Unanticipated Problems

Dear dedicated reader,

So, I suppose that I should not be surprised that not everything is working out quite the way I’d anticipated with my new bicycle.

First of all, it has attracted far more attention and questions than I ever could have anticipated. I believe that there are a few reasons for this:

Reason #1: I am unavoidably hard to miss in this small village. Everyone in town knows everything I buy, everything I do, how much I spend on chocolate in a week, how much I spend on phone calls, where I walk, who I talk to and whose shops I patronize. Nothing is secret here. So, it should come as no surprise that morning after I buy my bike, I go out in the village to buy some bread and every student as well as many adults I run into ask me about my new cycle.

Reason #2: Buying a bike here is akin to buying a car. In a village where so many people get around by bicycle and many cycle to and from their villages on a daily basis, cycling is not seen as a leisure activity but rather as transportation, driven by the necessity to be at work or to be back at one’s home. As I live at the place that I work, the purchase becomes something of a cultural puzzle.

Reason #3: I have yet, I have realized suddenly, to see a woman actually pedaling a bicycle. Riding on the back, sure, but pedaling? No.

What have I gotten myself into?

All of this is compounded by the fact that, after taking a morning ride on Sunday, I have realized that my shiny new bike may have some not so shiny problems.

I set out early on Sunday morning, excited to test out the new bike when the traffic and the weather would be a little more favorable. As I walked the bike outside the gates of the school, the guard looked at me questioningly. “Where are you going?” He asked me in Hindi.

“Um, to wander,” I replied. It is, after all, practically the national past time.

After wheeling it some way, I finally pulled together my confidence and jumped on. As I began to pedal, I felt unsure at first, especially as one of the many chickens that wanders through the market darted into my path, but having faced this obstacle my confidence grew and soon I was peddling along at a respectable speed.

I encountered a few of my students as I navigated the winding back ways of Kadod: I didn’t dare take the main street for all the attention that it would attract, even at this hour of the morning, and I didn’t feel like parading the fact that I had a new bike just yet. The few students I did see looked at me in smiling disbelief: What on earth is the American teacher doing now? written across their faces.

I had just peddled out to the main road and was approaching the town garden on the outskirts of Kadod proper when I heard a large cracking sound as I pushed the pedal down with my left foot.

I paused for a moment. That couldn’t be good.

After coasting for a few moments, I tried pushing the peddle again with my feet, and the crack came again, louder this time and all of a sudden the tension in my pedals was gone. I squeezed the hand brakes, bringing the bike to a stop on the side of the road.

I dismounted and crouched down to see what the problem was. The chain had disengaged from the two tracks. I fiddled with it for a moment, trying to figure out how to put the chain back on. Why hadn’t I paid better attention when Spence was teaching me all those things about bike care in January? I fiddled with it some more. All I succeeded in doing was getting bike grease all over my palms.

I took a deep breath out and thought about what to do.

Luckily, I didn’t have to think long. “Ma’am!” I heard someone call from over my shoulder.

I looked back. A skinny young man who was sitting outside his shop was calling to me and gesturing that I bring over the bike. I obliged, and watched as he sat down to fix the problem. A couple of older men who were sitting and enjoying their morning chai came over to watch the excitement.

After a few moments, he had restored the chain to its original position and I was thanking him and was on my way.

I felt happy: problem solved, people in Kadod were so nice, and life was good. I was about to hit the open road, past the very outskirts of Kadod when I heard the same loud crack and the tension was gone yet again. I was only about 300 yards from the last site of repair.

I stopped once again and examined the problem. This really can’t be that hard, I thought. I’m sure I can do this. But after fiddling with it for 5 or 6 minutes, I found that I was still as baffled as I’d been the first time.

Up the hill next to the road a little ways was a series of tribal homes. One of the men from these came up behind me and gestured that I should move aside and let him try. He mumbled some things to me which I couldn’t understand and I obliged once again.

This time, the chain had seriously disengaged and it was some time before he got the bike up and running again. I was ready to take off when he put up a hand to stop me, indicating that I should wait. He called something up the hill and one of the woman ran off.

She quickly returned carrying a plate full of some kind of ash or sand, which she sprinkled up and down the bike chain, I assume to give it some traction so it would stop slipping off. I thanked him profusely and was on my way again.

No sooner had I pedaled just out of sight of their house, but the crack resounded once again. I cursed and jumped off the bike, this time seriously irritated. What the hell was wrong with my bike? I was determined to fix it myself this time, with no assistance, since it seemed that the problem itself was determined to be reoccurring.

After some 10 minutes of fiddling, I was able to reengage the chain and was off and running. I had decided, after some irritation, to turn around and peddle home since this expedition was turning out to be less successful than I had previously hoped.

The problem, however, of the chain disengaging happened no less than four more times between there and returning to the house. It came to the point where I considered walking the bike home.

Frustrated, I finally dismounted the bike outside the gate of the school and walked it inside. What to do? Who could I ask for help? Should I take the bike back? Was this a normal problem? Had I spent my money foolishly? All these questions were in the fore and back of my mind.

I think the hardest part is that this bike has been the first purchase that we didn’t necessarily need, but rather wanted. So, already there is some guilt. The idea of being able to ride the bike out into the countryside seemed so healthy, so enjoyable. I suppose reality is rarely so picturesque.

And in the meantime, I need to figure out how to fix my bike. It’s red shininess is already starting to grate on my nerves.

Best,
Cat