While the rest of the world was wrestling with big issues — union-busting, dictator-toppling and the Academy Awards — Mikey O’Schenk and I tackled the small shit, like stopping twice on today’s ride to deal with a softening rear tire.

The first time O’Schenk felt his rim kissing Mother Earth we stopped to air the leaky sumbitch up a tad and continued along our merry way through the Air Force Academy. Alas, that temporary fix wrote a permanent finis to the tube, as he managed to pull the guts out of the valve when unhitching the pump.

So I loaned him one of my spares — O’Schenk usually rides with one while I pack three, one for each of my velo-personalities — and we limped on home. This is not a figure of speech, as O’Schenk had run a 20km footrace the day before and was feeling the burn.

I hadn’t done diddley and was as frisky as a young stoat, which must have been irksome to my companion, who is several years my senior. A couple, anyway. OK, call it a year and change. This is a creative process I’m involved in here, and if it occasionally demands that I simply make stuff up, well, so be it.