A Short Story: The Continuation

It was just outside the boundary of the bike shop, a mere quarter-hour after the transaction took place, that the failure occurred. It was this moment in which One had to swallow his pride as the realization hit him which was the fact that he was just outside the bike shop which he had previously shunned.

Head hung, he crossed the threshold. You see, since being spoon fed from birth, One was not accustomed to asking for help. This was troubling, not only for One, but seemed to be a trend amongst his constituents as well. This meant that the bike shop was familiar with his type and was well accustomed to dealing the likes of them. It also meant that the bike shop was familiar with the type of failure and well stocked with the inventory to fix it.

It was the humble crank arm, which foiled One's plans of a smooth get away. 

 Being one of only a few parts that make the bike go it is indeed serves an important purpose yet, it is with one lone bolt that it was held it fast. A bolt which, when securely fastened, almost assuredly stays in place. Yet in the Land of Marts called Wal, bicycle assembly is plagued by diseases of both Slap-dash and Haphazard. Common in those parts, its symptoms, identifiable by bolts torqued to the specification of Willy-Nilly, is often found running rampant and unhindered throughout the land. It discriminates not, as anyone foolish enough to venture into such a land may suffer the same fate.

"So I bought this bike at Walmart," One said. "It's the strangest of things! I was just riding along and off fell the pedal thingy."

A simple solution to an avoidable problem, it was $45 dollars later that One continued on his path beyond the Land of Martins to the familiar campus which he called home. It was there, with reckless abandon, that he would neglectfully pilot his two wheeled machine to its eventual death. In the Winter One would retreat to the comforts of his home. His bicycle however remained. 

Indeed it remained outside and cold, snowed upon by the foot until it was nothing more than a bicycle shaped embankment. A vision which greeted him upon his return.

It was at the first hint of sun that, dripping wet from melted snow, that One realized what he was going to have to do. Returning to the bike shop, he dragged his bicycle through the door. Still dripping wet, with an upward inflection, he uttered words all too familiar. Like it was a question he said, "So I left this out all Winter?"

With cables rusted in place, tires cracked from the cold and flat, and a chain so solid it could stand on its end, the cost of repairs quickly outweighed the cost of the bicycle. One was displeased. As if it were the fault of those trying to help, with a look of disdain, he turned and left.

 But he was determined to find a source of transportation.

Again he turned to the The Google and lo, did his eyes deceive him? A road bike for just under $300? 

Intrigued, the boy read on:

"The GMC Denali 700 c  21-Speed Road Bike is built around a lightweight aluminum road bike frame. You'll stop on a dime with the alloy calipers and brake levers, and the high-profile alloy Vitesse racing rims look as good as they perform. Shimano Revo shifters allow you to shift with out taking your hands off the handle bars providing safety and confidence... Assembly required."

"Seems legit," he said. "How hard could it be to assemble my own bike?" One boastfully reasoned. With that the boy once again spent hard earned dollars that were not his own, assuring his parents that this time he would take care of his bicycle.

The days passed and finally his boxed bicycle arrived. It was not long before One realized that he was in over his head, as his degree in Political Science would likely serve him well when he becomes a Political Scientist, it was not of much use when it came to  bicycle assembly... 

…and thus the boy's story would continue to unfold.

...or would it?