Blow out

Last ride of 2007, and a bizarrely annoying way to end a bizarre year. Five laps of Richmond Park in low-heart-rate mode are brought to an end with the familiar weaving from the front wheel which indicates a slow puncture.

As I unwind the quick-release (with a silent prayer of thanks to Tullio Campagnolo and his frozen fingers on the Croce d'Aune) I reflect that I've done pretty well for punctures this year -- this is the first time I've had to take the Aksiums off since fitting them back in the Spring.

It will be a matter of moments to strip off the tyre, remove the offending tube, check for flints, half-fit the tyre, pull out a new tube, attach the shiny C02 canister and inflate just a little for installation.

Nothing. Not a single squirt. The CO2 canister that I have faithfully carried in my jersey for a year is, perhaps not surprisingly, completely empty.

After five minutes cursing everything imaginable, including my own stupidity -- I stand in the road clutching a wheel and looking hopeful for passing cyclists. This is Richmond Park, so I don't have to wait long. The first to stop, from London Dynamo, is apologetic -- he only has a single CO2 canister but offers, if I'm still stuck next time he comes round, to give it to me.

Another rider leaves me his mini-pump, with instructions to hide it behind a road sign so he can pick it up later.

In the next five minutes, I'm asked at least ten times whether I'm OK, or need any assistance -- a reassuring reminder that solidarity and comradeship among cyclists is not dead. Or perhaps I just look particularly hopeless.

My training plans go out of the window as I'm forced to time-trial the rest of the park and the South Circular in order to get home in time.

Time to reflect on the slightly worn state of the GP3000's and consider their replacement. I've heard bad reports of the new GP4000; so pretty soon I'm on-line, ordering a set of Vittoria Pave's.

And a mini-pump.

Happy New Year