Lumala bikes are bitch when their chains come off. The chain is covered by a tough steel cover and not a bit of it is visible on the outside. So how does one go about fixing it when one is stuck in the middle of a dry zone desert with the nearest bicycle winkle (or repair shop) kilometres away? I will now provide you with an answer to this searing question.
One must proceed to curse loudly at the retarded design concept of the Lumala bike makers and their utter incapacity at perceiving situations where complicated bike repairing tools will be unavailable to riders at all places and times of the day. Then one will proceed to try and prise open the cover near the back when with a swiss army knife in the vain hope that this will magically render the whole cover lose, in the face of all evidence to the contrary.
One you manage to prise the back flap off. you will realize that this has nothing to do with the front part of the cover and is an entity completely homogenous to it. You will then again take a few moments to curse the designers and then you will proceed to shake the front cover violently in a fit of anger (you will secretly hope that no visible damage is caused that you will have to pay for later).
You will then, in a bout of illusory desperation, mount the accursed machine and pedal away in the hope that the chain will automatically come back on. Once this fails and once you narrowly avoid falling in the dust face first, you will be forced to look at the only alternative that has been glaring at you for all this time with bulbous eyes. The same alternative that you have been trying to avoid looking at; walking.
You will put on heroic airs and, with a long-suffering look indicative of staunch inner strength and indefatigable stamina, you will proceed to walk across fields rent asunder by a fierce noonday sun. You will push your two-wheeled chariot though potholes the size of foot deep elephant footprints and you will take a moment to revel in the glory of adventurous hardship. You will begin a long trek across rough country and after long hours will finally reach the first signs of civilization; a helpful police checkpoint.
They will weigh your plight and sympathize with you, they will look at you with some regard in their eyes and will speak in tones of respect deserving of two presumed city boys who have cast aside their perceived weakness in order to prove to the world that they are made of tough stuff; having crossed the most barren landscapes known to man on this side of the Indian Ocean on foot and having lived to tell the tale.
They will inquire at your problem and upon being told that your chain has come loose, they will come to investigate. Then they will miraculously pop the front part of that abominable flap as if it was a biscuit tin and solve all your problems in a second. Amidst your utter bafflement they will then proceed to try and maintain straight faces while you avoid their eyes and start wishing for a convenient hole to temporarily swallow you up to save you from the demon of embarrassment.
You will have learnt a valuable lesson on the power of information. And preparation. You will come home better men as a result of your hard wrestle with trying forces of nature. On an unrelated note, you will also remember to carry sunblock the next time.