All dressed up with somewhere to go. There I was with my 'don't shoot me tires'...really, please don't shoot my tires! Been there, done that, don't have a pump.
What did I say about should? That pump that should have been in my commuter bag was not. And my options are now this: don't ride. Not. Strap a floor pump onto my camelbak and head out to the trail. Pause for mental image. Perhaps Not. Make like I'm 10 and just go. Done.
What do I always say...never camp, bike, or boat alone. Well, I'll be sitting here waiting another year if I wait for that! What could go wrong, really? It's a holiday weekend, there are tons of people on the trail. If I need help I'll just ask.
I've got the tube, tire levers, tools....I can change the tire I just need to stop someone for a pump. Or use my pen casing to blow the air into the tube directly. I've seen it whisk patients away from a flat line on TeeVee, surely it can revive a simple flat.
Turns out none of that stuff made it in my pack. Oops. I had a pen and a knife. I could either carve petroglyphs in the pine trees depicting the saga of my ill fated trek...or Specialized as the bike may be (should something happen) or I could take notes for my blog, on my arm.
OR perform a tracheotomy, should the occasion arise...maybe in exchange for a pump?
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