Anatomy of a Revelation; or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Notion of Driving

8:30 a.m. Thursday - Flat # 1: Ok, a flat. I put in a patched tube.

9:23 a.m. Thursday - Flat # 2: Oh, another flat. Maybe I patched that tube wrong. Fortunately, I stuck a new tube in my bag before I left for work. I put in a new tube.

5:17 p.m. Thursday - Flat # 3: Well, fuck. I examine the tire, find a shard of glass, figure it must be re-puncturing each tube. Wait in slightly dismal parking lot at Canal and Galvez til a friend can pick me up and take me and bike home. I put in a patched tube.

9:06 a.m. Friday - Flat # 4: WHY DOES THE UNIVERSE HATE ME SO.

Two weeks later: I have a license and am looking at cars.

(I plan to still use the bike as my main way of getting around, but good grief it would have been nice at any point in this story to have another way of getting to work, so I could be something other than super late, and also to be able to get myself and my bike off of assorted street corners/to the bike store without having to bother friends.)