This morning's commute and other commuting stories

This morning the protagonist of our tale was leisurely pedalling himself to his place of engagement, marvelling strenuously at his newly shod bicycle pneumatics whence a startlingly vigorous emission of sound shocked his earlobes in a most indiscreet manner.

"What's that strange clicking noise from the rear of my velocipede all of a sudden?" he pondered. To his great affront and serious chagrin, lo! A two inch nail of the kind used by uncouth labourers has penetrated its robust periphery and is protruding most precociously. "No matter" said he, "I shall push my mechanical contraption to my destination and thereupon set about repairing it's pneumatic contrivances."

To his great misfortune however, whence arrived at 'forementioned locus and it's revolving disc removed, the self-same gentleman realised that the vessel containing the vulcanising rubber solution required to splice a new section of rubber to the tubular atmospheric pressuriser was empty, all its precious and most vital contents having evaporated into thin air over the passage of time since its last employment.

"Bugger it like an impoverished male ward of the state! One shall have to propel one's self home by foot, all the while supporting the very modern implement upon which my posterior should be sat upon. 'Tis a most visceral of misfortunes."

And in pushing his velocipede homewards, our young Master Gruber did compound his misfortunes further still, as whilst lost in a reverie of intellectual nature, accidentally projecting its wheels through the self-same spot of ground occupied by a rather voluminous dog droppings, unbeknownst by he until it's unholy and distinctly displeasing odours reached his refined nostrils some time later.

Much offended by both sight of fecal matter clinging to his dear velocipede and it's positively loathesome odour, the young Sir proceeded to attempt its surreptitious removal, first by its casual introduction to pools of rainwater in his path, then by the more forcible application of friction using the braking mechanisms, and finally, by picking up the whole bicycle and rythymically performing a frottage against a hedge belonging to more lowly looking property who's proprietor was unlikely to be known to either himself or his companions.

Yet still, this base and filthy matter was still clinging to his contraption like a widow begging for alms from the hand of a distinguished Lord, and for all his ingenuity, the young Master couldn't prise its disgusting grasp away from it, let alone contemplate engaging in the necessary repairs. If only there was some tedious orphan to be engaged in its disposal for a derisory sum of monies, but alas there was none and the distinguished personage was obliged to find a suitably long stick with which he could poke at it and evict it from its comfortable residence like an unemployed milner from his hovel assailed by appropriate curses and promises of reprisal.

When finally the frightfully unpleasant episode was over, and the bicycle was able to be presented in polite society again, our dear protagonist was able to repair its workings and further engage in the more savoury and distinguished activity of transporting his person around town, ever mindful to avoid materials deleterious to both man and machine discarded upon the city's byways.