See photo: No, this is not some springtime tableau. This is not a petit dejeuner au printemps. This is not jonquilles avec la bicyclette. This is not a picnic. This is not Dejeuner sur l'herbe. Nope. This is a flat tire. Five minutes after I had been on the road home, my rear tire went flat. No warning. One minute I was flying along, I had just navigated the Sinkhole, and the next minute the tire was dead-flat. I had a spare tube with me, but changing a bike tire is not pleasant. It usually takes me about 10 hours to change one and the effect it has on my thumbs is very unpleasant. Changing a bike tire requires super-human thumb strength. At the end of a tire changing session, my thumbs are usually black as coal and all the layers of skin except one have been rubbed off. So I walked the bike home.
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