Rant 1 Murphy sucks donkey balls
So last week I traveled to my office in Pleasanton and took my road bike with me, intending to ride after work. I always carry a spare tube; tire levers, inflator, spare tire (folding), and a multi-tool. If the ride is going to 25 miles or more I will take a camelback with another spare tube, and a spare C02 cartridge. If the ride is going to be 40 miles plus, all of the above plus frame pump, and a patch kit. This level of prep as allowed me to pretty much keep Mr. Murphy at bay. I usually only get one flat every 500 miles or so.
So last week intending to ride just 20 miles or so I had just the stuff in my seat pack. Camelback was at home, water was supplied by 2 water bottles.
I set out, I am having a great day. My average speed is running just under 16 MPH (Not bad when you account for stop lights) When pedaling I am running at 19-21 MPH. (this is real good for me) The weather is perfect, temp just right, all is right with the world.
Then 6 miles in I hit a small rock with my front tire. As the tire come around I can see the high pressure air escaping. As I slow down, I would swear that the sound of escaping air sounded just like a giggle. Strange, but that is what I would swear it sounded like.
So I stop get up on the sidewalk and strip my front tire off. The wind through the trees is making a sound like light laughter. Anyway I find no defect in the outer casing, so I open my trusty seat bag to get the repair items I always carry.
Tube-check
Tire tool-check
inflator-Where the fuck is my inflator? Then I remember my last ride. I moved it from my seat bag to my camelback so I could stuff a power bar in my seat bag. :smack:
Now the sound of the cars on the freeway is a perfect mimic of someone laughing their ass off. That someone is that asshole Murphy.
This dickhead is always standing right behind me saying things like “Go ahead, it will be OK, I got your back.” Sure you do asshole, you are just waiting until I am at bumfuck Egypt, and then you will drop me like a bad habit. Just so I am truly fucked.
For the dear reader, allow me to describe just how fucked I was.
I am six fucking miles from my office
I am three and one half miles from the nearest bike shop
I have clipless pedals on my bike, which means
I have rigid soled biking shoes with cleats on the bottom (the kind that don’t walk well)
My bike has Presta tubes, which is French for you can’t fill these fuckers at a gas station.
So I start walking. Three and 1/2 fucking miles in full biking gear including shoes. With Murphy walking right behind me, laughing his ass off. Yeah I had a great ride that day.
That guy Murphy and his law, what a couple of motherfuckers.
Rant 2 where Rick loses his riding partner
Ever since I started riding 8 years ago, I have ridden with Kevin. Kevin brought me along from a guy who just bought a mountain bike to a guy who loves to ride. A lot of this credit (blame) for this goes to Kevin. Kevin was the guy who got me to buy a road bike, and we did a 7-day tour together. Best vacation ever.
During our rides we would discuss all sorts of things. The election, what was wrong with our company, and how to fix it, all sorts of things. Hell we solved all of the worlds problems during long mountain bike climbs. On some of the really long climbs we may have solved them all, and then started over to make sure we got it right the last time.
Kevin has always been very good about pointing out things that were very obvious, like “there is some glass there” as I rode through it. He didn’t point out the glass before I got to it mind you, but while I was in the middle of it. This got to the point that I started calling him Captain Obvious.
So anywhere from 4 times a week, to once every couple of weeks Capt. Obvious and I would saddle up and ride. Sometimes road, sometimes mountain, it was all good.
Anyway Kevin has always had a dream of running a restaurant. I have been pretty sure that he would find a place somewhere around So Cal and we would still ride. Alas this is not to be, He made an offer on what sounds like a great place in San Antonio, Texas. Half a damn continent away. He leaves on Sunday, and I don’t think he will have time for one last ride before then. 
We have already made plans to ride the Hotter than Hell 100 ride next year, but who will I ride with next week?
Damit this sucks worse than walking 3 1/2 miles in bike shoes.
