It sounded like a gun shot, but I knew instantly as people
where shouting and staring, that I was the source of the noise. My rear bicycle tire had
seized up, and I could see someone pointing at me. I knew before looking that
the tire was flat. I sighed as I got off my bike and pulled it over to the side
of the road. Now the center of attention, I could hear people repeatedly
telling me it was my tire. Smiling, trying to be polite, I thanked those around
me, and half carried half dragged my bike the block or so back to the bicycle
shop that I had just come from. The very one that had just put air in the tire
that was now completely useless.
Back at the shop, no one was there that could fix it. The
guy who had put air in my tire mumbled something about going to work and handed
me a piece of paper with a partial map on it, telling me there was another
repair shop nearby. But the street names on the hand drawn map where in Thai
and it was completely useless to me. It was still fairly early in the morning,
but it was already hot and I could feel my face redden by the minute.
“But how am I going to get there?” I asked, trying to move
the wheel that had no interest in rotating. “It’s near here,” was the only
response I repeatedly got. No apology for over airing my tire. Not to mention any
refund of the money I had paid to have the tire refilled. I kicked myself, I
should have gone to the motorbike shop near my house, they would have put air
in my tire for free.
I was trying to be nice and polite, but it was getting me
nowhere. Finally I started to get upset; no crying, screaming or anything, just
a simple statement. “You put too much air in my tire, and now I have to pay to
have it repaired. I am not also paying to put my bicycle in a red taxi, I don’t
have the money.”
I was told to wait just a second, and the guy slipped back
into the bicycle shop. He came out with a plastic bag and said that he had to
go to work, the other place was on the way, he would give me a ride; he failed
to mention it would be on the back of his motorbike. So sitting on the back of
the motorbike, I lifted my bicycle up off the ground. The pedals digging into
my leg, the handle bars digging into his arm, we were off.
Through streets and sois, we actually ended up passing my
house. Then we went around a couple more corners before arriving at the shop. I
thanked him, and he was on his way to work. Less than fifteen minutes later my
bicycle tire was fixed, the whole process costing me one hour’s worth of my
wage. But back on my bike, I just shook my head and laughed at how the day had
transpired so far.
About a week later one of my co-workers met a backpacker
from Canada who had been
teaching ESL in Korea.
We invited her to join us for dinner at Somphet market for some noodles to be
followed by a few games of bowling. Afterwards, she asked if she could take a
picture of us and we made plans to meet up in a few days.
Later on that week when we met up, we peppered her with
questions about what she had been up to the past few days. She had gone on a
bicycle tour that day. She showed us the brochure and we talked about the tour
for a few minutes.
“You know one of the guides knew you guys,” she said. A few
seconds passed while Beth and I tried to figure out who it could have been. “I
showed them the picture from bowling the other night, and he recognized Steph”.
It turned out that one of her guides was the guy who had given me a ride with
my bicycle. All I could do was shake my head and laugh once more.
