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thorn in the road
Monday, November 22 1999
It was another Monday morning and I was ready bright and early (circa 7:20am Pacific Standard Time) to ride my bike the five miles in to work. But wouldn't you know, my front tire was flat. So Kim had to give me a ride.
While I was at work Kim asked me via email whether or not I wanted her to move in with her Swedish friend who will be living in Santa Barbara. I thought about it, weighing the pluses and minuses, and decided I actually prefer living with Kim to the alternative, living by myself. Despite all the shit that I hate, the jealousy, my complete inability to ever do anything on my own, the choice of Kim actually being out of my life seems terribly bleak every time I think about it.
Kim picked me up at the end of my day and we hit the Sports Chalet to get me an inner tube. I would have picked up a tire there too, but evidently they're not in the business of selling sensible tires, the sort most people would be happiest using if only they knew how precious little off-road biking they'd actually be doing with their bicycles. But the only tires without obnoxious knobby treads were special 27 dollar racing tires.
So I had to make do with my old cracked & crumbling tire, and this meant removing whatever object had poked through it to the inner-tube. It took me awhile to find it, but it was a tiny thorn, only a quarter of an inch long and perhaps only 1/32 inch wide at the base.
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