I rode my new (old) fixed gear to the Oregon Country Fair last night. What a trip. In an attempt to get off of a busy shoulderless thoroughfare I took a back road that headed in my general direction. About two miles into a four mile stretch with no intersecting roads I felt that haunting rumble of airless rubber. Murphy’s law strikes again. I had brought all of my tools, but no spare tube. I walked my bike two miles down a country road with no shoulder or sidewalk through waist high itchy grass, found a target, bought a patch kit, and was back on the road an hour later. I made it to the fair with just enough light to find my campsite and set up my tent.

Not to be outdone, M. calls me after L&L this afternoon to tell me that she too had a flat tire. Hers was on a car, and hence a much less easily remedied situation. But hers is now fixed as well, and we all roll on.