The nature of fortune

I got a flat tire this morning as I was biking The Boy to school. We were halfway there, and I was foolishly traveling without tools or a spare, so there was nothing to do but walk the remaining two miles. On the way, I found a shiny penny heads up. Maybe that's a fair trade, I thought - flat tire for lucky penny. And who was it, I thought some more, that got me started thinking only heads-up pennies are lucky - a notion that irked me for a while, (I wouldn't want to pick up an unlucky penny, but I certainly don't want to spit in the face of good fortune by leaving a penny on the ground,) until I came up with the perfect solution: whenever I see a penny face down, I flip it over so Lincoln can see the sky, thereby passinng the good luck to the next passer-by - a good karmic kick either way, I think.

Then I started mulling over the fact that while I dismiss belief in god as quaint, I cling to silly superstitions that allow me to believe serendipity belies a certain order in the universe.

These mental meanderings brought me about half as far again to our final destination, but the rest of the way was uphill, and the suspicion that I would not be able to buy a replacement tube to get home because I had left my wallet back at the house began creeping into my consciousness. (I would mention here that on top of everything it was raining, but this is Portland, so you know that already.)

It was at this point, as I waited at a corner for the light to change, that a man traveling by bike on the street I was about to cross stopped and asked if I would like him to fix my flat.

!

I demurred, of course, because someone dumb enough to be biking without a spare is also too stupid to accept such a gracious offer. I started to babble something about the bike shop at the top of the hill when he said, "So, do you want me to fix your flat or not?"

That would be great!" I said, coming to my senses. He got off his bike and handed me a tire iron, which I fumbled with (apparently I had not come to my senses completely) until he took them back and used them himself to replace in no time at all my flaccid tube with a brand new one he had in his pack.

You can call it luck, but I prefer to call it Portland.