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A ‘first world’ problem solved

3 min read

There I was in the Florida sunshine last week. I had the cycling pants, the water bottle, the rented bike. I had the 72 degrees.

And still, everything was wrong.

The bicycle seat was way too low. Although I was fitted for the bike at the rental shop, I didn’t actually take it for a test ride, and I should have.

If you’re ever on a bike and your knees hurt, it’s likely because you’re sitting too low. To be comfortable and powerful, you have to be sitting above the handlebars, so your legs are pushing down on the pedals, not forward at them.

So, there I was, miles from the bike shop with a seat that needed to come up about six inches. There’s a bracket that tightens around the rod that holds the seat up, and, in order to loosen it, I needed an Allen wrench, one of those hexagonal, elbow-shaped tools that come in graduated sizes all dangling together on a ring.

I looked in the car. Nothing. Then, I went on a search of the rental house, finding every possible tool, fishing tackle, lawn care implement, pool accessory and cooking utensil, but no Allen wrench.

I went foraging for alternatives and collected a butter knife, door key, seashell and rusted metal doo-dad I found on a shelf. None worked.

What I needed was something hexagonal that would fit into the recessed top of the bolt. And so, I Googled.

I typed in “What to use when you don’t have an Allen wrench?” and there were two pages of advice, the best of which suggested using a Number 2 pencil, which is hexagonal. I used a bread knife to saw off the point and my dad and I headed out to try it. There wasn’t enough oomph for it to move the bolt, and it was too wide.

My dad offered to drive me back to get a wrench, but I wasn’t having it. This was a “first world” problem if ever there was one, and I would solve it.

And so, I headed down the highway on my low-slung bike, my knees bobbing up around my shoulders. It felt like I was riding a go-cart. To passers-by, I must have looked like a clown on a tricycle.

Everything I passed became a possible tool. Would that wire hanging from the fire hydrant turn the bolt? What about the smashed beer can?

I rode past a half-eaten banana – the fruit of cyclists. Why couldn’t that rider have ditched his Allen wrenches, too?

Three miles into my ride, I passed a shopping center. I wrangled the bike in, pushed it over to the customer service desk.

“Allen who?” asked the young female clerk.

Next door was a fitness club. Surely they have to lift a seat now and again. I mean, literally.

The nice man at the front desk had Allen wrenches. It took four tries before he found the right size. He loosened the bolt, and we lifted the seat way up.

It was just right. I shouted a thank you back over my shoulder and was off, leaving my very first world problem behind me.

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