I dropped the bike. Again. Coming out of the Women on Wheels meeting. Again. Turning right onto El Camino. Again. In front of a bunch of people who I really respect and want to think highly of me. Again.

And, again, the only thing hurt was my confidence -- at the time, not even my pride was really hurt. I could tell it was going down, it went down, I sighed and asked the three women behind me for help (which was unnecessary; they were already off their bikes and coming towards me). We got the bike back up and dusted off; the only real damage was that the screw holding the bar end on was bent into a 90-degree angle (I had to go buy new, longer, screws when I put the stock bar ends back on), and it was holding the throttle open. One of the women -- honestly, I don't know which one, since they were all wearing full faced helmets and hovering around me -- tugged on the bar end and got it straightened out so that I could ride it. They offered to follow me home, but I turned them down and said thanks and left. Honestly, I wasn't even that embarrassed. I knew that they'd all gone down, and in front of each other, and it wasn't a big deal at all. I knew it wouldn't even be mentioned again, outside of maybe a caring "so did you find anything scratched up?" or something equivalent.

The bar end felt weird on the way home, and I realized simultaneously that (a) I was going to have to replace the long screw, and (b) I'd brought the screws over to Peter's house. I was feeling kind of annoyed with myself by the time I got home, too -- I mean, christ, how many times am I going to drop that bike making the exact same turn from that exact same driveway? -- so I gave Peter a call, to come over and comfort me and maybe bring the screw over, too.

For reasons that I won't get into here, he couldn't. And by this time, the adrenaline was wearing off, and the frustration was growing. And I got really pissed. Pissed at the situation that I haven't deciphered yet -- the reason why I keep droppng the bike on that one particular turn. Pissed at Peter for not making any kind of effort to come over and give me a hug after I'd dropped my bike. Pissed at myself for calling my boyfriend immediately as if I were a 5-year-old little girl needing mommy to come kiss my boo-boo and make all better.

This is another one of those Stupid Moments like I talked about in that other entry about why being a girl sucks sometimes. I so want to be independent. I so want to swagger around on that bike and toss it around and be the coolest thing ever on two wheels. I'll go a million miles an hour and be the best rider ever, and if it falls, well, so be it -- crashed your bike? No big deal! Dropped it making a turn? Pfft, whatever. Cover your tracks. Take care of your own business.

My mother now tells me that perhaps she raised me to be too independent. ;)

The bike is independence. When I'm on the bike, I don't need anyone else. No one's there to shift for me, or brake, or swerve out of trouble. If I need to, I can stop whenever or wherever I please. If I get lost (which happens often -- I have horrible direction sense), it's just me. I can turn around or make more wrong turns, and there's no one else there to stress me out.

When I drop it, or have problems, I get very confused. It literally tears me up. Half of me gets into the manly swagger mode, where I get all "grr! me solve stupid problem! me re-tape up brake lever and re-apply black nail polish to scraped up bar end! me drink beer and examine bike with pocket flashlight in my driveway! me no need anyone! me fix bike all better!" and half of me gets into 5-year-old girl mode, where I'm all "maybe Peter can come over and he can give me a big hug and I can cry and be sad that I dropped my bike and he will hold me and make me feel better and cheer me up because that's what boyfriends do".

I realize that any normal person will tell me that both of these reactions are actually quite reasonable, but trust me, it's really quite annoying when they're both going on inside of you at the same time. Especially when you go out on a limb (for you) and ask for the latter, and don't get it, and then immediately fall back on the former. "I'd really like a big hug, and...what? Oh? You can't come over? Oh! Me go fix bike! Me no need stupid hug! Hug for babies! Me go fix bike use wrench grunt grunt!"

This is so lame. I haven't been able to do any decent rides in what seems like forever, and today my wrists were hurting again, and then I go and drop my bike on that stupid goddamn driveway for the third time. I don't know whether to cry or throttle a stuffed animal. Probably both.

This pissy entry has been brought to you by El Camino Real, 3/4 of a bottle of Heineken, and what is probably an overabundance of estrogen. Don't send me concerned "I hope you're OK!" emails, please. I am, and I'm just pissed off, and will be better after a good night's sleep. And a new bar end screw. Promise.