Some guys just seem to have the worst luck. If there is gum on the sidewalk, it ends up on the sole of their shoe, pooping birds seem to be gunning for them, etc.
Jay, one of the members of the mountain bike club, was one of those guys. In the course of one summer, he had to ride two miles out to the trailhead on a tire I had stuffed full of grass (we finally ran out of patches, after his fourth flat), finished a ride on a handlebar I fixed by jamming a stick into the broken ends to splice it back together, and fell off a bluff after stopping to get a drink of water.
That time, I had to cut a new slot for the shoulder strap on his backpack, so that it could be reattached.
But, he always came back, the week after any of these misadventures. And, he always seemed to genuinely enjoy the ride, despite his tribulations.
I liked having him along, because it gave me a chance to solve problems: MacGyver practice, in a way.