Tubeless

Not for a moment did anyone really think I was going to provide a reasoned discussion on the merits of squashy rubber versus messy white gunk did they? Well maybe I could, but only on a special interest forum.

No, my interest in tubeless represents an attempt for 365 days of non travel on the unsanitary nest of the tunnel rat. It fits the same physiological pattern as air travel in that I can only consider it, when every other travel fund has been bankrupted and, I am quite pissed.

Post the team Christmas drink and pre the two day hangover saw me perambulate drunkenly onto the Northern line but even when compared against paying twenty quid for a taxi fare or walking an hour in the rain, it was still undeniably shit. Having beery, impromptu carriage theatre and dodging pools of cooling vomit hardly improved the experience either.

That was about 270 days ago and it has acted as aversion therapy. This morning, the sane option was to spend forty five extra minutes in bed, shower, suit, drive to the station, train and TUBE. Because the office was not my destination, no I was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of two hours of rubbish marketing and worse coffee.

The chosen approach to a 9:30 start at the other end of town was, get up when it’s dark, battle a rain speckled headwind to the station and another one to the office before a super quick shower and suit up. Then a thirty minute walk accompanied by a feeling of rightousness.

I’m too northern to take a taxi when I can walk and too stubborn to take the tube when an alternative presents itself. My smugness at the many degrees of separation between me and corporate man has only been slightly muted by spending two hours last night swapping various bike parts around in a parody of progress.

At the end of the evening, I finished almost exactly where I’d started except for some broken shifting on the big bike. The reason being that many hours R&D at Specialized determined that you must dismantle the entire bike to gain access to the front mech. At which point, you’re hardly in a position to set it up properly, either physically or mentally.

Either I’m special or they are.

It’s me isn’t it?

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