Time and Anxiety

My dad took up road biking when he turned fifty-five. Five years later, I joined him on rides throughout San Francisco’s East Bay, up and down the Oakland Hills and the Berkeley Hills. I’ve always loved having a younger dad. (You can probably tell by all the stories I tell about him in my book.)

My dad is helpful, someone you can count on. He’s got enough patience to teach a newbie like me. Learning the ins and outs of road biking from him was a stress-free way to take up a new sport.

On long rides, you’ll eventually get a flat tire. My dad taught me how to fix it, including how to use the tools: a tire lever—a tiny plastic prybar used to free the tire from its rim, a CO2 cartridge to inflate the new tube without having to pump it (very convenient), and even a small strip of old tire to place between the tube and a tire puncture. So many tricks.

Looking back, I’ve probably fixed ten flat tires on the side of the road over the years—not quite enough times to be comfortable doing it. I’m about as comfortable changing a flat tire as you are reading about it here.

My dad and I soon began riding with our local riding club, Team Alameda. With a group of ten or fifteen riders, it was more fun. Until I got a flat.

The riding club was considerate and never left a rider behind. But this kindness caused me pain. When other riders got a flat, everyone would stop and wait. And in about three to five minutes, we’d be back on our way. Impressive.

My tire change clocks in at twenty to thirty minutes.

During our group rides, I maintained a baseline level of anxiety about getting a flat. When it happened, the anxiety turned to stress. One Sunday morning, at the end of a three-hour ride, my rear tire suddenly lost pressure just fifteen minutes from home. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. And to my rear tire, no less. Rear tires are harder to change because to remove the wheel, you have to fish it out from the chain.

I forgot to move the chain to the highest gear (outermost cog). I lost the wheel spring. I couldn’t get the tire off. I fumbled the tire lever. The CO2 cartridge slipped off the new tube, and gas went everywhere. I didn’t have a hand pump and had to borrow someone else’s. All the while, everyone watched me. Twenty long minutes passed.

Finally, I gave up and asked my dad to help me. I’m a grown man, so you’d think I’d be embarrassed. But I actually felt a calming relief. Dad finished the fix within two minutes.

Several years ago, Dad moved away, and I stopped biking with Team Alameda. I still bike. I love biking. But I bike alone. When I get a flat, I take my time fixing it, happy that I have no implied time goal to meet.

We can’t always escape the time pressure that others put on us—real or implied. But with time freedom, we have an opportunity to do things on our schedule. And it’s a less anxious, lower-stress way to live.

In writing this, I realized the next step I need to take. I plan to resume biking with my riding club. But as we head out, I’ll make it clear that should I get a flat, I want the rest of the group to go on ahead.

In Time Freedom, I promote a lifestyle of choice, flexibility, and ease. This is what ease looks like for me. I’m talking about low-grade anxiety here—the kind that hums in the background. I haven’t experienced intense anxiety and would never claim that time freedom is the antidote to panic attacks or anything similar. But for the everyday pressures we put on ourselves? Having time helps.