It was a very nice day so I decided to head north this morning and shoot for a century. A lot of other riders were of a similar mind, so I periodically saw quite a lot of carbon and bright kit on the road. About ten miles up the road I came across a guy fixing a flat on a beat up Viscount touring bike. I always follow cycling etiquette: stop and check to see if anyone needs an assist, a pump, a patch, or a tube. Minutes later he's back on the road and we part ways, him south and me heading north. A few hours later, another cyclist and his partner fixing a flat on a decidedly off topic carbon fibre rig. So I stop, check, and exchange pleasantries. I'd guess about ten minutes later, yet another flat, this time on a Cannondale something or other. We get the bike back on two wheels, this time we're both heading the same direction and we ride together for several miles until I reach a road turning back toward my hometown.
Back home I grab a bite to eat, fool around cleaning up my ride, and check the odo: 87 miles. Well, crap.
No worries, I figure the Freschi needs to taken out of the stable anyway, so I put the Boulder up and a while later head out for a thirteen mile or so ride to round out the full century. Up until this point the day has been sunshine, 70 degrees, gentle breeze. I zoom down a hill and notice that there are suddenly a bunch of clouds gathering. To the West it looks like rain and it's getting windy and kinda gloomy. No worries, because after all this is only a short ride. I get to my turnaround point about eight miles out. Woooooossssssssshhhhhhhhh. Really? A flat? (Yes, really.)
I reach for my frame pump and then realize it's still on the Boulder. And it wouldn't have done me much good anyway, because my patches and extra tube are in the bag on the Boulder too. I'm in a pretty lonely place. I ride this road a lot because it's a lonely road and I seldom see cars or other cyclists out here ever. I loosen the straps on my shoes, yank off my helmet. I'm disgusted with the situation and with myself and begin the trek back home, my cycling shoes clacking down the road. And it begins to rain. Just great.
"Hey, you need an assist?"
I never even heard the guy and his girlfriend come up behind me. (My cleats were obviously making too much noise.) He's riding a chrome fillet-brazed Schwinn Super Sport, but more importantly he has a tube and his girlfriend has a pump. They stick around to make sure I get off OK, we chat about bikes for a few minutes; he's intrigued by by chrome Freschi and I, of course, nosily check out the components on his Super Sport. As I mentioned before, it's raining — but no one seems to notice.
Just good karma, man.