Little Nikolas and his Bicycle Dilemma

Once upon a time, there was a teeny-tiny Nikolas. He was just a little creature - so young, so innocent! He was friend to man and beast alike, and cherished every gift he recieved dearly, but there was one thing he loved above all others: his bicycle, Samhadriel, swifter than the wind, stronger than the sun. It was his steed and companion in all matters; so naturally it distressed him to no end when he came to it one bright Saturn's-Day morning to find its front tire flattened, distended, punctured.

Little Nikolas was quite alarmed. He fetched his bicycle-pump immediately, so that he might re-inflate the tire; but the air all leaked out, and green goo oozed out along with it! This was even worse. Nikolas called out to all his friends, exclaiming the particulars of his woe to them; but all they could tell him was what he already knew to do. Go to the bike store, to get a new tire; an eventuality which would have to wait, for the bike shop was closed for the week-end.

The next two days were, for our poor Nikolas, bleak, cold, empty. Without bold Samhadriel at his side, Nikolas was perpetually lonely; tears flowed freely, on a regular basis. But at last he was free from classes, on a scorchingly hot Monday afternoon; he had a lab at 5 pm, but it was an hour and a half until then, so he had no concern on the matter. Achingly slowly, he walked Samhadriel to the bicycle shop, relentlessly oppressed by the powerful rays of the sun. The tire was removed; its replacement was emplaced, over a long ten minutes. (It seemed to be fighting the bicycle-shop-man, named Ian, fifth-year Lit major, by some - perhaps the green ooze was ectoplasm?) But then he receieved worse news.

"What?" I hear you cry. "Worse news? How could this be?" But it was indeed.

His rear wheel was out of true - and it would take until 5 to fix it!

Forlornly, Nikolas agreed to this. He idled, walking here and there, pondering the nature of remarkably short shorts (do they have a name?), purchasing pencils and pens. Then he returned, at five-to-four. The bike was there - but still under repair - for there was yet more!

"More?" you cry. "More?" Yes. More.

The reason the wheel had gone out of true, you see, is because one of the spokes had been damaged - nay - destroyed! So that of course needed replacement. (This had been accomplished.) But the reason that the spoke had been damaged, in all likelihood, was because the rack on the rear of the Nikolas's bike was rubbing against the wheel - dreadful thought! - quite possibly because of the asymmetric weight of the basket attached to the rack which, by the way, had rusted nearly solid, owing to its out-doors confinement.

Oh, woe to poor Samhadriel! Woe!

Repairs were swiftly made - little Nikolas paid the bill, half-emptying his little wallet - to think, $30, from a trip to fix a flat tire! - and sped off, racing to his laboratorium. He was late, of course, but the lab was late as well - it being for a class that was rather poorly organized. And his rack sat in the bicycle shop, abandoned; for, of course, the only way for little Nikolas to transport an object as large as the rack would be on the rack itself.

Weep for Nikolas!

So dark are his sorrows, all else must pale before them.

(But at least Samhadriel is all right in the end.)