I admit it. . . if you want to feel hardcore (okay, maybe if you just want to feel like a really-and-for-true urban cyclist) you can't do much better than to stop at a bike shop in the Market between work and dance class (or wherever you're going in the evening), buy a tire for your bike, then head out of the shop, wheel around to the abandoned pub patio on the alley next to the shop, flip the bike over, and replace the tire.
Luckily, it was about 3 degrees out - so, plenty warm enough to be kneeling on brick, futzing around with cold grimy metal without gloves on - and there was a convenient little brick patio outside the Black Thorn, next to Pecco's Bike Shop, where I could work without getting in anyone's way. Popped off the wheel (I love those quick release wheels), peeled off the tire, replaced it, and dropped the old one next to a city garbage bin on my way to the noodle shop for dinner. Hells yeah, I felt like a denizen of the urban landscape.
It's the little things. I'm still going to have to take him in to the Bike Dump for a look at the wobbly crank shaft, very soon. But roadside repairs? Tick that off on my Cyclist Purity Test. (Not that there is one. But maybe there should be.)