There's a curse following me around the past week or so. Things that contain that which surrounds us everyday, in such a manner as to allow smooth locomotion, refuse to do so when in my possession or presence.
It started the day before we left for Bump-n-Grind. I got up that morning, and there was only about 10lbs of air in my truck's rear tire. That vehicle now being untrustworthy, Paul and I hijacked my poor wife, at 7:00am, to give us a ride to the agreed upon meeting spot for our trip. "I'll deal with it when I come home." I said. Fool.
All is going well in the race. I'm flying on the downhills! After all, as a clydesdale, my climbing is not so great, so I've gotta make up for it somewhere. I love these long, rocky, fast downhill stretches! I'd just gotten around some nervous, sketchy, panic braking, overcautious, skinny guy, when I felt the wind leave my sails, as my rear tire nearly rolled off the rim in a right hand switchback. Apparently, I'd punctured somewhere on my pass attempts. Fool.
Thursday's Joe's ride is going well, for the first half of the ride. But I forgot to eat something right before the ride. During the 2nd half, I'm just holding on. The hot summer air feels like a furnace in my lungs, and I can't go fast anymore. With the fast laps over, a few of us are cruising in at a nice, slow, cool down pace. Pfft. Pfft.Pfft. Pfft. Damn tubulars! I knew I should've been more proactive about selling them, and getting a replacement set of clinchers. Fool.
Friday, Marcus needs to go pick up his rental car, out by the airport. I agree to take an easy ride out there, and we'll drive the rental back. The road bike is still on blocks, so the 'cross bike comes out. I remember, as we roll out from Mark's, I have no more long valve tubes for my rear wheel. Oh well, I'm running Specilaized kevlar belted, puncture resistant tires. What are the odds? The key here is puncture resistant. Fool.
Sunday's mountain bike ride rolls around, and I'm just gassed. I don't really even want to ride, but it's Sunday, and I'm hoping that the ride will clear my angst. I grab my front wheel to put it on my bike, and imagine my lack of surprise to feel a flaccid 15lbs of air pressure. This tire has been losing no more than a couple of lbs. of pressure a week, ever since I first mounted it on the wheel! I pump it up to proper pressure, hope the Stan's sealant will reseal any slow leaks, and roll out. Fool.
That was it. I was cracked. I pumped the tire up again, and headed for home. 30 minutes in, and I was calling it quits. That's right. I quit a ride over a flat tire. Or was it 4 flat tires? Either way, I got home and my wife calls. She's surprised I'm home so early. I tell her my tale, and she sighs and says it's not over, yet. Apparently, she awoke to a flat tire on her car this morning, also.
No more stories now. I'm going to go out to my shop and try to contain some air.