Last night I went biking with my friends S. and B. S. is still sporting her DebbieWear (from Singles), which is what she calls official biking gear, such as padded shorts or special shoes. We are training for the MS-150.

I forgot to tell her my hybrid can be a bit testy. The chain often will leap off its sprockets for no apparent reason, and always at the bottom of a large hill. Last night it was 105 degrees (with the heat index, which I always count) in fair Kansas City, and by the time we made it to the bottom of the large hill in question, we were panting like overdressed poodles. B. had motored ahead of us and was nowhere to be seen when S. lost the chain. Not realizing what had happened, she continued to pedal until the chain was jammed deep within the innards of the bike.

I remembered this chain business and knew all I had to do was pull it out, but pulling out a bike chain covered in grease on a sweaty, 105-degree day is not easy business. As I was pulling, swearing, covering myself with grease, a kindly, young and shirtless stranger approached. "Do you need help?" he asked. Without looking up, I thought he was B. using a fake voice, so I actually just ignored him and kept working. Once I realized he was a kindly, young, shirtless stranger, though, I let him help. S. leaned forward. "I would get my fingers dirty, too, but I don't want to ruin my DebbieGear," she said.

Finally we got the chain out. The shirtless stranger departed. All I could wonder was whether or not he thought S's name was really Debbie, and if he thought she just walked around referring to herself (and her clothing) in the third person.