There's Always a Knack

A north wind was forecast, starting softly and increasing in force throughout the day.  Accordingly, I hopped on my bicycle and rode north, intending to get to Tickera by lunchtime and then ride the tailwind back home along the cliffs beside the sea.

I don't plan to dump anything.

Right off the bat I was in my favourite kind of riding: a congenial gravel road with minimal traffic; golden wheat fields tipping gently down to a bright blue sea; birds twittering in the bushes and hares lolloping off across the paddocks as I trundled past.  And snails of course - a million evil snails popping under my tyres.

One-of-a-kind fence post, encrusted with snails.

The wheat paddocks of the Wallaroo Plains had a pleasing geometry: the little gravel roads zig zaggged left and right and navigation was easy - turn right at the T intersection, turn left at the next T intersection, rinse and repeat all the way to Tickera. I passed old homesteads made of stone, nestled amongst sheds and silos.  Stubble stretched to the horizon, punctuated with round bales of hay and interspersed with wheat yet to be harvested.  I stopped for a snack and contemplated ripe heads of grain.

Contaminating a wheat crop: this is why these snails are evil.

Just after my snack I turned down another little gravel road and became aware that all was not right in my bicycle world.

I had a flat tyre.

No problem, I carried with me all the tools necessary to fix a flat tyre and get myself back on the road, and it wasn't like I hadn't done  this before.  I found a patch of shade and set up my workshop.  The lack of tracks on the road reassured me that I did not have to worry about traffic whilst workshopping.  I popped out my tyre levers and got to work.

I couldn't get the tyre off the rim.

I'll spare you the muttering and grumbling, the pushing and shoving, the quick searching of Youtube for answers.  I had a drink of water, a snack, and thought.  There's obviously a knack to this, and I haven't yet got the knack. What happens if I get the tyre off but can't get it on again?  That would not be a good thing.  I searched the tyre for clues as to what had made it flat.  Nothing.  The tyre was pristine: no thorns or errant sharp bits of snail shell to be found.

I pumped up my tyre.  No hiss of escaping air.

Well, I thought.  Wallaroo was 13km away by the most direct route.  What was the worst thing that would happen?  My tyre would go flat again and I would have to walk.  The most direct route being the most trafficked, it was more than possible that someone would take pity on my walking self and give me a lift.  In the absence of lifts 13km was entirely walkable, even pushing a bike.  So I pumped up the tyre a little bit more and off I went.

The road most trafficked.

I rode as fast as I could, on the premise that the faster I went the further I would get before the tyre went flat again.  The north wind lived up to its forecast and strengthened nicely, pushing me along.  Old stone farmhouses, wheat fields, etc, etc spooled past in reverse order. In no time at all the silos of Wallaroo were visible down in the bay.  

Nearly there.

I followed the road around the back of the salt lakes (the ones with sharks), 

and back to Cat Manor and paid my cat dues while my bike sat in the garage and the front tyre slowly went flat again.  Not that it mattered because I found the knack to getting the tyre off, patched the (very small, pesky) puncture, and would would have been back in the bicycling business except for the small matter of a snapped tyre lever and my subsequent inability to get the tyre back on.  Thankfully I had more tyre levers somewhere in a box so I could continue the learning curve once I a)found them and b)ground through my two days work. In the meantime I ordered a pair of thorn proof tubes, and because I wanted to be as puncture-free as possible I made sure that they would be filled with puncture-plugging goop.

And that was that for the day.