how many women should it take to change a bike tyre?

in an effort to be a little more self-sufficient than wailing: "it hurts/i'm not strong enough/oh my god, look how much grease i am now covered in?" i signed up for a women's bike maintenance clinic.

it turns out that it really is easier to get someone else who fits the gender role of 'person on white horse/frame, in a suit of armour/spandex' to do anything pertaining to calipers, cranks and carbon fibre.

like most academics with advanced degrees, i already know how to change a tube, it's just that i'm not actually very good at it- and by "good", i mean efficient (by which i mean "fast"). and by that, i mean after about 45 minutes i emerge coated in a sheen of black grease, entering the first phase of carpal tunnel syndrome, clutching an underinflated tyre.

really, i was hoping to learn a short cut, but apparently, like everything else in cardiovascular life, to get better means doing it more- fortunately, this will not be a problem i run or ride into. and so the evening proceeded, interspersed with many four letter words, and the constant refrain "this is so much easier to do on a mountain bike".

perhaps the best, and most defining part of having a group of women gathering together in order to learn and then practice things is that anything applied- or physically difficult- means unconditional, judgement-free and most importantly "group" effort.

followed by an endless supply of hors d'oeuvres and wine.

hygiene for dummies

my inability to master the fundamentals of shower operation (holiday inn's, KOA's, ex-boyfriend's family members' at thanksgiving), has decreased the chasm between myself and that of a 10 year old boy's bathing rituals.

there are many advances in modern technology that i am grateful for; the internet allows me to occupy the block of time between 8:30 and 5, monday through friday, by keeping up with old friends, monitoring the 'puffy and married' stats on acquaintances, and stalking everyone else-- i am also deeply in love with my swiffer.

however, skymall's "dry clean your garden gnome collection while making a deep fried guava smoothie from the comfort of your own lazee boy" notwithstanding, there are some "just for your conveniance" improvements that serve to weaken the belief that i am even capable of telling the time on a digital watch. the designers responsible for streamlining the taps in showers to the point where bathers must adjust a compass to determine if the ablutions are going to take place in anchorage, alaska or the sudan, are not conserving much water when i am cowering from the frigid (then scalding) firing line, and simultaneously engaging in a complex choreography of supine backflip triple axles, to avoid touching anything 'cold and ceramic', or 'slimey and shower curtain'.

and much like maui brownie madness versus cookie dough, i am also unable to choose which of the 365 remote controls will let me view joan rivers modelling a limited edition, presidential 2008, 10 carat gold plated tennis bracelet, watch the shriner's at a neighborhood pancake eating contest, or simply adjust the setting on the lazee boy to better digest my fruit smoothie.

it's like taking your first real poo in a "grown up" toilet

achieving (and completing) any developmental milestone is supremely satisfying-- and also very relative. for some, the ability to select the appropriate remote control (out of the little "catholic family" of them) is an accomplishment- actually being able to do something more complex than change the volume or channel, approaches doctoral level applications. i routinely ascribe to the school of; "other people are trained to do specialized things like; change the oil on my mazda; perform open heart surgery; dye my hair into a purple mohawk, and therefore there is no reason to cause myself undue stress by even attempting such activities".

pride comes before a puncture, and i am a slow learner, where frustration appears to be the only way for things to sink in- although this has not yet been true for retaining the law of fractions or calculating a 15% tip at thai siam.

i recently acquired new mountain bike shoes (and cleats), and was able to whip out the little multi tool to get things situated, per the multi-lingual instructions, in addition to tightening the rear brakes (although at this point installing new brake pads is probably the more appropriate course of action). unfortunately, i got a flat in the non-padded-bike-shorts-rear prior to a steep and rutted ascent, and there was no audience participation for my 'helpless female on the trail' impersonation. i had been given instruction 3 or 4 years ago on how to change a flat, and then sent off with a spare tube, but i also remember taking a very (very) long time, most of which was spent wrestling the tire casing off the rim-- this happy little ritual was repeated again. eventually the new tube was put in, casing wrestled back on, air pumped (and pumped), and nothing. i have a master's degree, which should outrank my ovaries, but being able to write a research paper and figure out the footnote feature to american psychological association standards doesn't necessarily generalize to life's little irritations.

the spare also had a hole. i (finally) figured this out, and successfully did my business.

(so proud).

recalls

we have a designated employee who forwards us all the latest recall information. this is particularly useful when it pertains to faulty car seats that eject infants faster than michael knight ever exited kit. however, the product 'fault line' is definitively crossed when old navy recalls children's fleece jackets because the toggle can get caught in door handles and "trap" errant and hyped up children.

perhaps parents can return the fleece and exchange it for a jacket made of bubble wrap. of course running into doorways could snap! crackle! and pop! scaring the tiny tikesters and give them bad dreams, or door jamb phobia.