What Could Possibly Go Wrong? (Part II)

The glasses got thrown in the trash, and I ventured out without eye protection.  I live on a very steep hill, and the bottom is about 3/4 of mile away from my condo.  As I was racing down Price Hill at about 45 miles an hour, I hear something banging with each wheel revolution.  I have a cyclo-computer mounted on my front fork.  In my haste to get on the road, I must have bumped it right into the turning path of my spokes. Each revolution sounded like a drum corp.  With a little push, I moved it out of the way, and proceeded toward the bowels of Cincinnati.

   Downtown Cincinnati is relatively deserted between 6 and 9, which made the ride through it very nice.  Almost to the workshop, only a couple more streets and I would be there!  Headed toward a large intersection, with traffic crossing both ways, I see my light turn yellow.  I had good speed, so it would be no problem to make it through if I just hammered on the pedals a little more.  I committed toward running the light and headed toward the intersection.  With a couple of might pushes, I had only slightly accelerated when the chain fell off the front sprocket just as I entered the intersection.  Luckily, a lone car traveling at a slow speed was my only obstacle, and I was able to let it go by before my front tire passed his back bumper. 

   My heart was racing as I coasted through, only to find that the other side of the intersection ended at a park. A park where drug deals are made, homeless take refuge, and the nature of the clientele is questionable at best.  My bike is fairly expensive, and looks expensive.  I had to stop, as there was no way I could have coasted four block to the theater, and I certainly was not going to walk.  As I slowed, and prepared myself to come to a complete stop, I could feel eyes all over me.  I am a guy that is clearly on the wrong side of the tracks, and in obvious distress.  I found the most solitude place possible and prepared to repair my chain.  "Nice bike," and "Hey, what did you pay for that bike," were the cattle calls I heard, coming from all directions.   I almost leaped off the bike, and fixed the issue with the speed of a NASCAR pit crew working for Lance Armstrong in the Tour de France.

   No other issues presented themselves for the duration of the day, but hey, there is always tomorrow....