We’re coming to it now, he said with a cosmic blend of emotions — excitement, lament, worry, stress, the weary desire for a nap, fear of returning to a schedule, the optimism of returning to a schedule, paralysis by analysis and others. I am excited for the new semester, which begins next week. But that means the summer is almost over, which is a sadness, but a real lament that that also means the actual, meteorological summer is almost over. And did I do enough with it? Probably not, because of the worry and stress of the upcoming semester and all the new classes.

Prep is a word I’ve used something like nine times here in the last month, and thought about constantly. I am doing new class preps seven, eight and nine this term. I have been here four terms so far. So there’s your worry and stress.

Which leads us right into the desire for a nap. That or my poor sleep habits. I am not a very good sleeper. And that’s also figuring into the summer laments. Worse, it is a very small concern when considering a proper schedule. But this is a low buzz rather than a blaring klaxon. My entire adult life I have lived in fear of the alarm clock: what if I miss it. As such, getting out the door each day is usually one of the day’s biggest challenges. So, in that way, I’m fortunate.

There’s also the fortune that comes with a return to a schedule. No more planning. Just doing. Which is great because I’ve been thinking about how one of these classes should work for … I dunno, seven eight months now. Paralysis by analysis.

And there’s this weird, irrational belief: when the semester starts, I’ll actually have more time to figure out all the unknowns. That seems like the desperate bargaining of a desperately bargaining mind, no? But, again. No more planning. Just doing.

Doing much more. Aye, there’s the rub.

Tomorrow we have a day-long faculty meeting.

Tuesday, when classes begin, we’ll actually be under contract.

Today, I went to a different kind of meeting. I’m on a county-wide committee, which of course is part of my “service to the community.” This is a traffic safety thing. On the way, I drove down Main Street.

No kidding, that’s the name of that road.

When I tell people it’s a lot like home, that is a road I drove down today.

Today’s meeting was about implementing some traffic improvement and traffic calming elements at historically dangerous spots. It’s all done based on data which acknowledges that funds and grants are finite, and not every street we have emotional, dangerous, encounters on are at the top of the list. It’s a round-and-round sort of argument. But the implementation here is one part structural, road engineering, and one part psychological, human engineering, which is how they came to invite me to the thing. I suppose they were running low on options.

But at one point, a fellow down at the other end of the table, a county higher up, said “Perhaps the gentleman from Rowan … ” and pointed at me.

So, you bet, this is service to the community, and it sits proudly on my vita. Which I need to update.

When I got home, having driven down that bustling main street once again, we went for a bike ride. It was a slight variation of my 25-mile time trial. And I had good legs today. Moving so fast was I that I did not see the driveway gravel that had leaked into a road. I hit it hard, knew it right away and thought If I still have air pressure in a quarter of a mile I’ll be OK.

I did not have air pressure in a quarter of a mile. But I was OK. So I stood in someone’s yard — not for the first time this year — replacing a tube. My sixth of the year. Or maybe my eighth.

So I did the whole thing, removed the wheel from the frame, pulled the tire of the wheel, slipped the tube out from the tire. I spent a long time running my fingers over the wheel and inside the tube, just to make sure nothing was inside there. Which seems silly since I knew it was a handful of stone just down the street.

I put the tire back on the wheel, and then tucked the tube inside the tire, then folded the other side of the tire inside the wheel. All that was left to do is inflate it.

I carry a handheld pump in my jersey pocket. It’ll inflate a tire about halfway, and give you an unanticipated arm workout at the same time. It’s fine enough in a pinch. If I can get it working it will put enough air in the tube to get you home, but the ride is basically over.

So last, month, I bought an electric pump. It fits neatly in your pocket. You put it on the valve, press one button and, supposedly it inflates the tube. It is said the thing holds a charge for months, and that you can basically inflate two tubes on one charge. I’ve been carrying it for weeks, almost forgot about it, but then realized, this is the perfect time to try it. If it doesn’t work, I can get home in just three miles using the old hand pump. I dug the electric one out of my pocket, put it on the valve, pressed the button and waited a second or so for it to come to life. Then it hummed, vibrated slightly, and filled the tire up right away

I am impressed.

I didn’t fill it to capacity, because I wanted to have some extra juice in the thing for later if necessary. Even still, it was vastly superior to the hand pump. Faster, and more air pressure, and it allowed me to continue the planned route, rather than limping home. I was only four miles behind my lovely bride, which meant the whole thing, from stopping to starting, took about 12 or 13 minutes. It would have taken much longer, and been more frustrating, if I’d only had the hand pump.

I stopped a bit later to put a bit more air in the tube. And it was then that I resolved to buy about a dozen more of these little pumps, have a bandolier made and wear them across my chest, like some old western warlord.

And now I will tell everyone who rides a bike about electric pumps. You can get the Cycplus for a lower price if you shop around. After one use, though, I am reasonably sold.

I never saw The Yankee again. She was too far ahead, and moving very fast, indeed. But I had a nice enough ride, even if I was standing still for too long to keep my legs warm.

Here’s a shot over my shoulder.

And a left-handed shadow selfie at 18 miles per hour.

But, for now, back to the school work.