Flat

I was ready. I was set. It wasn't a race, but I wanted to fly. My bike was staged in the first wave of riders, the sun was finally coming up, and all my gear was ready. The MC sang Hawaii Pono'i. In no time at all, the gun would blast and we'd ride off towards the 50 mile turnaround in Kaaawa. I lifted my right leg over the seat and got ready hop on. Instinctively I pinched both tires one last time to make sure everything was ready to go. The front one was hard as a rock. The back one was flat. Again?!

It all started a week before. I was doing a training ride up on the North Shore on Farrington Highway, simply riding laps back and forth between Dillingham Ranch and Ka'ena Point. I love this route because the ocean is right in your face, and I can never get enough of the smell of the salty air.

When you've been riding bikes for a long time, you just know when your tire is low on air. You don't have to see it or touch it. You just feel it. Your bike slows just a touch, and you find yourself working just a little too hard to reach maximum speed. At first you deny it, blame it on the wind or tired legs, but eventually you stop, unclip, and feel your tire. Sure enough, it's got a leak.

It happened on the last lap that day. The wind was on my back but I was lagging. The back tire was halfway empty.

Four days later, with a brand new tube in place, I took my bike back to the same place to train some more. After parking my car and getting all my gear ready, I was just about to hop on when I noticed that my new back tire was once again flat. After a few choice words, I took out my spare tube and changed it once again, briefly checking for any sharp objects that might still be in place. This time, I figured, there was no way it would go flat.

Sure enough, the tire held up for the entire ride and for the rest of the week. I checked it every day to make sure it would be good to go on Saturday for the Honolulu Century Ride. I would bring along two extra tubes, but I figured I'd already paid my dues with two flats that week. There was no way it could go flat again.

But four days later, there I was, minutes from taking off for the century ride, with that same back tire flat once again. I was so upset I went numb. There wasn't even time to feel mad. This time I had to scramble. I ran my bike off to the side of the staging area, replaced the tube in about three minutes, and had it filled up and ready to go. I ran back to the staging area with my bike just as the last riders in my group were leaving. I was still a little flustered, but I was on my way. I couldn't figure out why that back tire kept going flat, but I figured there was no way that this bad luck could continue now that I was on my way.

The ride itself was a breeze. I felt pretty strong throughout. By the time I reached the 50 mile turnaround, I was confident that the second half wouldn't be too strenuous. I've had rides where the quads burn so bad that it takes every ounce of will just to pedal one more time, but this wasn't going to be one of those. It was a smooth ride.

At eighty miles out, though, I had that feeling again. That feeling where something was just a little bit off. At first I figured that my legs were beginning to give way. After all, 80 miles was the most I had ever gone before. Maybe I'd reached my limit. But in the back of my mind I knew exactly what was going on. It was happening yet again. I stopped, got off, and felt that back tire. Flat. Again. This time, I was so close. I pulled out a C02 cartridge, inflated the tire, and kept going. Faster than ever now, because I wanted to get to the finish line before the tire went flat again.

The rest of the ride flew by. I felt great the whole way. But I was still puzzled and frustrated by that back tire. It was something I just couldn't escape. By now I had gone through four tubes and four C02 cartridges just because of this reoccurring problem. How much unluckier could I get? But I guess it didn't matter. I crossed the finish line, threw my hobbling bike aside, and drank some cold water in the shade.

I was relieved and proud to have finished 100 miles. But I was also pissed off. Pissed that I had to change my back tire four times. That I had double, triple, quadruple checked the tire before the race only to find it flat just before the gun went off. That it went flat again just before the home stretch.

When I got home I decided to get to the bottom of it. I took the whole tire off and scanned the inside of it for any lingering sharp objects that may have been flattening each new tube. I found nothing but a few tiny nicks in the rubber. Flabbergasted, I felt one tiny bump one more time. I scratched it with my thumb. Out popped a tiny piece of glass.

It was just slightly bigger than a grain of sand. You'd have to squint to actually see it. But it was still sharp enough to pop a tube, and that's exactly what it did. Four times.

Cruising up Farrington Highway, you always encounter plenty of glass from shattered windshields and littered beer bottles. You try to avoid the larger pieces, but inevitably you'll ride over something. You just hope that your tire rolls over it at the right angle and it doesn't pierce your tube. I rolled over the wrong piece of glass. It was shaped perfectly to break through the skin of the tire and make a home in the inner rubber. It was small enough to hide in there and escape the naked eye each time I put in a new tube. It was sharp enough to break each tube as soon as any weight was placed on it.

I sat there and rolled the tiny piece of glass around with my fingers. It's crazy how much inconvenience that tiny shard of glass had caused. Staring at it, I hoped that something like this would never happen again.

But the truth is that this kind of stuff happens all the time. If you don't take care of unresolved problems from your past, they will continuously sabotage the present. No matter how many times you try to move forward, those same issues will come back and do the same harm. So stop and take a closer look at your tire. Pull out that tiny piece of glass. Let it go. And then ride on.