Friday was a bit of an achievement. I rode my bicycle from home to work and back again. Work is now Wall Street and not midtown, but still. And when you consider that for the three weeks I've owned my little Dahon I've had three flat tires, well, making it over the Brooklyn Bridge twice without having to take the train is quite an achievement.

My first trip was from home to Brooklyn Heights. A practice run, testing out the journey with no time limit. There and back and arriving in Park Slope to find my back tire was flat. Back to R&A Cycles to repair the flat--change the tire tube.

Last Saturday I took a test ride to Wall Street. Or, rather, over the Brooklyn Bridge. I got over the bridge, stopped for traffic and felt my back tire. Flat. Really, really flat. Walked the bike to the nearest 4,5 train (the R wasn't running) and brought it back to R&A. "It's not the bike; it's you," the guy at R&A said. He changed his tune when the hole appeared on the side of the tube. "It's the bike; not you." Tire repaired and inflated, off I went.

The next day I rode to church in Brooklyn Heights. Got home. Flat. Flat flat flat. No time (or desire in the rain) to go back across the neighborhood to A&R, so Monday I rushed home from work, put the bike in the trunk of a car service and got there before it closed. There was a piece of glass in the tire. Now there isn't.

I think I need crustier tires. Something that can withstand NYC streets. I also need to find a good route from Wall Street to the Brooklyn Bridge. I was a hazard Friday evening. A hazard. But a thoughtful one. I was a thoughtful hazard.