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Pennslyvania Transcontinental Bike Trip

Tubes, Gum and Gettysburg

York, PA had been a nice place. Friendly natives, a clean motel, plus a convenient bike shop only three miles from our abode. And we had needed it. Poor Mike was on his third flat in as many days, and he badly needed two new tires.

“You guys really biking to California?” the bike owner asked after seeing our ID as he rung up the tires.

“Not necessarily, just as far as we can get in six weeks,” Mike responded.

“Well you won’t be having any more tire trouble.”

“That’s the way we’d like it.”

Less than a day later, halfway to Gettysburg, my phone rang.

“I just had another $#@%& flat,” Mike angrily yelled in the phone.

I’d been a mile ahead of him at the time, and made a U-turn to go back and help.

“What happened?”

“How am I supposed to know. The fourth, %&@$# flat in four days,” was his alliterative response.

Mike put another bottle of gunk in the tube as I stood helplessly by. He then tried to pump air into the it. It wouldn’t hold.

“That’s gotta mean it’s the valve-stem,” I offered from my experience.

“Okay, you’re the tube-changing expert, how about some help?”

Indeed, I had changed more tubes than I could count,

We were on a rural stretch of Pennsylvania US 30 where little seemed to have changed since the 1950’s. There were a few houses, widely separated, some converted into businesses.

“When you guys get done, I’ve got an air compressor if you need it,” the motorcycle repairman said. We were unknowingly encamped in front of his shop.

“Maybe a couple of canteens of water as well?.”

“Sure no problem.”

The tire was done, water bottles filled and we were back on the road.

“Hey, I gotta a problem with my seat,” I shouted to Mike as we pedaled alongside the noisy late afternoon traffic.

“What’s the deal?”

“Something’s catching when I try to stand up and pedal,”

“Stop, let me look.”

Then the news came.

“How’d you get gum on your seat?”

“Your shitting me?”

I could see the gummy splotch that covered the middle of my seat. Mike provided a commentary on what the back of my black bike shorts looked like.

“Oh Christ, I must’v put it on the seat when I had the trail mix.”

We spent 45 minutes at a nearby McDonalds putting ice on the gum and scrapping it off, one tiny piece after another. Finally the pants resembled their pre-gum condition, and we were back on the highway, more traffic, more noise, but at least everything seemed to work.

Pulling into the driveway of the Gettysburg motel we voiced a metric of our frustration.

“It’s taken us five whole hours to cover 30 miles.”

“Yeah, but we’re here.”

To be continued.

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The other Mike
The other Mike
13 years ago

So why did Mike have the 4th flat after being told you’ll have no more? On the gum topic, John, in the future, just stick it in your ear!