Nuts and Bolts

When I let on to people that I used to be a professional horseman, the next inevitable question is, "Oh! What did you do?" Instantly, a slew of images flies into my head, though the easiest way to answer is, "oh, a little of everything, I basically did whatever they needed me to do." Need someone to watch the barn and ride while you're away at a show for a week or two? Need someone to teach the occasional lesson? Need someone to muck out the barn, hay, water, turn out? Need someone who can poultice, wrap a leg, unbraid a mane (or braid a mane in an emergency), talk to USEF, give an IV injection, fill out entry blanks, take a blood sample, pull a shoe, ride a baby, flat a jumper, dust, sweep, fill the hayloft, go to Southern States, longe, feed, medicate, clean tack, give a bath, clean a wound, and generally do what needs to be done?

That's me.

It was this all around knowledge that made me so valuable to people, and ultimately, how I defined myself as a horseman and not just a rider. It was also this sense of self sufficiency that gave my work purpose; whatever came my way, I could deal.

When I started riding bikes, I didn't even know what all of the parts were called. Stays? Dropouts? Bottom brackets? Nonsense words, and that was just parts of the frame itself. Nevermind all of the components, in all of their hundreds of variations. Nevermind all of the different types of bikes, all with their individual quirks. Plus the accessories, plus the shoes, plus the plusplusplus.

Cycling, as I've come to realize, doesn't have the same sense of all-a-rounder-ness as the horse world does. Nobody really seems to mind if you don't know how to fix mechanical issues on the bike, or understand exactly how your disc brake works. There is no special status given to the cycling equivalent of a Horseman. You have the bike. You ride the bike. Nuff said.

For me, though, it's the all-a-rounder-ness that's rewarding. In a perfect world, I'll become just as adroit in the cycling sphere as I was with horses. To that end, I've tried to build as many of my own bikes as possible, and always keep my ears open around the mechanics in the back of the shop. On Sunday I was able to diagnose why a chain kept falling off the big ring when a customer upshifted (the outer limit screw was set improperly), and felt an inner, "yes!"

Today, though, my basic skills were put to a real world, real condition test:

I had my first flat.

This is a skill that every cyclist should have, as eventually, every cyclist will blow a tube. This is a skill that I have practiced in no pressure situations many times. Being stranded 15 miles north of Greensboro at Iron Works and NC65 with nothing but a cell phone? Not a no pressure situation.

I calmly did everything I knew to do: Remove wheel (rear wheel in my case, so I shifted down into the small cog behind), remove tire with levers, check tire for punctures, check rim, see if the old tube can be patched (it couldn't), get the new tube, blow enough air in to make it round, put one side of the tire back on the rim, place the new tube inside the rim, put the other side of the tire on the rim, wiggle the whole thing to make sure you won't get a pinch flat, use (in my case) CO2 cartridges to re-inflate tire, replace rear wheel making sure it's securely in the dropouts.

The moment of truth would occur when I rode away, and either successfully or unsuccessfully made it back to the parking lot.

Ladies and Gentleman, I, Sophie Ballo, changed my first tube.

No parades are in order, of course, but it's a step in the right direction. I know I'll never be at the level of professional wrench, but I do think it's important to know how to make basic repairs, how to keep your drivetrain clean and how to lube your chain properly. How to diagnose and fix problems with your derailleurs. How to service your crankset or how to rewrap your handlebar tape. In short, how to not only ride, but also maintain your bicycle.

And when all is said and done, I would rather maintain a bike than maintain a horse any day.