Hopped over to the shop today to change cranks: When replacing the accident-damaged parts, they installed 155mm cranks which were quite ridiculous - I'm 1.88m tall and ride 175mm on freewheels, and 165mm is the shortest I can go in the name of pedal strike. Shame, because they were pretty darn good (old Miche Pista) and the 44t ring was a change I rather liked. The new ones are some odd unbranded 42t+crank set, but it gets the job done and looks pretty.

While at the shop, I looked in awe as a pretty girl picked up her fixed-gear from repair: A frame exactly like mine (identical lugs, etc - probably the same Raleigh-built frame), powdercoated pink with white lugs, chain, seat and tape, and two short, thin pegs anodized pink on the rear hub.

Just as I got home, I got a lesson from my mother (an experienced triathlete and ironwoman) on quick tyre-changing in the field, ahead of my first triathlon this weekend. I then set out for my own ride and behold - I picked up a flat of my own. The municipality hasn't bothered with cleaning up the mess left by the holidays two weeks ago - barbequeing in the parks and all - but instead chose to cut the dry grass, adding tiny thorns to the existing mix of glass-shards and plastic debris strewn through bike-paths. I had troubles discerning what exactly was responsible for my puncture, since I had a thorn and two pieces of glass wedged in the tyre.

However, it was a swell opportunity to practice my newfound tyre-changing proficiency - pleasingly quick - and get back in time for an Italian restaurant.