’s no loss of life or limb.” The driver responded. “You know, I’m a single father of two teenage boys. Every time I wake up in the morning and open my eyes, I say a prayer of gratitude.”
Words worth remembering, especially in times of stress.
From that very frightening experience, I learned at least two things:
- If someone tells me my bike, car or other machinery needs immediate work, pay attention; postpone the instant gratification of using that item.
- Carry a cellphone at all times.
A night’s sleep brought with it an attitude adjustment. I now look upon that frightening experience as a wake-up call that could potentially save me from a real calamity.
It’s all a matter of perspective.
