I could post pictures like this everyday for several months before needing more material...
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
If you've ridden with Eric, you've seen this face...
"How did I flat again?! I had 60 PSI in my tires!!!"
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| If you see this face, you're probably going to spend the next 15 minutes changing a tube... |
Eric's reign of terror on bike parts is not limited to tires and tubes...
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| Just as one holds a dog's nose to its fresh hallway poop, Brad holds the seized pedal in front of Eric's best sh*t eating grin. |
The pinnacle of flat-dom
Today began with an amazing 55 degrees and beautiful skies.
Soon, Brad and Shawn appeared outside my front door eager to ride on this most perfect of days. And, after several additional stops, we had accrued a small group of racers ready to make the most of a gorgeous day--Eric included. It was barely past noon, and we were ready to spend our remaining 6 hours of sunlight outside.
After about an hour of riding through pristine country roads, we somehow ended up on highway 60. The overbearing sound of traffic replaced the quiet of the country and oily semis raced beside us. As our group quickly pedaled through the cluttered shoulder, Eric sidled up beside me and informed me that he had prepared for the ride by pumping his tires up to an unprecedented 80 PSI (to Eric, a pressure so inconceivably high that his rim is at a risk of spontaneously exploding).While Eric continued explaining why pinch flats would cease to plague him, dark clouds gathered on the horizon. Brad and I exchanged knowing looks--Eric had certainly taken his temptation of the flat-gods too far.
Peter, having sensed the sudden change in our ride's atmosphere, decided to excuse himself from the ride, just as the much wiser Shawn had done an hour before. Our carousing group of five had disintegrated into Brad, Eric and myself.
An hour later, our trio entered the secret training grounds. This road begins as a county highway, turns into a narrow farm road, and finally becomes a dirt road. And by dirt, I mean rocks.
After making a sharp downhill left, we flew onto the gravel section at about 30 mph. The second we hit the gravel, our chains started to slap and rocks started to ricochet. Our eyes were bouncing in our skulls as we tried to focus enough to see the enormous rocks in our path. I looked over at Eric. His normal expression of childish glee had been replaced with his "i dun bad" face. Uh oh.
I looked across to his front wheel, which had apparently instantly flatted.
Suddenly, ten dogs surrounded us. Another pack came flying down the road barking at us. Behind them all, an older woman was screaming curses at the dogs. Between dissonant screams of "SHUT THE HELL UP," she tells us that the dogs won't bite. There's a patch of fur on the ground. One of the dogs has a month-old roadkill carcass in its mouth.
We didn't stop. We continued down the road and across a creek until we couldn't hear the barking of the 20 dogs.
Eric then says, "I double flatted."
Eric was busy changing the rear tire, while I was working on the front tire. Brad was beside both of us berating Eric and being generally annoyed. When I finished pumping Eric's tire up to the highest pressure I could, Brad inspected my job. Immediately he let out an indignant yell and turned the wheel to show us where Eric's sidewall was peeling off of the bead. Excellent.
We could hear the dogs coming, so we let the pressure out of Eric's soon-to-blow front tire and threw the wheels back on Eric's bike. We slowly rode back up the hill; Eric was especially careful not to blow his front tire--now at 20 PSI.
Wait, what am I saying? He wasn't careful at all!
Eric rode this 2 hours back to Springfield.
Eventually we made it to a bike shop and Eric bought himself a brand new hybrid commuter tire with a reflective sidewall and "offroad" tread.
Soon, Brad and Shawn appeared outside my front door eager to ride on this most perfect of days. And, after several additional stops, we had accrued a small group of racers ready to make the most of a gorgeous day--Eric included. It was barely past noon, and we were ready to spend our remaining 6 hours of sunlight outside.
After about an hour of riding through pristine country roads, we somehow ended up on highway 60. The overbearing sound of traffic replaced the quiet of the country and oily semis raced beside us. As our group quickly pedaled through the cluttered shoulder, Eric sidled up beside me and informed me that he had prepared for the ride by pumping his tires up to an unprecedented 80 PSI (to Eric, a pressure so inconceivably high that his rim is at a risk of spontaneously exploding).While Eric continued explaining why pinch flats would cease to plague him, dark clouds gathered on the horizon. Brad and I exchanged knowing looks--Eric had certainly taken his temptation of the flat-gods too far.
Peter, having sensed the sudden change in our ride's atmosphere, decided to excuse himself from the ride, just as the much wiser Shawn had done an hour before. Our carousing group of five had disintegrated into Brad, Eric and myself.
An hour later, our trio entered the secret training grounds. This road begins as a county highway, turns into a narrow farm road, and finally becomes a dirt road. And by dirt, I mean rocks.
After making a sharp downhill left, we flew onto the gravel section at about 30 mph. The second we hit the gravel, our chains started to slap and rocks started to ricochet. Our eyes were bouncing in our skulls as we tried to focus enough to see the enormous rocks in our path. I looked over at Eric. His normal expression of childish glee had been replaced with his "i dun bad" face. Uh oh.
I looked across to his front wheel, which had apparently instantly flatted.
Suddenly, ten dogs surrounded us. Another pack came flying down the road barking at us. Behind them all, an older woman was screaming curses at the dogs. Between dissonant screams of "SHUT THE HELL UP," she tells us that the dogs won't bite. There's a patch of fur on the ground. One of the dogs has a month-old roadkill carcass in its mouth.
We didn't stop. We continued down the road and across a creek until we couldn't hear the barking of the 20 dogs.
Eric then says, "I double flatted."
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| You guys got any more tubes? |
We could hear the dogs coming, so we let the pressure out of Eric's soon-to-blow front tire and threw the wheels back on Eric's bike. We slowly rode back up the hill; Eric was especially careful not to blow his front tire--now at 20 PSI.
Wait, what am I saying? He wasn't careful at all!
Eric rode this 2 hours back to Springfield.
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| Valve open, of course |
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| Got some big ones today! |
Friday, February 17, 2012
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