Not the Best Ride

I need to start listening to that little voice in my head. A couple of weeks ago the lil voice said, "Hey, you need to get another derailleur hanger for the Voodoo." Fast forward an hour and SNAP! the hanger is busted.

On my way out the door for a ride on my cross bike yesterday I thought, "You should stop by the shop and pick up a spare tube and some more CO2." I knew my spare tube featured an iffy patch job and I'd recently blown through the last of my cheater bike pump CO2. Without it you're doomed to spend eternity inflating a tire (ok, I exaggerate, but it is damned inconvenient).......

The plan was to drive to Moffitt Lake and ride west, eventually looping around Badger Creek State Park. I have never been to Badger, so I was looking forward to seeing what was out there.

I didn't get that far.


View Larger Map

The first unpleasantry came in the form of two aggressive little dogs. Bishon Frisbees I think. Rocketing little masses of yapping curly white fur, I do not like them Sam I am.



After out sprinting the furious cotton balls I intersected the main east/west gravel road. Right away there's a medium-sized climb and near the top I see a pickup is pulled over to the side of the road.

When I pass the truck I find two portly shirtless ole' boys 'bout to go fishin'; gettin' their poles and tackle out. It doesn't seem to bother them that there's no pond in sight. I startle one-a-them-fellas and he spouts, "What in tarnation are you doin' all the way out here?!"

Yes, he said tarnation. I made him repeat it.

When my wonderment wore off I replied, "Just out for a bike ride....Whadda you guys doin' fishin' on the road?"

They roared with laughter. I thought, after the fact, maybe I shouldn't be a smartass to a guy who uses the word tarnation.



A few miles down the road I hit an unseen pothole on the downside of a rollercoaster hill and felt that too familiar rim bottoming out feeling. Hmm, that didn't seem good...and it wasn't. The climb up the next hill revealed the dreaded flat tire.

Curse you, Little Voice, for always being right.

I searched my pack for patches but had none; so the shoddy, ghetto, half patch crap tube would have to do. Oh, and I'll have to pump it for a half an hour with my crappy 1993 mini pump. To make matters worse, I was menaced by a large (is there any other kind?) Yellow Jacket while fixing the flat. It wanted to sting me. I could tell.

The tire wouldn't fully inflate no matter how much I mini pumped, so I abandoned the Badger Creek plan and turned back. The approaching rain clouds also encouraged retreat. I stood on the peddles most of the way back so I wouldn't have to feel that sickly low tire feeling as much. Still, I had to stop several times to reinflate.

Arriving back at the Road Fisherman's truck, there was no sight of them, I guess they found their pond....Then it occurs to me, I have an important choice to make - take the shortcut and face the Flying Mopsters or go another 1.5 miles around. I know I can't sprint very well with a flat rear tire...

Aw....screw it.

I stop and give my tire a shot of air and a little pep talk. "C'mon old girl. I'm gonna need you to stay inflated just a little while longer. I think we can make it, if you just hang in there."

Resolved to my fate, I turn down the road. I think, "Man, wouldn't it be great if those little @#$%ers were in the house? I mean, they're house dogs right?"

YAP, YAP, YAP, YAP!

Perfect.

Just like last time they take good attack angles, running along side instead of straight at you. I think they've done this before. I guess those 5 practices a week and off-season conditioning drills are all paying off right now.

YAP, YAP, YAP, YAP!

Little @#$ers. "No!" and "Bad Dog!" does nothing to deter them, one on each side of me now. I ask my rear tire for a little more, she just squishes side to side. I'm worried about rolling the tire off the rim, so I let up. I concentrate instead on resisting the urge to boot the little yappers, but neither one has taken a nip at me or dove at the wheels - yet. Then we roll through a swampy spot in the road. The Mops suddenly abandon the chase, it seems the precious furballs don't like getting wet.

Oh yes, next time, Fuzzy Little F%$^&ers, I will surely crush you (or at least squirt you in the yaptrap with my water bottle).



Once to the pavement, and past the frizzy onslaught, I stop to pump up the tire for (hopefully)the last time. I put a couple of shots of air in and suddenly...HISSSSSSSS, ALL the air runs out at once.

Oh, COME ON.

My morale is flat as the tire but I carefully reattach the pump and try to resurrect it. To my surprise it actually does reinflate. I don't know what that was about, maybe the tube was just trying to getting back at me for putting it through the Mop Dog's Gauntlet.

From there I make it the rest of the way back to the car without incident. The tire seems to hold air better when its not being jostled around on gravel or in a sprint for its life.

Yeah, it was not the best ride.....but to me it was better than no ride(and that says it all doesn't it?)