The Sunday ride went well, up until right before the big climb at the dam. Only five minutes off last week, and I had plenty of energy to launch an attack. Until a clanking noise coming from my back wheel interrupted my plans. I had caught a sharp piece of wire. Dang! Ten miles from the car with minimal (that is, non-redundant) tube changing materials.
My saddle pack has a tube, patches, tire irons, hex wrenches, and a CO2 cartridge. It also has a boot (for the uninitiated, a 3 inch section of old tire). I went ten years of carrying a boot without needing one, until last year when a companion needed it. When I have my Camelbak, that carries another tube and a frame-pump.
I walked over to a building with a curb, made myself at home, pulled out the glasses from my jersey pocket, and leisurely changed the tube, first locating the hole. The new tube and boot was inserted, and I said a short prayer that the CO2 would work properly. The last time I tried one, I blew up the device, scaring the bejabbers out of me in the process. My new one is two years old and has never been tested, but is a much simpler design. It worked well enough. Apparently when I pierced the seal, it wasn't a clean hole, and the CO2 came out very slowly.
I'm guessing the tire was up to 80 lbs, maybe only 70, but enough to roll without damage to the it. I used the brakes on the (usually) 30+mph hill, holding it to 18mph, and came around any corners slowly and without leaning, trying not to roll the tire off the rim.
The ten additional minutes (plus the 15 for tube changing) and conservative riding allowed for a long recovery, thus I spent no time cooling down when finally arriving at the car.
Once home and showered I watched Andy and Alberto do a track stand in the Pyrenees.
Moose, who has been whining at being left home, is placated. I'll be wearing my Camelbak, with additional water capacity and tube changing paraphernalia on future rides.
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