I grew up in Nevada, land of the quarter-inch, bring-your-wheel-to-the-ground-in-60-seconds thorns. I know what a flat is. Oh boy do I know. In fact, the first bike maintenance thing I ever learned (and one of the few I know at all) was how to fix a flat.
Of course, when I pulled out my bike to head home this evening, and heard the telltale sound of flimsy rubber scraping across the floor, I found myself a little taken aback, "What, a flat?"
I guess I shouldn't have ridden to work this morning with a low tire.
Maybe I should have taken the extra 5 minutes to fill it up to the proper pressure.
If I'd done that, who knows, maybe that spot when you enter Riverfront Park from Howard - that driveway dip in the sidewalk you have to cross to get in - maybe it wouldn't have hit against my rim as I went over it.
And, it's possible that I wouldn't have then spent half an hour walking my bike back home, and another hour patching the tube.
You know, theoretically.
At least it was a gorgeous night for a walk.
And, my bike really needed a bath too.
Hopefully my near future sees a new frame pump.
23 hours ago