I am skidding out of control down a short, steep grade.Somehow my chain has jumped the cog and has very securely wedged itself so tightly that the wheel has locked up. This is not good on a fixed gear bike.
The skid was so long and the friction so great that a six inch gash burned through the rubber exposing the inner tube. You know the smell.
I was pretty amazed that I ended upright without a drop of blood being spilled on the back roads of Kitsap County.
We were at mile 45 of a 60 miler.
Without tools the wedged chain was going nowhere, forcing a similar circumstance with my wheels, and hence my forward progress.
I told the guys to finish the ride, get the car and call me for my location. I was going to walk.
Reluctantly they agreed and sped off leaving me up that asphalt creek without a paddle.
I walked about a mile in my socks trying to avoid the small rocks and wondering if someone, anyone, might see an imbecile in cycling garb, WALKING and think he might need assistance, but no one stopped.
I made it to the gas station and bought a cup of coffee and an egg salad sandwich. How all that chicken got in my egg sandwich is a question that I will ponder after I figure out which one came first.
Had I have known about the chicken I would have bought an IPA and some jojos to complete the picnic fare.
The fleet is fading fast. The RV has a dead battery. The Honda quit with an electrical problem that has not responded to a jump or a charge, Little Miss Mirthy snapped a derailleur cable Friday, and now Trixie is in ER with the chain malfunction detailed above.
Truck still runs.
We may be skidding - but under control.
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