A few weeks ago, while we were picking out my new bike wheel at the local shop, dad pointed out that my snazzy new front wheel had a new tire that did not match my older tire on the rear wheel. "I am not a fashion maven to begin with," I assured him, "and certainly not concerned with such things when it comes to bike gear." (This has been evidenced most recently by my tendency to wear my new, warm brown, under-helmet knit cap with my black windbreaker while zipping around town. They both do their job, and so who cares if they match?) But today I realized there was another reason I should have taken him up on the offer to buy me a new rear tire: the one I had is worn out. Badly.
Too bad it took me three flat tires over the past three weeks to admit it. (What can I say, I'm stubborn.)
The final straw came this morning, as I heard the familiar pop and hiss en route to my monthly meeting with DC farmers' market directors. Luckily, I was only two blocks from my destination when it happened, and I locked a fully-rear-flattened Ollie to a pole and arrived only 5 minutes after the meeting started. Still, I was not a happy camper.
Within minutes of exiting the 2-hour meeting, I was covered in bike grease as I pulled off the rear wheel and felt around to discover yet another gash in the kevlar-belted tire. (I sure hope kevlar is more effective in combat wear than it is against the shrapnel lying around DC streets is all I can say....) So I patched Ollie up as best I could, shook my fist at the sky, and grumbled as I rode over to The Bike Rack to get a new rear tire.
The good folks at the shop handed me a matching tire -- well, it might as well match at this point -- and I bought a few spare tubes for good measure. As I suited Ollie up with her new tire earlier this evening, I realized that my steady ride hasn't had a new rear tire since... cousin Laith bought her a new one on our way through Austin. Okay, it was time. And now she's ready to roll for the winter: