On the Curse of the Oak Creek Trail

Miles ridden: 3.3 (Saturday, Sept. 12)

She: Do you want me to stay here and wait for you?

Me: No, I'm gonna be a coupla hours.  Go be with the dogs so they're not cooped up so long.

Thirty minutes later:

Me (on the phone): I think the plan needs to be that you ride to the trailhead, get the car, and drive to the closest road to where I'm at on the trail.

Sometimes we make mistakes.  The mistake you're about to read about has been one I've made several times for the past 3 weeks.  In this case, I'm clearly a slow learner.

Three weeks ago: Arrive at my bike in the foyer downstairs to find a flat font tire.  No warning.  No clue how.  Just flat.  "Fine," I thought.  "I replace the tube, but patch it later.  I want to ride now."

Two weeks ago: Riding the Jamaica North Trail heading south out of Lincoln. (I know--that's one confusing compass.)  Four miles down the trail the rear tire gets a puncture.  While preparing to repair, I discovered I had not brought my hand pump.  So much for a pre-ride checklist.  Christa is at work.  My in-laws, who would gladly come get me, are camping.  I pushed the bike 4 miles back home, getting more workout doing so than if I'd ridden the 30 miles I'd planned.

An aside here on the kindness of bicycling strangers.  It is rare when I am stranded on the trail (which you'll soon read, happens more and more lately) for a fellow rider to pass by without offering help. "I have a spare tube." "Do you need a phone?"  This gives me hope in the human race.

Last weekend, in the middle of a Labor Day holiday camping trip, I planned a 24 mile ride on the Oak Creek Trail, a crushed gravel path that will hopefully provide me with some relief from highway riding next year for the big trip.  Fate had other plans, however, and the curse of this post's title began.

Four and a half miles down the trail I encountered a fallen tree completely blocking the trail, other than a small opening around the side through which I could probably walk the bike.  Fine, I can do that.  But. . . I'd already discovered I'd neglected to apply sunscreen that day, AND I'd not remembered my driver's license and credit card  With those in hand, at least I could buy some sunblock at the next town.  So, what with the lack of access to money, no protection from skin cancer, and Mother Nature's violence impeding my path, I decided to bag it and turn around.  Nine miles ridden when I'd planned 24.

Yesterday I was going to attempt that trail again.  My usual pre-ride checklist went off without a hitch.  Plenty of water--check.  Brakes and drivetrain working well--check.  Tires pumped (remember this one)--check.

I arrived at the trailhead--same trailhead as last week.  Deja vu. The font tire was flat.  No warning, no clue how.  Just flat.  

Because I'm a well-prepared cyclist (tongue firmly planted in cheek here, since I'm about to illustrate that's not necessarily true), I pulled out my spare tube and my brand spanking new hand pump.  I just got the Lezyne Pocket Drive, a powerful little whippersnapper all of 140mm long.  

Yes, I tend to use metrics.  My GPs is set to kilometres.  Metric makes more sense and it's necessary for measuring things I care about, like race distances and bicycle parts.  Google can convert it for you.

With the flat fixed, I headed off down the trail to the tune of honking horns.  Honking horns?  Who is that honking so frantically? Wait, that honk sounds familiar.  I turn my head.  Hey!!!  That's Christa!!!!  WTF, she's supposed to be working until 2100.

Yes, I use military time.  It makes more sense and is necessary for things I care about, like taking oil spill reports at work and not confusing "a.m." with "p.m."  Google can convert it for you.

She'd been released early from work and, I assume, ridden frantically to the trailhead to meet me before I left.  She knew I was fixing YET ANOTHER FLAT, so she probably thought I needed comfort.  She was right, of course.

She: Do you want me to stay here and wait for you?

Silly question.  We thought.  Kisses dispensed with, I headed off to scout the Oak Creek Trail!  Well . . . you already know how that turned out.

The sad details are: 3.3 miles down the trail my rear tire punctured.  Count them now, that's 4 flats in the last 3 weeks.  Two of them today alone!  I'd never suffered 4 flats in an entire year before.  This is less than a month!

Without another spare tube, and with no desire to remove my rear wheel on the road, I called Christa.  (See, not always prepared.)

I think the Oak Creek Trail is currently cursed for me.  Now, remember, I'm a baseball fan.  I believe curses are real.  Boston's Curse of the Bambino.  Chicago's Billy Goat.  I aim to break this curse.

See, I like setting challenges for myself.  Finishing my first half marathon.  Writing a blog.  Riding 300 miles down the Cowboy Trail, kayaking for 5 hours, then turning around and riding it again. Just last month I set out to ride 200 miles in August.  Sometimes I achieve my goals (the half marathon); sometimes I don't (200 miles in August).  

I see these challenges as a commitment to myself; an agreement I make with me to try to do more, to stretch my conception of what's possible.  I'm going to finish that Oak Creek Trail, maybe today.

In the meantime, even as I'm stuck on the side of the road waiting for a ride, I still get to see views like this: