It’s worked out really well. One day last week Amy and I rode down
to Kashi for one of our favourite lunches, sprouted salad with whole wheat
garlic toast and pressed coffee. I
was commenting to her how it’s just the perfect bike. I shouldn’t have said that!
After lunch we went outside to pick up our
bikes and head to a shop up the street.
Amy took off, and I unlocked the bike and stepped on the pedal to
mount. As I did, the left
handlebar snapped right off and I took a nasty spill. I scraped my elbow, bruised my left hip, and scratched my
chest while ripping my favourite orange shirt from GIRO (Gabriola Island
Recycling Depot). Disaster!
Amy was nowhere to be seen. Some people saw me fall and helped me
up. I told them I was fine, and
walked the bike to where Amy was.
I was more shocked then hurt, but it did shake me up! So we walked the bikes home and I
tended to my (minor) wounds.
The next day I walked the bike to the
repairman and in body language showed him the problem. He fussed with it a little, then waved
down the street – in other words he couldn’t do the welding job required, and
it was “down that way”. Okay
fine. So I walked a few blocks
down the little village road, and spotted a shop where a man was welding. I said hello and showed him the
bike. After a moment he shook his
head and said something like “goswulda”.
I said pardon, and he repeated: “goswulda, goswulda” and waved in the
other direction. Finally I
understood: gas welder! He said go
over the bridge and then turn left.
So I did. The bridge crossed a stream. I walked the bike several more blocks down an even smaller
village road. Trust the universe,
I kept saying.
A group of young men were hanging out on
another little bridge. I asked if
they knew the gas welder, and one man stepped up to be the “agent”. He said “Yes yes” and pointed to a shop
across the road. “He is coming, he
is coming. Just wait”. After a
couple of minutes, I saw a tuk tuk truck slowly coming towards the shop. As it approached I saw that it was
towing another tuk tuk truck with a rope.
This was the gas welder.
After I helped them push the broken-down truck into a parking place
adjacent to the shop, he took a look at my bike, fiddled with the handlebar,
and nodded yes, he could fix it.
Of course the young man was translating, while telling me about his
business: “You know the Chinese Fishing nets? I have three, they are mine.” Hmmm, not sure about this guy.
The welder proceeded to whip out his gas
torch and metal “solder” and joined the handlebar to the frame. Then the other man rummaged through the
store for some sandpaper and sanded the edges smooth. The welder emerged from another part of the store with a can
of black paint and with his finger, dabbed paint on the repaired part.
The “agent” seemed to be negotiating on his
behalf, since his English was good.
He said: “ It will cost 100 Rupees, normally it would be much more,
maybe 400.” Such a prince, I
thought. So once it was done, I
gave the welder 100 rupees ($2).
He seemed a little embarrassed (probably would have charged 50 if the “agent”
wasn’t there). Then the agent said
I should give him extra, and the welder then waved him away to say no no.
I must say this young man and his crew made
me feel uncomfortable – they were not very nice. That is unusual here, most people are just wonderful.
Okay so I have my spiffy “new” bike – just don’t
touch the paint for a while the welder warns me. So I ride home happy.
Of course the next day I have a flat tire –
my poor bike is still not out of the woods. I walk it back to my repairman – not there. Oh boy! So I look for another shop to fill it, and went to at least
four places before I finally found one, who filled the tire for 10 rupees
(ripoff!). I rode home, and it was
flat again!! The next day I went back without the bike to talk to him, and he’s
there. So I tell him I will be
back in an hour with the bike.
When I return with the bike, he’s not there! Now I’m getting pissed off!!
Amy comes with her bike, and we get ready
to leave when he shows up, pointing to his lunch “tiffin” – a container of food
he had gone to pick up. He looks
at the tire, says “Puncture?” and I leave the bike with him, returning in an
hour. All fixed. Of course I check the bike over, have
him put a new screw in the bell, and generally tighten things up, the lock, the
fenders, etc. How much I ask? 15
rupees. I thought he said 50 so I
gave him that ($1). He gave me 35
back in change.
 | |
| Our bike man with our bikes |
And now my bike is perfect again.
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