Tiny Pokey

I’m reasonably unabashed about taking my relationship with flattened bicycle tires as a metaphor for many things in life.

Slow leaks can be conceived of as a commentary upon one’s reluctance to take care of things one ought to be taking care of in one’s life; multiple punctures as evidence that a person has incurred the wrath of nature, if not some personal god; and blowouts hardly need to be explained, except in terms of their lack of needing any explanation.

So I take it that my recent bout with a tiny little pokey something—I think it was a thorn, actually—must signify something significant, or at least diverting enough to qualify for today’s 327 words.

Thing was, I got a flat on the Saluki the other day on my way out to school, or, more specifically, before I left (my front tire was airless when I went to the shed in the morning to retrieve my bike.) So, I grabbed another option from the quiver and had that be my ride for the day. In the evening, I fixed the Saluki’s tube, but by the time I got out to work the next day, the tire was flat again.

At this point, I had to take the desperate step of not only removing the tire completely from the rim, but the even more radical act of taking off my glasses to peer far-sightedly at whatever it was in the tire itself that was making it lose air all over again.

The close attention paid off, at least: I found the offending tiny pokey poking tinily from between the treads and I had to use my teeth to extract it.

So what does this all mean? Cleary, the message is something about paying closer attention, while simultaneously recognizing one’s limitations.

But it’s also must have something to do with this time of year; I don’t know what it means, but I seem to keep meaning it.