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Things may or may not come in threes


This is thing four This is thing four

Things allegedly come in threes.

Saturday was the day for a road ride, because friends were visiting and the bike rider brought his new bike. It is a beautiful old italian bike to be fair, but it is newly refurbished and needed riding.

I fished out my own version of his bike for a lap of the lake. It is totally unique, it was built in Onehunga by a good friend. Unlike most road bikes, it features enough space in the frame to fit big tyres. It usually wears a pair of a type  my friend tracked down, very light and supple, and about 50% fatter than a racing bike normally has. This makes riding on New Zealand’s primitive coarse chip seal a pleasure, and sliding around on gravel enjoyable too.

The tubes in these tyres on that day were from Italy, a nation that can make the best and possibly the worst of nearly everything. They leak at a rate that means air must be added for every outing, sometimes they can be dead flat when the roadie comes down off the hook. They were. I banged in the 80 psi that is optimal for the tyres, and parked the gleaming machine in the sun so I could admire it while we had our third coffee. The rear tyre let go with a satisfying explosion before I had finished making the brew. While we extracted a tube from the saddle bag the front tyre also went pop. A comical little episode took place, in which both tubes were replaced with german ones. One of them must have been made on a Friday, because just as I put the last 3 psi into the rear one, it exploded with a spectacularly loud bang that caused several dozen birds to leave our property for good.

We checked, it was definitely a dodgy tube.

We used our last spare to sort that out, and headed out for our ride, stage one being a prologue directly to the bike store for five replacements.

The whole threes thing turns out to be a crock of meaningless hokum signifying nothing. We had a very nice ride with more coffee at the halfway point, and threw in a short section of potholed madness on the way home for seasoning. As we parked the bikes we noticed a nasty gash in the sidewall of the almost new rear tyre, probably inflicted by one of the potholes. Dang. That makes four.

C TB Chugs some of Atlanta's finest, before his fourth coffee, in the mistaken belief that it will make him go faster. C TB Chugs some of Atlanta's finest, before his fourth coffee, in the mistaken belief that it will make him go faster.




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