Grit

In flowing with the coming change of seasons, I tried to get out for what was to be my first road ride in and around Dane County on the Soma.

I was hoping for a two hour spin, very easy pace. Just to get the legs moving again after a weekend of hard efforts at the Missouri races.

Fail.

A brand new set of Michelin's fell victim to the piles and piles of sharp, jagged rocks that cover the roads of the county.

And I flatted.

I felt the rear wheel getting sloppy. "No. No. No. Not today."

I had left town at 5:00 after work. It was presently a quarter to six, I was 10 miles out, and it was 30 degrees. Sunny. But still 30 degrees.

I knew I was in a spot. I had a spare tube. I also had a frame pump. But the flat had happened on my rear wheel--a deep section rim--and the tube I had featured a short valve stem.

Doable--but inflating such a tube on a deep section rim can be a pain in the comfort of your own home. On the side of a country road, with frozen fingers and a grime covered frame pump, it is a damn nightmare.

I stood there for probably 15 minutes trying repeatedly to get the pump to catch on the valve stem. No such luck. I swore and tried again. I failed. I looked over my shoulder at the nearest farmhouse.

Good folks in this part of the world. I have called on them for help in the past. I will in the future.

I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. A kind woman brought me in from the cold. I asked her if she had a floor pump. She said she didn't, but her husband would fire up the air compressor for me.

I smiled.

The compressor, unless I was going to be very, very lucky that day, would probably have only a schrader valve attachment. I'd need the smaller, performance oriented presta valve. I didn't have an adaptor.

"Thanks, ma'am. I don't know if it'll work or not...but we can give it a shot."

We walked through the snow to a shed at the back of her house. Her husband sat there, boots up to his thighs, in front of a fire with a cat on his lap.

She asked about the compressor.

"Oh sure! I'll fire it up."

I walked over with my wheel and showed him the valve, hoping that maybe he'd have an adapter.

No such luck.

My mind flashed back to the short valve stem. To my ineffectual frame pump. To my cell phone. To Katie. To Ben. To Freddy.

Would anyone be home? Could someone come to get me?

It was cold and I had an hour of light left. Walking wasn't an option in my Sidi's.

It was ride or nothing.

"Can I sit on your porch for awhile? I think I can get it eventually."

"Sure. Would you like some water or anything?"

"No ma'am. I'm good."

Another ten minutes of swearing and rubbing my hands raw came and went. Desperation set in. I found sadness. I found worry. I found rage.

Rage at my own stupidity. For leaving the house with equipment I knew wasn't right. Counting on the fact that I wouldn't get a flat

Yet here I was.

"Motherfucker. If you'll just work one more time for me, I'll retire you and put you out of your misery."

Nothing. The tire would inflate to about 20 pounds and as soon as I tried to flip the lever to lock the pump onto the valve stem, it would deflate and pop out again.

I dug deep. I put a death grip on the head of the pump and held it in place over the valve stem. I pumped hard with my right hand. It gave up on the lever. I held it in place.

40 pounds. 50 pounds. 60 pounds.

It was working.

At about 80 pounds, I couldn't hold it in place and operate the pump anymore.

I gave the tire a squeeze between my thumb and forefinger.

I gave the front tire a squeeze for comparison.

I thought it would work. I'd just have to avoid rocks and hard bumps.

45 minutes of daylight left.

"Ma'am?"

I called into the door of the house.

"I think I've got it fixed."

She came out to inspect it. "Feels kind of low to me."

"That it is."

"You trust it?"

"Well enough I suppose. I have a cell phone too. If needs be, I can always call someone."

"Well good luck! We love the cyclists that come through here."

"Thanks. Thanks for everything. I hope to see you and your husband around when I ride through next."

I walked to the street, knocked the ice out of my cleats, and pedalled on home with karma back on my side.

Monday, 3/10/2008

1 x 75' @ Recovery Pace, HR < 140