Flat me!

Ongoing repair work in Upper Manhattan extends past the 181st Street IRT station to the handball courts in Fort Washington Park, near 158th St:

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Twice in a week on the ride downtown, my friend has run into these giant metal flat-causing objects: the first one, the bobby-pin shaped thing, actually did not itself puncture the tube: the pictured object had run itself into one of the rubber studs on the tire and out again, without puncturing anything airtight. A similar one had gone in at a deeper angle, passed through the tube and out again, and left two holes. I only found the pictured one while inspecting the tire after patching the flat.

Today’s evil coil of wire had such a latent desire to come along on our journey, it had managed to lodge one end of itself into the tire and through the tube. I could hear the other end flapping against the bottom of the luggage rack as she rode along. A hundred meters later, she halted, and I held it the coil in place while deflating the tube, then popped the bead off the rim and saw it projecting a half-inch through the tire and into the tube.

While I glued on the patch, she went to investigate: apparently as the workmen resurfacing the handball court scrape the cyclone-fence door open and shut, the metal pieces break off and stay in the pathway, waiting to ambush passing cyclists using the Hudson River Greenway.

Maybe slick tires are the answer, because the detritus seems to stick between the studs and work itself into the tube. Any thoughts?
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Next stop, the glue factory

Today I sent ol’ Number Four, my exasperating mountain bike, off to the scrap yard to be turned into plowshares or musical instruments or whatever. I was hoping it would get there today but my friend who was taking it there wanted the tires for himself, so it will be even more stripped when it finally hits the scrap heap.

I only paid $40 for it, and it was already having problems with the bottom bracket (where the pedals are attached to the frame), so I didn’t have high expectations to start with. It got me around the secret city from June through September, and then two days before the fixed-wing came in the mail from Brooklyn, the bottom bracket finally loosened for good and I couldn’t pedal it any further. It was the fourth bike I’ve owned for myself, after the black Jamis Durango ATB, the ten-speed I bought to commute with (and that is now on its fourth frame and third drive train, but the handlebar grips are the same), and the Basso Ti-frame racing bike that’s sitting in storage. Four is supposed to be an unlucky number, right?

After the problem with the bottom bracket put it out to pasture, I donated the brakes to Cindy and the pedals to Wilner, which is why it is missing those things in the picture.

Thanks for everything, number four! Best of luck in your new incarnation!