Then it happened.
My bike slowed down, requiring more and more effort to move forward until it barely wanted to move at all, and my bottom became aware of every specific texture on the sidewalk. Readers, what you are dreading was the case. My back tire had gone completely flat and was threatening to fall right off. I paused. It is a two and a half mile ride from my apartment to school. I was already a mile in, and if I back tracked there was no way I'd make my first class (what a first impression that would make). So I trecked forward, my strut inhibited by the stuttering rise and fall of my bicycle as I forced it onward.
I built up a sweat. My off the shoulder sweater and high healed boots were a great idea for a bike commuter, but dragged down the pace and spirit of a stranded walker. Finally my longing to preserve my outfit in the long run beat out my modesty. I shed my sweater to walk the rest of the way in my undershirt.
As I pulled my sweater over my head I tried to ignore the low riding el camino that stopped in the middle of the street to observe and then give me the first whistle of my journey. (First of three, but who's counting?)
Finally, dripping in sweat and unforeseen pessimism, I arrived on campus. I was only four minutes late to class which means I didn't get to skip the biannual first day of class recitation of the syllabus, but I did manage to arrive after all desks were filled and was therefore placed in the front corner of class in a tall chair that my glistening out of breath form might be observed. At least I made an impression. One down, three classes to go. Happy first day of spring semester.
