in message <[email hidden]>, Arthur Clune
(') said:Somewhat mixed....
Out on the summer bike for hte first time this year. Nice, shiny,
shiny, speed speed. And the weather was warm enough for no overshoes,
hats, 6 layers of termals etc for the first time in ages.
I too took the 'summer bike' out. I also wore my new bibshorts for the
first time, which was nice. Quick ride into Castle Douglas (8 miles),
into the bike shop for a cup of tea, meet up with Andrew-the-lurker,
and head up to Glenlochar, across the river, and down the west bank to
Tongland and back across the river into Kirkcudbright. From
Kirkcudbright back up the old road via Whinnieliggate and Rhonehouse
into Castle Douglas for another cup of tea in the bike shop. About
twenty four miles.
All this pretty briskly. It's really nice riding the Dolan - at once
light, fast, lively and comfortable; and it's really nice riding with
someone who is basically a lot faster than you are, because it
encourages you to go faster than you otherwise would. There was a thin
mist just about on the point of turning to precipitation, but not thick
enough to make our clothing damp and not at all cold. It did mist up my
riding glasses, but otherwise no problem. We didn't see anything
spectacular, and nothing exciting happened, but it was a thoroughly
nice ride.
After blethering for half an hour in the bike shop I headed for home,
knowing guiltily that I was going to be later than I'd promised, and
struggling with tired legs to keep the average speed up. Down the Roman
road via Kelton Kirk and Gelston, and really feeling my legs leaden as
I came over the top at Kirkland of Gelston. And then the long,
straight, fast downhill to Potterland bridge, where...
Quoted message said:Then I snapped a spoke. Which wouldn't normally be a huge problem
except I was using a 22 spoke rear wheel (which of course snapped on
the drive side).
!!BANG!! Hisssssssssssss..........
OK, quick rewind, flashie backie. About ten days ago I had a visit from
the Scottish[1] fairy. And I had, as one does, put my spare tube in.
And I had, as one does, hung the old tube over the workstand at home,
meaning to patch it. And I had, as one does, dropped into the bike shop
and bought a new tube. And I had, as one does, left it on the dashboard
in the truck...
I'd thought about when I'd been getting ready to set out. I'd thought,
'I must remember to get that spare tube out of the truck'. But I
hadn't. And I'd remembered it when I was in the bike shop, and thought
'I should get another spare tube'. But I didn't have any cash on me, so
I didn't (although I'm sure they'd have put it on the slate for me).
So there I am at the roadside with a very flat tyre. Oh bugger, thinks
I, I'll have to patch it. So I pull the tube out of the tyre, and start
to pump air into it to locate the hole. And nothing happens. _Nothing_
happens. It hangs off the pump like a piece of weary ribbon, as dead as
an old shed snakeskin.
Ooops.
Ok, I work my way round the tyre with my fingers doing a visual
inspection, and in moments find a big V-shaped cut in the /inner/ side
of the tube.
Ooops.
Well, that looks probably too big to patch with the patches I have in my
repair kit, but we can at least have a go. Dig in the bag for the kit;
don't find it, turn everything out of the bag....
OK, quick rewind, flashie backie. About a week ago, a knock on the back
door, and it's a kid from up the street. He's had a puncture, could I
help him fix it? So I did. And somehow, I must have forgotten to return
the repair kit to the bag.
[censored].
So there I am, three miles from home, with a bike I can't ride and shoes
I can't walk in. Needless to say I feel a fool. Take off shoes and
start to push...
Quoted message said:Some lateral thinking later, I took the piece of
electrical tape marking the height of my seatpost and used that to
stap the broken spoke to the one next to it. Then I released the rear
brake totally and rode home slowly. It's amazing how huge a buckle you
get when 1/22nd of your spokes go! Still, nothing was actually rubbing
after I'd finished fettling.
... but this being rural Galloway, I hadn't gone quarter of a mile when a
car came past, stopped, and reversed back up to me. It was Billie the
Post, on his way home from work. Would I like a lift? Well, I said,
it's OK, I can walk... and five minutes later I was home, although it
was entirely out of his way. We have good people around here.
The tire is, needless to say, now fixed, but I still haven't found the
repair kit.
[1] Well, if the play you aren't allowed to name is the Scottish play...
--
[email hidden] (Simon Brooke) http://www.jasmine.org.uk/~simon/
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