’Twas a fine day for a bike ride.
I hitched a ride down to Hastings with some friends who were heading down to C. P. Adams Park for a round of disc golf.
I watched them play a few holes. In the process, I learned a lot about this finely nuanced sport, and got some insights into the makeup of the disc golf playing demographic as well – fodder, indeed, for another post.
12 noon, 43 degrees, probably wasn’t going to get much warmer, so, off I went.
I marveled at the crisp, cold Fall air. The leaves swirling around.
The not-too-unsatisfactory conversation with a security guard at the Ashland refinery.
The pit bull that chased me for half a mile at full bore. (Kind of funny, that! Who knew those buggers could run at 18 mph??)
And last but not least, the construction staple that up and decided to puncture my rear tube.
Pity I didn’t have a spare tube. Or a patch kit.
But! I did have, secreted away in my bike frame, a small roll of emergency duct tape.
And it was upon that which I rode the last 12 miles home, even though most people on the internet seemed to be saying that it couldn’t possibly work.
Duct tape. It is not to be underestimated!
UPDATE: I decided to see how far the duct tape would take me. Answer: about 40 miles. That’s good information! After this experience, though, I don’t think I’ll leave home without a patch kit ever again.