The chain on my Univega had been making some really bad creaking noises for quite a while. My short term solution was to turn my Walkman up. Occasionally, I would throw some lubrication its way, and it would be momentarily quiet. But by the next rainstorm the racket had reappeared.
One morning a new sound was added to the general cacophony. The sound of the chain jerking on the cogs every revolution or so. Now I recognized this sound as one I've heard before. It was in fact the sound the chain makes just before it breaks in two. So I started thinking I really, really should carry a chain tool. I also realized that while I was never more than a few miles away from a bike shop on my old commute into Cambridge, there were absolutely NO shops on my new one. I was concerned enough to coddle the chain by using lower gears than I ever do normally, hoping to propitiate the Chain God long enough to get me to work and back. Well, the Chain God cut me a little slack, because I was only about a mile from work when the chain actually broke. The bad news is that I had just switched over to clipless pedals for the summer, so I had to do the Look two-step for that mile.
As I was pushing the bike along, I was reminded of the pictures of the bicycle predecessor, the hobby horse. Mine was better than the hobby horse of yore with those light alloy wheels, but the seat being too high for optimal hobby horsing and the pedals getting in the way made for a somewhat less than euphoric experience. During my walk I had time to contemplate the ramifications of this mode of transport, whether Ed would let me count miles spent pushing my bike toward the monthly mileage.
Unlike a mere flat, where I'm quite happy to ride on the rim, this was pretty much a showstopper. So, I called in my trump card and called Mrs. D. I try not to abuse the privilege, since rescuing my sorry butt is far above and beyond the call of duty. The last time I availed myself of her rescue was after the Flying Donohue Faceplant. I was not averse to taking a cab, since over the years, I've probably saved enough money in gas to buy a cab, but Mrs. D. generously agreed to come to my aid.
While I was waiting for the D-Mobile to arrive, I saw this guy roller blading around the parking lot, I started thinking "bike dinghy." Now, I've used the bike as a car dinghy on several occasions, usually involving somewhat optimistic estimates of how much gas we had left (try cycling up the hill on route two with a two gallon can of gasoline sometime). Roller blades would be a perfect bike dinghy -- solid tires that can't go flat, no drivetrain parts to break. Just your feets and the wheels. On sober reflection, I remembered the large FDGB potential associated with slidy things strapped to your feet (cross country skis are a case in point), so I had to reject that idea. But I am going to carry a chain tool from now on!
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