When I die there’ll be lots of terms that won’t be used to describe me: punctual; tidy; single-minded; well-prepared. Today, however, I attempted to challenge one of those absent qualities only to have my designs thwarted by my obituary writers.
I jumped at the chance to join my dare-doing friend on a cycle jaunt around the local countryside. For once, I had every eventuality covered - map, money, phone, tools, puncture kit, pump, spare inner tube, provisions - everything. Fate, however, bided its time, waiting until the furthest point of the trek, the very moment we turn towards home: my tyre explodes. Not a hiss. Not a slow puncture. Explodes. Nothing on the road. Nothing sharp. No. A perfectly flat, perfectly clear piece of tarmac. And bang, my wheel self-destructs.
My spare tube - valve too big for wheel rim aperture
My puncture kit - dried out and useless
The patch given by a friendly passing cyclist - too small for the rip
The offer of the helpful gardener - the same
As my heroic companion heads back for a car, I start the yomp home, smiling to myself as it starts to rain. ‘Well prepared’ - with the proviso that one can never cover every eventuality or indeed any eventuality if its One of Those Days.
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