I had two good reasons not to commute by bike yesterday: scattered thunderstorms and a slow leak in my back tire.
But I did it anyway and am disproportionately proud of myself for it.
The light rain on my way to work wasn't much of a problem. I tossed everything that needed to stay dry into a clean cat-litter tub and congratulated myself on a first successful commute in the rain. (It's been a very lucky two months.)
The leak was a little bit more of an issue. It was slow enough that I knew I could pump the tire up right before leaving and arrive with plenty of pressure left.
After that, though, I'd need expert guidance on how to patch or replace the tube. Fortunately, my bike-mechanic boyfriend was only a block away.
It was the perfect opportunity for me to finally try doing it myself — we weren't on a trail with bugs swarming us, or in a hurry to get somewhere.
So after three years of owning a road bike, I did it, with Cory talking me through it and lending a hand (literally) at times, and I'm confident that I could do it by myself if need be.
Granted, it would take much longer and involve much more struggling. That's fine. It's preferable to being afraid to take a long ride by myself, to feeling powerless, to hoping a friendly expert happens to be nearby in case of a flat.
With that done, I was ready to ride home — and the rain was ready to begin again. This was no light drizzle; it was a steady stream that, by the end, stung my forearms and clouded my vision.
Honestly? It was kind of fun, especially because home was at the end of a 1.5-mile-ish ride. (Much more fun than being 10 miles away.)
It also might've been excellent training for tomorrow's Bacoon Ride, if the forecasts are right.