October 14, 2013

• The Aborted Bike Ride

  So my brother, David, and I were out on a ride. As we passed Brownsville road, heading east on 304, we built speed to try for a record on the segment from there to the short bridge just before Doc's (that's the restaurant in the building where the old beer joint used to be, down by the wharf, for you who don't live here any more). He led out, picking up some serious speed on the first downhill, and as the road bent upwards, I began to push into the pain zone, knowing that if I passed him and didn't let up, he'd up his effort to catch up on the next flat. We topped the hill, still getting the job done, over 20 mph., headed down the next hill in a big gear picking up speed and it began to look as if we might beat our best time yet, until out from a field on the side of the road, about 300 yards ahead, a huge, yellow, New Holland combine harvester. Ugh!!! We sat up and soft pedaled, our record run ruined. While we followed the huge machine, we made a new plan. We'd ride up into town and take 213 north to Island Creek road to try and get a good time on the segment from there back in to Spaniard's Neck road. Me, "Ok, we'll take it easy on the way out, so we have something left on the way back." David, "Sounds good." That worked 'til the first downhill, 25 mph, then we soft pedaled the uphill and flat. Of course, then came the downhill and all pretension of neutrality was out the window. 23,24,25,26,27,28,29 clink, squeal, huh? I sat up, and listened...not my bike. "Hey David, slow down...easy." Sounded like something was caught between his brake and his rim. We came to a stop. The noise continued. That could only mean one thing. David flatted at almost 30 mph while his front wheel was almost touching my rear wheel, and we both lived to tell the story. We would not be getting any new spots on the STRAVA leaderboard, though, and it would be a long, very slow ride home. At least we have a good new story to tell.

  • 10:15 pm
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