It was affectionately called, “Bike Maintenance for Chicks.” A nerd in high school, I didn’t really consider myself a “chick.” That connoted some sense of toughness and confidence. Little did I know back in 2002 when I enrolled in Erik West’s class in Kennedy Park that I would learn how to fix my bike and so much more.
The basic methodology was to work in teams to take your bicycle apart - and then put it back together. Tightening the brakes, changing a flat tire, fixing a broken chain. Not only had I never used bike tools before, my Trek 400 was totally out of commission after my first flat tire ever on the road. I had bought a patch repair kit and opened the manual that came with the bike, but no amount of silverware in my kitchen drawer would loosen that tire’s firm grip on the rim. I didn’t even get far enough to realize there was a tube inside that tire. Indeed, I considered having to buy a whole new bicycle altogether.
Through the class, I learned that when you have absolutely no idea what to do first, look for the parts that move. Ok, that seems really simple. But I come from Southern California, where if it doesn’t work, you buy a new one. That Yankee ethic of “doing it yourself” had not permeated my modus operandi even after 9 years in the Pine Tree State. Fortunately, we had a whole set of bike tools right there in the shop that we could try to match to the moving parts. My heart leaped the first time I fixed a flat tire without popping the tube. Still, this was a controlled environment - a bike shop with an instructor, students, and lots of tools. Who would ever try to do this “in the field”? Not me, but I packed an emergency repair kit “just in case.”
About a year later, my then boyfriend and I spent the weekend in Acadia National Park. I brought my trusty Trek, and Peter, a $50 hybrid bike from Marden’s. We rode around Eagle Lake, tied up our bikes at the foot of the Bubbles, hiked the mountain, gorged on popovers at the Jordan Pond House, and then, instead of hiking back, got on the free Island Explorer to complete the loop. What a great day…until we got back to the bikes. The Marden’s special had a flat tire. It probably would have been easier to walk our bikes to the bus stop and take the shuttle back to the village. But I crinkled my face, and in a true chick Superhero moment, boasted, “I WILL FIX IT.” With mosquitoes swarming, darkness falling, and thunderclaps rolling in the distance, I whipped out my emergency repair kit and went to work. With the pressure on (mostly Peter yelling, hurry, “it’s going to rain!”), I changed the tire and off we raced back to Bar Harbor on pedal power.
The story could end right there. But I got increasingly braver. I had bought my first house just months before. With my “fix anything father” 3,000 miles away in California, I had to unleash my inner Yankee to figure out how to do things I would have asked the men in my life to do. Ok, so I’m not exactly Mrs. Bob Vila, but my attitude has changed…from “let’s buy a new one,” to, “hmmmm, let’s see if I can figure out how to fix this.” And in the process, I’ve grown into a “chick.”
