I didn't notice a bump, or pothole, or rock... just one moment I was tooling along, the next, the front tire was making sshhhhSHHHHsshhhh noises. Uh, oh fender-rub, no problem, just kick it once per side, and the problem will go away. Nope. Got worse.

I don't want to eat through a tire, so I pull over to a patch of grass on the side of the road (rare in the city... and free of dog poo, even rarer!), and flip the bike over, like a kid with a Huffy. A close and critical look reveals that the wheel is out of round... instead of a circle, it's a really subtle oval. Just enough to mess with my fender mount at the fork bridge.

Out comes the tool kit. Got it at Bennie's Hardware for seven bux. Within is a tire gauge, tire levers, three allen wrenches, dog-bone wrench and spoke wrench. I'm messing with the spoke wrench, trying to look for loose spokes, and I look up, and there's an audience. Little old lady leers at me, and says, "Mr. Fixit! Got a flat?"

I explain to her what I'm trying to do, and then she notes that the tire is rubbing on the fender. Yes, I know, thank you. I go back to fiddling with spoke tension, and look up, and the audience has grown. College girl on a pristine old Columbia with new running gear, in a short skirt and tall boots.
"I've got a patch kit and a pump," she says. I do, too, but the tire isn't flat, the wheel is out of round and rubbing on the fender, I reply.
"Mr. Fixit!" says the old lady grinning.
"Oh. Can you get it back into shape?" says the college girl as a friend rolls up. Skinny jeans and boots that aren't as tall, but have high heels.
"What's wrong? I've got a spare tube in my purse..." She's on a hybrid with 700c wheels, I've got 26x2.1 tires, but it's a nice gesture.
"Not a flat, fender trouble," says her friend.
"Mr. Fixit!"

I can't figure out how to true the wheel, after dark, with an audience. Instead I take off the fender with the dogbone wrench, reconnect the brake, and make sure it rolls well enough to make it home. The girls offer advice on how to carry the fender home, but after I flip the bike back over, I pop open the grocery pannier and bungie cord the fender to the rack so it doesn't bounce out of the pannier.

"That's cool! Where'd you get that fold-out bag?"
"Where'd you learn to work on bikes?"
"The girls like a Mr. Fixit!" says the old lady, and then there's an awkward silence that breaks the spell. The girls ride on, the old lady catches her bus, and I ride home.