What to do when the unexpected happens

(and it always does)

One of the things you find out on these long rides is that the road will always throw up surprises.

Suddenly, a ginormous mastiff comes haring after you and just won’t give up. Sometimes it can be worse. A few years ago, my friend Henry, the founder of TDA Global Cycling, was trampled by a rogue elephant that materialized out of nowhere. Yes, he did get back on his bike, but it took a while. But then Henry takes things in his stride. Some of us (ahem, me) less so. Anyhow, that sort of thing, thank goodness, is rare. More typically, the planned route has become unnavigable and you have to add two hours of riding to a day on which you’re particularly exhausted. Or your rear tire (why is it always the rear one?) gives that dreaded pop and fizz sound as you’re struggling up a ten per cent gradient. Cycling is as much about adapting to circumstances as anything else. I didn’t expect the unexpected to hit before I even got underway.

I had figured on boxing the bike myself, except for one reason and another that wasn’t working out but time was running out. With less than a week to departure I had to find a solution pretty damn quick. I went to my local bike shop, Curbside in the Annex in Toronto. Their service department is usually booked up weeks in advance. I explained my situation. The truth is I grovelled. Despite my unseemly melt down they were super accommodating. Elie, ace mechanic, told me my bike would be ready Friday.

Hooray. I was super relieved.  Well, Friday happened to be a national holiday, Canada Day.  That didn’t click with me until Thursday evening, long after the shop closed. Never mind, I told myself, everything will be open on Saturday. Wrong. I happily sauntered by the store Saturday morning where I was greeted by a big white lettering. Closed For Long Wknd Sat Sun Mon. My flight is first thing Monday morning. I responded in the way I normally do to the unexpected. Utter, total panic.

It turned out Curbside had been open on the Friday. I had assumed they’d be closed so I didn’t bother going by. (Not the first time that assumptions have led me astray. You’d think, I’d have learnt the golden rule by this time—never assume, always verify--but I never seem to.)

One of the great plusses of a local bike shop is that everybody in the neighbourhood knows them and the people who run it. Everyone was ready to help with names, advice and a comforting phrase like, “Oh, dear that’s too bad, isn’t it.”

I remembered that my friend Jackie, whom I’d met on that Patagonian trip which started my whole cycling meshuggas, is a friend of the owner. She tells me they’re always texting each other. I called Jackie. I texted her. No response. I called and texted again and again and again. Jackie who is never more than a minute away from her cell has gone AWOL. Finally, as my heart was dangerously near maximum overload, I got a message. “I’m in Newfoundland biking. Is there a problem?” Boy is there ever a problem!

Jackie was able to text me numbers and emails for Frances and Aaron who run the joint. Frances was away for the weekend. Aaron responded to my frantic e-mail within minutes. He was incredible. He rode down to the shop today, Sunday, found my boxed bike and once more I’m back on track, heart is beating normally and I’m ready to roll.