Bashir's Bike, or The Keystone Cops Strike Again

On the third day of the pilgrimage, we broke camp at Roy's farm, an amazing educational farm started by one of Jakir's buddies, and headed out on a 15 mile bike ride that would triumphantly end our journey in Baltimore's Inner Harbor.

About five miles into the trek, we hit a patch of glass on the road, and my front tire and the back tire of the bike (riden by Carly) behind me blew. The whole group pulled over, and we began to assess the situation in the 95-degree heat. What was immediately evident was how unprepared we were for the problems we faced. We had a bike repair kit to patch holes, but no bike pump with which to refill the tires, and no replacement tubes if they were beyond repair. Tiferet, one of the Kayam staff members, began to go door to door in the neighborhood looking for a pump, while another staffer headed back to the farm where we had left a pump with the rest of our gear that was to be transported for us back to Pearlstone.

Tiferet soon found a guy named Bashir who had a pump and generously offered for us to use it. Meanwhile, another guy on our trip named Alex-- an expert hydrologist who was along to teach us about the watershed-- got to work dissembling our two busted bike wheels. Tiferet and Bashir camp back with the pump, which it turns out, wouldn't work on Carly's patched tire because the tire had a funky fancy valve. Meanwhile, the pump would have worked on my tire but we could not could not could not find the hole in my tire no matter what we did! And meanwhile the rest of the group was growing impatient and we had an appointment at the Science Museum and a reservation at a cool restaurant named Liquid Earth and another appointment to sail in the Chesapeake Bay to top off the day. And meanwhile, Alex was coming back with a pump we knew would at least fill Carly's tire.

So the rest of the group headed off. And just as they did, a random car pulled up, and out jumped a guy we learned was named Jimmy. Jimmy hopped out of the car and immediately went his trunk with a purpose-- he understood at least part of our predicament right away. He pulled a fancy-shmancy bike pump out of his trunk, and got to work on Carly's tire.

Meanwhile, Carly has gotten into a deep one-to-one conversation with Bashir, who had decided to just hang around and watch the proceedings.We later learned that Bashir is a refugee from Afghanistan; he left after the war broke out in 2002.

Jimmy fixed Carly's tire and puts it back on her bike. He saw me struggling with my tire, and offered to help, but he couldn't find the hole, either. Perhaps it's a slow leak, we wishfully said together. Alex arrived with the group pump just as Jimmy and I were reassembling my tire, hoping against hope that if we refilled it with air, it would hold for a few miles, and we could just keep refilling it. But no sooner do we fill it than it's flat again. Jimmy throws his hands up, just as Bashir says, "would you like to borrow my bike?" I look at Carly, Carly looks at Alex, Alex looks at Jimmy, Jimmy looks at me, as if to say, "is he serious?"

"I'm serious," says Bashir. "I don't need it for a bit-- take it, and I'll hold onto your bike. You can return it when you can."

We're stunned at the kind offer, and, having no other good options, we agree, promising to return the bike with a large share of local, organic vegetables. Bashir brings his bike across the street; he hasn't used it since last fall, so the tires are low on air. We refill the tires, thank Jimmy profusely as he heads out in his car, thank Bashir profusely, exchange contact information with him, and jump on our bikes. An amazing affirmation of my belief that most people, given the opportunity, will do the right thing most of the time.

If only the story ended there.

We ride fast, mostly downhill, intending to catch up with the group. Not 2 miles down the road, I hear a BANG. "Oh, no, oh, no oh no!" I cry. The back tire of Bashir's bike had blown out! This time, there appeared to be no glass on the road, nothing that should have made the tire explode. The three of us got off our bikes laughing so hard we were crying...

An already long story short, we decided that God was trying to send me some kind of message; we sent Alex off with the pump to catch up with the group (in case someone ELSE blew a tire!), and Carly and I caught a bus downtown (an experience in and of itself-- I now know how to operate those funky bike racks on the front of city buses!) and met up with the group at the end of their ride.

I missed not being able to ride the whole trail-- everyone said it was beautiful, and perhaps I'll have a chance to ride it again some other time this summer. But it was Carly who really inspired me to see the blessing in all of the mess-- it was the moment when the tires blew, when the wheels fell off, as it were. that the genuine adventure began. It was the moment when we got to meet real neighborhood people who saw nothing except folks who needed a hand, a pump, some help-- and were willing to give the bike off their own lot.

Postscript: Everyone asked if we walked back to return the bike to Bashir when the wheel blew--we didn't. I just couldn't bring myself to bring back his generous gift in worse shape than when we got it... Joe's Bike Shop in Baltimore is giving Bashir's bike a full tune-up in addition to replacing the tire before I bring it back to him Wednesday or Thursday this week; perhaps I'll have more to report after that reunion!