You Never Forget Your First Time (Facing "Flat Fear")

"PSTSSssssssssssssssssssss..........."

This is not the sound I want to hear as I pedal hard down Myrtle Ave in Montrose.

But hear it I do, and my second-to-worst fear as a cyclist comes true.  I have a flat. On the road.  Alone.

I am 12 bikeable miles from the car and 15 freeway miles from home.  My husband is at work, also 12 miles away from the car (and without car keys or viable public transport options to get to the car).  It is 6:20 PM, and the sun is starting to go down. 

I border on panic-mode.

*deep breath*

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Back when I starting casual cycling (in Rochester), I was sort of paralyzed by Flat Fear.  I'd ride short distances, or multiple small loops near people/businesses I knew, or only when my husband was in town and "on-call" in case I needed a car rescue.  He wasn't in town much - so I think I rode the 20-mile Flower City Challenge loop exactly once before race day.

I had the proper equipment: tire levers, tubes, and CO2 cartridges.  I had the brain smarts: I'd attended a flat tire clinic, and had even changed my own flats before, when my bike went on a tube-popping-in-the-middle-of-the-night streak.  But the first of these was at home, with unlimited time and YouTube.  The second was done pre-ride and with the assistance/company of Mr. Gustavo G-L Z, who treated the whole thing like it was no more trouble than brushing off a pesky fly: release the tire, remove the tube, check the tire, insert the new tube, pump, and voila!  You're done.  

What I didn't have yet was confidence.

But I didn't think I'd find this confidence in safe, close-to-home loops.  So when I moved out to LA, I made the conscious decision not to be limited by Flat Fear.  People cycle long distances all the time.  They change their flats. So could I. And off I went (with supplies & cell phone in tow).

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 *Exhale*

The moment had come to put myself to the test. 

So I did the first thing any smart cyclist would do: I called my husband, told him where I was, and asked him to help me figure out if I was near a bike shop.  [Cue the first time I have ever - EVER - wished my Stupid Phone were a Smart Phone.]  For you non-cyclists, note that walking in cycling shoes isn't easy, or pretty.  So for the purposes of this discussion, "near" was something like "less than a mile, and preferable more like two blocks, away".  There were, in fact, several bike shops within a 1 mile radius; but they all closed at 6 PM.  Thirty minutes ago.

He offered to put out a "Facebook Call For Help", to see if any of his friends could come pick me up.  I was too proud to go that route, yet.  So I assured him I'd be fine, and was just going to change the tire myself. *coughcough*just*coughcough* [Voice in my head: "Eeep!"]

Man down! Man down!

I pushed down panic, put on my Big Girl Panties, and got started.  I removed the front wheel easily - that's how she rides in the car, so I do that part all the time.  Then, I remembered that my tire levers got lost somewhere between Rochester and Los Angeles.  After fighting to pry the tire up over the rim, I had a flash of insight: I could use my keys as a similar lever.  This worked (almost) like a charm, and pretty soon one side of the tire was out.  

I removed the tube and was absolutely unable to find a hole (oh, well).  I thought back to my YouTube video education, trying to remember any small steps I was forgetting.  I checked the tire, inside and out, for anything that would've caused a puncture.  Nada.  I got the new tube in pretty easily and replaced the tire (Gustavo talked me through this part, in my head. Thanks, G!). 

The culprit.

Now, all that stood between me and the rest of my ride was: the CO2 Cartridge.  And I'd never done this part before.  I wasn't quite sure what triggered the CO2 release, so I handled each step very carefully, screwing on the adaptor, fitting it over the valve, expecting an explosive release of CO2 at any moment.  But there was just...nothing.  Nothing.

Dear CO2, Where are you??

So, I fiddled. I channeled my best fiddling and problem-solving abilities, as honed by years in a research lab.  And then, AHA!  See that little spring up there?  That controls the release of the CO2.  When the spring is compressed, CO2 is released.  Man, that is brilliantly engineered.  So I fitted the green part over the valve, and squeezed. My fingers got COLD, but my tire got FULL!

I was so surprised that I nearly fell over.  Seriously.  It freaking worked!!!!  There was joy, on that little section of sidewalk, I tell you. JOY.  I think I did a happy dance.  I nearly stopped the next passerby to say, "Hey! Hey! Look what I just did!"  I refrained, as I preferred to avoid police involvement at that point.

I put in a bit more CO2, but was afraid of popping the new tube, so I stopped well short of max pressure.  But that was OK - the tire was full enough for me to ride the 12 miles back to the car.  Fueled by giddy pride and racing the setting sun, I set a pretty good pace on the return trip. 

To be honest, the whole experience was slightly terrifying.  And I can't swear to you that I'm now a genius at tire-changing.  But I can tell you that there is nothing in the world like facing a fear and emerging having conquered it.  

I'm no longer afraid of a flat.  I changed my tire once, and I can do it again.  Stupid as it sounds, I think I walked a little taller for the rest of the day.

And now, I want to share my knowledge with every biker who's ever let Flat Fear hold him/her back.  You can do it!  I did it, and so can you!!  

But when you get down to it, that's the catch.  I can preach it all I want, but until you go out and change your first solo flat, you won't fully believe that you can do it.  

I am planning to do a flat-tire-change post with lots of details in the future.  But for now, be fearless.  Go to a clinic, go to your bike shop, ask your biking friends.  Learn the academic parts of it.  Make sure you have the right equipment, and a phone in case things go badly.

Then put on your helmet, and ride fearlessly into your first flat.  With a little practice, a little luck, and a little guts, you too, will pedal victoriously out the other side. 

Ride on, friends!

[The rest of the details about this ride - Ride #8 - coming soon.]