The Gods are messing with us.

It was last weekend that my friend Paul and I went out for a little 75 mile ride.  It was a good day, a cool and cloudy April day but one that didn't put too much pressure on either of us.  It did provide a contrast in the type of riding we do. We both have a "smell the road kill" approach to the sport.  In other words we are slow.  Not that we have to be, but neither of us are in a hurry.  On the other hand he likes to log his rides with RUSA and I think he is secretly building up to make a late-in-life run on Paris-Brest-Paris.  He has these things down to a science, how many stops to make, when to eat, what to eat and most importantly average speed (which can be rather slow to meet RUSA standards).  His cockpit looks, well like this:

if they make it, he's got it.   Me, on the other hand, I haven't really even accepted the newfangled notion of indexed shifting; I've heard of it, don't really believe in it.  I thought the addition of  interrupter levers was cluttery and confusing, but I'm trying to get over it.

We rode together through the idyllic Amish countryside, carriages were all out for Sunday, en masse at some places, others just a couple families together for dinner.  The children were out in several places, playing basketball in the drive, yes just like everywhere else.

While we were riding we had a little rain come up.  Fortunately Paul was well prepared, he had his rain suit, I  did not.  He stopped twice to put on one piece or another, I was really glad he did because, just as he predicted, the rain stopped within minutes of his donning the plastic.  I was really fortunate that he was prepared.  But all the unscheduled stops put him behind and, for the first time, I saw him really try to move out.  He left me in the dust as he shifted up, rode the wind north and struggled to get to the next checkpoint on time.  I was riding kind of slow, stopped to try and a get photo of some wild turkeys, but the big lunkey birds were too quick for me.  I noticed I was struggling a little going up a hill and thought I must be more tired than I thought.  Then it happened.  My rear tire went flat; it was the first flat in 16 months!  I'm allergic to flats, I break out in embarrassing obscenities.  I don't try to save time, I wait to get over it and calm down.  What could have happened to cause such an affliction?  I remembered, as I left Subway at lunch, I glanced at my bike and thought, the only problem with full fenders is that you don't pay enough attention to the rear tire.  That's it, I did it.  Bad Ju-Ju, very bad Ju-Ju, one must not think of such things.