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Lame

On Monday morning, I saddled up for my three- or four-day-a-week 13-mile morning jaunt around Conway. It was good and sloppy outside. I guess some rain had moved through earlier in the morning. It was 63 degrees and humid. It felt more like April than January, for damn sure.

No worries, you can’t skip a ride when it’s 63 in January. I noticed as I took off in the dark that my taillight seemed dim. Batteries must be running low, I thought. But good enough for one more 45-minute ride. When I put my taillight on in the morning, I always check on my saddle bag, all seemed well.

The wind was also whipping it up pretty good for this time of the morning. A good 13-mile-per-hour gusty type wind at 6:30 in the morning is not normal for these parts. (Neither is that 63 degrees, mind you).

Anyway, I couldn’t hear much but the wind blowing and my tires sloshing down the wet road. About halfway through my loop is a four-way stop. I rolled through the stop sign and hit a bump. I heard something hit the ground. I thought something had hopped out of my pocket. Which I also found odd, because the jersey I was sporting had fairly deep pockets and I had ridden over far more severe bumps.

I turned around and saw my bright-ass neon green Pedro’s tire levers sitting in the intersection. I wheeled back to pick them up wondering how in the hell they jumped out of my saddle bag. Then I noticed my saddle bag flapping in the wind. The zipper — which was still holding it closed at one point, but not at the other 99 percent of points — had malfunctioned. Everything but my spare tube was gone.

I never heard any of the metal objects hit the ground, probably because of the wind, but rescued my 99-cent tire levers.

A trip to Spokes and $69 got me a new bag with functional zipper and replaced all the tools that are laying in the road somewhere in the 13-mile loop to my house.