Having come into downtown from Westchester to finally make a long-delayed stop at Wabi Cycles (for some cable clamps my buddy Hap pointed me to that would fit 8-Ball’s top tube), I was in the homestretch having crossed Beaudry on 2nd Street for the last couple miles home.
Then out of nowhere the rear tire flatted. LOUDLY. It was so fast and so catastrophic there was no tell-tale “pssssssssh” of air escaping a tiny hole. Just a “BLAP!”and I was rolling on rim.
Dutifully I pulled off the road, turned 8-Ball wheels up and prepared to change out the damaged tube.
Then I saw the damage :
Whoa. With a side of WTF!?
The entire tire was slit wall to wall. It didn’t look like I ran over anything. It looked like the tire was attacked and assassinated. No way to repair that, it also looked like I was walking the rest of the way home. And I did.
Before I left I backtracked the scene of the crime, trying to find anything that might have inflicted such a fatal slicing… razor blade, machete, roadside explosive. Nothing.
Just an echoing kah-kah-kah ah-ah-ah in my mind.