Two flat tires and some broken bones at the bus stop

SAN ANTONIO — Today I was riding toward downtown – partially riding nowhere and partially doing reconnaissance for a route to Stacey’s place. I found an easy and fast way to get around the 410 Loop (one of the loop expressways that circle San Antonio) and onto the road into town, Commerce Street. As I was making my way down Commerce not far from where the crappy area – lined with fast food joints, questionable bars (many in a row) dilapidated houses – becomes downtown, I heard the sound of something I had run over clink off of the frame. It was a large, rusty nail that embedded itself diagonally into my rear tire, firmly right up to the head of the nail. That was a once in a lifetime thing to happen …

I stopped to change the tube and drink some water. I was in a full sprint (NYC messenger style) for some time before that and I was sweating in the 96 degree sun. With some effort I pulled the nail out whilst drinking water and wiping the dripping sweat from my forehead with the small towel. I pulled the new tube out of the box and began to install it – I kept the old tube in the box sticking out meaning to throw it away later. I didn’t have a pump with me but I had a small contraption that uses CO2 to inflate the tire FAST. It also has some tools attached to the thing. Normally I use the pump to put a little air in the tube to make it faster to install, keeping it from laying flat or twisting.

No worries, it went in easy and I had two CO2 canisters (they’re standard things like what is used in some air pistols and other uses). To use the CO2 inflator, one has to put the canister in the holder and twist the top of the holder on quickly so it pierces the thin top of the canister and engages the valve. I did that but a little escaped making a frozen cloud. It comes out very cold … ice forms on the canister.

It inflated but not all the way. It didn’t matter, I thought, I had the small adapter to use the air thing at a gas station or car repair place. I rode on until the tire was completely flat again which was almost immediately. When I took the new tube out, I saw the seam had opened up a gash about 5 cm long. That was my only tube.

Ah! I have patches and they’re stronger than the tube. I use them more than changing the tube. No problem, I thought. Oh boy … I only had 1 patch in the little box. At home, next to the other new tube, is the new box of patches with 10. OK, no problem, I thought.

I drank more water and patched the tube as I was speaking with a local kid who appeared in the shade of the bus stop where I was making my repair. Behind me was a Burger King. On the corner next to the Burger King was a tire repair place. The patches sometimes lose a little air until the tire is hard – part of what holds them together so well until the permanently set is the pressure. As I started to install the second (and last) CO2 canister I noticed it was the wrong size, too small for the canister but just big enough for the inflator to pierce the thing. As the canister deflated it started to freeze the hot, humid air around it. I tossed the thing in the grass behind the bus stop where I was sitting until all of the CO2 was gone. I picked up the inflator and tossed the frozen canister in the trash along with the torn tube. I walked my bike to the tire repair place where the guy working was very nice.

Of course the patch didn’t hold for whatever reason, unless there was a second hole. So no more patches, no more tubes, no way to inflate anything anyway. This was many once in a lifetime things all in a row.

I decided to go to Burger King to eat greasy food I didn’t need and to wash the tire grit off of my hands. After that, I took the bus home, which was easy. The busses here are pretty good and bikes are no problem. My ride home cost me $1.

As I was waiting for the 76 bus to Kel-Lac (it’s like the bus stop version of 14th St/Union Square in NYC where several lines meet. It has bathrooms, vending machines, information and seating. It’s all indoors and air-conditioned.) a crazy looking dude walked over and sat down next to me on the bench in she shade of the stop’s small roof. Everything about him told a story.

He had some tattoos and strange piercings in his right eyebrow. His skin was a little more weather worn than it should have been for what I guessed his age to be. He was also covered in scars and had a disfigured left arm. As we talked about bikes a little he told me about the Ducatti 900 (something) motorcycle he used to have until it was stolen. Those a vicious motorcycles with endless power and the ability to vaporize an inexperienced rider. He told me about one time he was riding a bicycle down some hill in the fastest gear and he lost control, sending he and the bike ass over kettle, breaking off a pedal and gouging the asphalt. He showed me the scars on his knee and elbow where he left some meat on the road.

Then this crazy bastard started telling me about some gnarly car crash he was in and the damage he did to himself, adding he was dead then was brought back and in a coma for 2 months. He fractured his skull and had bleeding in his brain, fractured his left tibia in 3 places, ruptured his aortic artery (he showed me some awful scar on his belly where he was sewn back together I guess) and his liver and spleen. He showed me the card he has to carry explaining the metal parts in him like his upper right arm, which was replaced. I don’t know the name of the bone, it’s the part where the upper arm connects to the scapula and clavicle. He apparently tore the tendons in both of his knees. He showed me how he can bend his knees laterally (inward) so the bones stretch his skin a little – that was awful to see. He added something about his left heel, slipping his foot out of his untied boot. It had some awful scar which looked like someone used a potato peeler and an ice cream scoop to remove his heel and part of his Achilles tendon. His left arm looked like someone had taken a shovel full of gravel and dirt, tore a hole in his upper arm, and jammed the stuff in there. I’m not sure how to describe the deformation. It’s as if his blood vessels were 12 times bigger than they should be and a combination of the scarring from 3rd degree burns. He had old color tattoos there as well.

He was a fucking mess.

During this, he decided to run (well, sort of run) over to where a lawn sprinkler was spraying water all over the sidewalk for whatever reason. He returned soaking wet moments later. His bags were dry. As he was speaking with an employee in the used car dealership behind the bus stop, the 76 arrived en route to Kel-Lac. That was the last I saw of my crazy, injured friend.

The bus made the usual stops and arrived at Kel-Lac. I walked to the other side of the small station to wait for the 611. I sat on the low concrete wall where people sit and drank a Pepsi. The ride home was dull. I walked my wounded bike back to Brendan’s house – the stop is almost in his front door – and placed it in the garage.

I didn’t fix the flat yet but I will.