For some reason that reminds me of the time I was patching a tube on the tow path of the C&O canal in Georgetown, D.C. in about 1982 or 83. I was on the south side of the canal, my Raleigh Professional lying in a sad looking heap at my side, and I was carefully scuffing the tube in preparation for glue. I noticed another cyclist on a racing bike approaching from the east, but he was on the north side of the canal, going like a bat out of hell, studiously ignoring me just as I was ignoring him. Concentrating on the task at hand, I was nonetheless conscious of a splooshy kind of sound as he went by. That made me turn my head! But he was gone. Wtf, thought i (the abbreviation was not yet current; I actually thought out all the words, what the duck?). I looked west, north, east... nobody. Then I noticed an arm, then a Bell Biker and a head, then shoulders, then a very wet dude, all emerging from the nutrient-rich canal waters. All but his left arm, which stayed in the water until he was otherwise on land again. Then, with visible effort, he pulled out his left arm, still attached to the handlebar of a snazzy looking bike. He hopped on the (wet ) saddle and off he went, still not making eye contact.

In retrospect, of all the flat tires I've patched, that one was the most fun.