Deep in the pavilion of the clown

Saturday, glorious day, felt like summer had finally slipped in the door. It was to be the first ride this season where I headed out the door with no undershirt, no arm warmers, just the essentials.

Setting off with a small select group for a gentle roll over to Piha, then Karekare and Lone Kauri Road. We travelled easily, climbing up Forest Hill Road, then over to Piha, a light easterly wind made for pleasant traverse of Piha Road, and the day lent itself to it beautifully. It was to be The Croc's last outing over into that neck of the woods before he defects.

Coming over the hill into Piha, the sea and sky showed promise of summer, a deep blue, the waves were clear in definition, and the bush was verdant, hard not to be a happy man. Our descent was easy, and included a small stop to admire the view.

After we restarted I was number three in the line, and Wayne and The Croc were ahead of me, with a car towing a boat slowing our progress a fraction. This was to turn out to be a blessing. We descended comfortably, and I was thinking of the climb back up, and relishing the thought of rolling up it like we rolled up Forest Hill Road. As I entered a right hand corner there was a very loud bang, and suddenly my back wheel was lacking both comfort and traction. Leaning the bike over to get around the corner was now not an option, I started braking and looking for somewhere to run out and get off the road. Luckily there was a nice grassy verge, with no metal between it and the asphalt, and that was where I came to stop, upright. 

Serge, who was following was in pole position to watch my panic stop. The others heard the retort of the escaping air and had also slowed quickly.

The tyre was cut through the side wall, but worse, the wheel was buckled, so a bit of gentle force to straighten it enough to rotate through the chainstays was required, along with a boot in the side wall (I did decline Wayne's smutty patch offer) and a new tube, and then I was able to roll down to the cafe with the others.

There, the service vehicle was summonsed to collect me, the others had a quick coffee and set off on their homeward journey. I had another coffee, chewed the fat with a German surfer who was spending his winter here in New Zealand chasing waves and awaited the arrival of the extraction vehicle.

I was annoyed that I suffered the mechanical, and was unable to ride home, as I was having a day of good legs, but it was tempered by the fact that I stayed upright during an event that can often result in a brief introduction to the art of flight.

Suffice to say, I am now itching to repeat and complete the ride.

Now, something for someone who knows.