The official high temperature at DFW Airport yesterday was 107º, and it's about the same today. This morning, tempting fate, I went out for a 65-mile training ride. I parked my car at Mansfield Timberview High School and headed for the town of Maypearl. From there, I would wind my way back on country roads to the point of origin.
Four miles after leaving my car, I felt two puffs of air on my right ankle. The wind was blowing, but that wasn't it. I looked at my rear tire and saw that it was low. Oh well, flats are part of cycling, so I stopped the bike and commenced to replace the tube. Unfortunately for me, the new tube that I've been carrying in my bike bag for several months wouldn't hold air. I couldn't even find the hole in the tube. That meant patching the old tube, which I promptly did.
When I put the patched tube into the tire and began to inflate it, I noticed a hole in the tire. The tube was starting to come through the hole. That's what happened, then. As I was riding, the tube came through the tire hole and popped. The puff of air I felt had come from the tire, as it rotated. I immediately deflated the tube and took it out. To keep the tube from popping again, I put a patch on the inside of the tire, over the hole. It held air and, 30 minutes after stopping, I was on my way. Just to show the kind of risk-taker I am, I could have ridden back four miles and replaced the tire with a new tire that I carry in my car. I chose to risk it.
I should mention that, while I was working on the bike at the side of the road, two cyclists stopped to ask whether I needed assistance. Both of them offered to give me tubes. One said that he was carrying three tubes. I declined. I hate to impose on people, and I was confident that I could get the bike running on my own.
All went well for the next couple of hours. I made my way to Maypearl, at the southernmost point of my course, and headed east on Highway 66. When I turned left, on Oak Branch Road, I was on new ground. The road looked fine on the Google Map yesterday and I had made notes on a stick-on pad for the turns I was to make.
Bad luck struck when I came to a fork in the road. There were no road signs. If I went left, I would go down a hill on a narrow road; if I went right, I would stay on a larger road. I went left, figuring that if it was the wrong turn, I'd eventually make it to where I wanted to be. (It was the wrong turn.)
I flew down the hill. But the pavement ended and, to my horror, gravel commenced. Rough gravel, formed into hard waves. It was all I could do to keep the bike upright. I got through it okay, but then I felt the telltale sign of a flat tire—the same tire I had patched.
I was in the middle of nowhere. I didn't know which road I was on, so I couldn't have called for assistance even if I had my cellphone with me. By now, the sun was beating down with a vengeance, and I was sweating profusely. There was nothing to do except inspect the tire and try to get it inflated. I sat in the shade of a small tree, in the grass, and took the tube out. To my surprise, the second flat had nothing to do with the first. The bumps in the road had caused a snakebite puncture. I patched the tube, replaced it, and tried to inflate it. It wouldn't hold air. I took it out and tried again with a different patch. No luck. At that point I knew I had to start walking, so I put everything together and set out for Midlothian, which was several miles away. The plan was to call Katherine to come get me.
I should mention that, while I was working on my bike the second time, a woman in a van pulled up to ask whether I needed help. I'm stubborn, so I thanked her and declined, explaining that I hadn't given up yet on getting the bike running. She offered to let me use her cellphone, but I declined.
After 2.3 miles of walking my bike, during which time I sipped the remainder of my hot water, a middle-aged couple in an SUV pulled up to ask whether I needed help. By this time, with no possibility of getting the bike running, I was willing to accept assistance. I explained my predicament and got into the back of the SUV with my bike. This friendly couple drove me all the way to my car, about 20 miles from where they picked me up. I thanked them profusely for their kind help and drove home.
Crazy morning, eh? I ended up with 35.84 miles instead of the 65 I hoped for. My average speed was 15.71 miles per hour. As for the heat, it took a toll. I weighed five pounds less at the end of the ride than I did at the beginning. Needless to say, I'm rehydrating.
In retrospect, I should have ridden back to my car early on and replaced the tire. Then again, the first patch job worked fine. I simply had the bad luck to (1) have a defective tube and (2) have two flats on one ride. As for my accepting assistance, this doesn't show that I'm unprincipled. It shows that my principle is not absolute. My principle is something like this: Be self-sufficient for as long as you can, accepting help only as a last resort. I did that today.
Addendum: The National Weather Service changed Friday's high temperature from 107º to 105º. The high for Saturday—when I rode my bike—was 101º.
