Flat Out of Luck

Today was another rough day on the Green Belt, as in flat tire No. 2. And in the immortal words of one Thomas Magnum, I know what you're thinking. Jason, stop driving over nails! ... Well, it's not nails--it's Idaho brambles the size of tennis balls. Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but apparently, I haven't learned that those are common in these parts.

Last night when I was in Fred Meyers searching for a replacement tube, we'll call him Joe from sporting goods tried to give me some helpful hints about the best way to fix flat tire No. 1. He said, "I would use the goop [aka "Slime"] unless you went offroading and picked up a bunch of those huge briars." He added that last part like there was no way I would be stupid enough to do that on a road bike. Just as he was launching into something else, I mustered up enough humility and said, "Actually, that's what I did." He paused and said, "Oh ... well, good luck!"




In Georgia, briars don't stick to your tires. In fact, you hardly notice them. Here, they're like small satellites orbiting the weeds. So, today my front tire went flat after I got to work for flat No. 2. I'm looking into some steel-belted radials for my road bike.