The Night before the Day before..

So last night was interesting. The night before setting off on my virgin Fireflies ride. The planning had been meticulous,  my bike was being boxed by a local stoner called 'Angel' at a Bike Shop on Smith street. What could go wrong? The plan was to pick it up around 7 in the car and then get home as Maryanne had planned a dinner party at home for her birthday. Simple..except Angel calls me at about 5pm.."Do you want the good news or the bad news?" I felt various parts of my body contract in fear. The good news was he'd fixed my wheel, the bad news was that my seat post was jammed in the bike frame. The fastest option was going to be to effectively machine off the post and pack a new one. Once I got home I jumped in the car with the replacement post and saddle. As I drove off there was a bang and the whole car shook. The rear passenger tire blew. Nice. So I crawled along to the bike shop where Angel told me he'd be there till at least midnight, something about power tools and Clinton Hill. So I went home and had dinner, which was very nice, but in the back of my head I had an unpacked bike and a blown tire to deal with. It made it slightly hard to fully relax. At around 12:30  I went back to the bike shop, expecting to see Angel just sealing my box in triumph. No chance..the shop was empty and I could see my bike sitting at the back, seat still well and truly on. Right then I decided I wasn't in a good headspace to deal with changing the tire, so did the thing any slightly impractical useless modern man would do: I called AAA. Half an hour later, Angel was still not there, I hoped he knew his way back from Clinton Hill. Luckily my repair truck arrived, with Brooklyn's answer to Walter White behind the wheel. It's nice that they give the guys out of rehab a chance to earn an honest buck, really, but it was not ideal. Once he'd got the wheel off, he couldn't fix the new one on, telling me "something's not right". So now, at one in the morning, I had no working car, and no bike in a box. I knew something was up when he couldn't fix the old one back on. I released the handbrake at which point he aligned the lug holes on my wheel. I suggested the spare might now go on, which it did. All of this watched by 2 cops who ticketed him for some nebulous offence relating to his vehicle. It dawned on me that Angel was not coming back, but I had a glimmer of hope..he knew I had to leave by 9:30am, and I knew he was not going to let me down. It was just a
communication issue, after all, he'd could've just cut me loose once he knew that seat was stuck.
 I got back home at around two am, just in time to see our house cat jump out of the front window. Maryanne caught her and burst into tears. We went to bed, unsure of what the day would bring.
At 4:53 AM I had a text from the Bike shop. "We have completed your work order". I called him at 9 am. By the time he'd got the tools it was too late to use them as it was a residential area.  But he'd got the bike in the box, seat and all, and had taken apart most of the bike in the process.
It was better than nothing, and he'd come through. I tried to gently school him on client management...saying he should've  called me in the night to let me know. "I did call you around one" he said. "It was more like 5" I responded. I couldn't really be mad. I'd take Angel over the AAA Walter White any day of the week.
So now I'm checked in and waiting to fly with a deconstructed bike. Which is ok..but I really like things to be constructed if possible. I was once served a "deconstructed CheeseCake" at the trendy Whythe Hotel in Williamsburg. I wanted to tell the chef that there's a reason why cheescake works as a format..it felt like the hard work had been left out. A pile of crumbs, cream and fruit can't be ridden for 550 miles. Know what I mean?