Get home from work at 7:20.
Usually I'd go down into the basement and workout on the eliptical or lift weights as usually its too late to hit a trail. After Sundays epic making me used to riding around vehicles, I decide to take a short road ride.
I've got a route thats 17 miles with good hills. Thats good hills for So. Md.
I put on the lycra (aren't I a sexy beast), and hit the road.
All goes well the first half of the journey.
The biggest hills are right before the half way point.
I go up them as quick as I can in the highest gear I can.
I'm not getting alot of distance tonight so I might as well push my limits.
3/4 of the way through my journey, the bikes starts to shimmy real bad and I hear/feel the back tire rubbing.
I means rubbing bad.
Upon inspection, 2, not just 1 but 2 of my spokes on the same side broke.
On a god damned road ride.
I'm not sure who to be pissed at.
Gary Fisher for these shit pieces of wheels they put on the 29", or my LBS, since this tire was a warranty replacement so "they" were the ones who laced it up.
I was able to tighten some, and loosen other spokes so it would spin without rubbing but it was still way outta wack. I rode home rest the way not going over 7 mph.
So, not only was I wearing the sissy looking lycra. I looked like an old man in lycra putting home at a snails pace.
Of course, that meant me driving home in the dark.
I didn't have the cell on me, so couldn't call the wife. She wasn't home when I left but I knew she'd see the bike gone and knew where I had gone.
I just knew she'd be worried sick.
She doesnt like the idea of me road riding. Your always hearing about cyclist getting killed.
I get home expecting the riot act outta her.
She didn't evan know I was gone. She thought I was in the basement puttering around.
I could've been lying in a ditch somewhere with lycra shoved up my ass while she bakes brownies and watches Nanny 911.