This morning I had an unfortunate fairy visitation.
A beer bottle had been smashed in the road near home and although I went over the glass yesterday I thought I'd got away with it. Apparently not. I got that squidgy tyre feeling in west Ealing.
I pulled over and commenced work. A middle-aged guy got chatting with me and ended up attempting to overtake the repair. Dunno why this always happens to me but the 'damsel in distress' response seems to be triggered by my presence.
It was all very well-meaning so I let it go. What did rankle though was his insistence on telling me how dangerous cycling is. Over and over and over and over. He just would not let it go.
As I took the tyre off, as I found the hole, as I prepared the site, as I applied the patch, as I squidged the inner tube back into the tyre, as I put the tyre back on, as I pumped it all back up.
I know cycling's not for everyone but it's not like I'm firing myself out of a cannon to work every morning. Sheesh.
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