I’ve always taken great pride in my parents’ referring to me as their “fearless child” and, it’s true, I find a sadistic satisfaction from living up to this moniker.

There’s not much I won’t try and, having once escaped from a machete-wielding rebel group in the Congo, it’s pretty safe to say I don’t spook too easily.

There is, however, one thing that completely terrifies me. The very idea of doing it makes me more nervous than a porcupine about to give birth.

I am petrified to mountain bike alone.

It’s not the fear of falling trust me, I do that quite a lot. It’s the idea of being miles from civilization having absolutely no clue how to fix one of the seeming 27,000 things that can go wrong with my beloved candy-apple red Kona. Every time I so much as lend thought to the idea of going for a ride alone, somehow the vision ends with my decomposing remains being gnawed on by a pack of rabid wolves as my jammed derailleur passively looks on.

Yes, I know you can learn how to fix stuff, but all those components and wires intimidate the heck out of me. As such, my general rule of thumb has always been to just ride with people who already know more than I and play up the damsel-in-distress role.

But, it turns out, that doesn’t always work either — a lesson I recently learned the hard way, in a very humbling manner (being towed up the Rail Trail, by a friend using tied-together shoelaces and a stick, as kids with training wheels rang their bells and announced they were passing on the left).

This incident was the catalyst for a frantic call to my friend and bike mechanic Chris Peters, who owns Endurance Cycle Service, a local repair shop. I told him I was coming in, and to get the two-wheeled trauma bay ready.

Now, I can think of two people in the world no one wants to hear these words from: “Wow. I’ve never seen anything like that before! How on earth did that happen?” Your doctor and your bike mechanic. So when Chris said those exact words as I showed him my bike, I immediately wished for bike-care reform to be next on the president’s agenda. This was going to be expensive.

After several minutes of what I can only describe as exploratory and complicated surgery, Chris managed to pry my chain loose from its current position of practically being wrapped around the handlebars and, aside from its bright-red frame, my bike resembled nothing of its former self.

His diagnosis of my main problem sounded to me like some type of Navajo code mixed with Mandarin gibberish. I requested a dumbed-down English translation. “You have a nine-speed bike and this new chain you had put on last week is for an eight-speed bike. It’s like running a marathon in size 7 shoes when your feet are a size 10,” Chris told me.

So while I was a bit relieved I could blame the boys over at another shop for this ordeal, I can’t help but wonder if I could have somehow prevented this by just knowing something about basic bike mechanics.

Chris confirmed this by telling me: “Your bike is pretty filthy. Keeping a clean bike is a good start to a well-maintained bike. Your old chain probably wouldn’t have needed to be replaced to begin with if all this dirt wasn’t caked in your gears.”

Well, that’s pretty basic.

I asked him for some other quick pointers and in about 30 minutes he’d shown me a number of cool little tricks I can do to fix the most common problems.

I left his shop with a newfound confidence that, yes, I can probably go for a solo ride and live to tell about it. He also informed me Park City is not known to have packs of wolves roaming the mountains, so I should be OK on that front as well.

Chris teaches bike-repair classes for all levels at his shop located at 1950 Woodbine Way near the Recycle Center. For more information, visit www.endurancecycleservice.com.

Amy Roberts is the public relations director for Park City Medical Center. In a former life she worked in TV news, both as a reporter and sports anchor. In her spare time, Amy can be found skiing, mountain biking, hiking, running, and playing soccer.