Yesterday I wrote about how thoroughly I’d cleaned my wheelchair after the festival. What I hadn’t realised was how broken it was.
I went for a hospital appointment this morning and the constantly falling-off tyre and squeaky wheels made getting around on pavements almost as tricky as being at the festival in the mud. The chair was making a hideous and relentless high-pitched squeal like a wounded animal.
Leftwing Idiot was finding it so hard to push he suggested we made an emergency stop at a bike repair shop. The two mechanics who worked there were fantastic. They helped him take the bent wheels off to try and make them spin better. Leftwing Idiot burnt his hands on the nuts that had heated up from the friction of the damaged wheels. I couldn’t believe how hot they’d got.
It was lovely that the mechanics took time out of their day to help us. The chair ran a little more smoothly afterwards and meant we could get about for the rest of the day. I’ll have to get the wheels replaced tomorrow though.