Today I went through one patch kit, two tyre irons, and four tubes, all within the first sixty miles. Riding with Birdsong, Rob, and Loops, I barely made the first two miles before I ran through some glass and punctured the front tyre. I replaced the tube -- which had not come off the rim in so long, it adhered to the tyre and had to be peeled out! -- and that promptly blew out from dry-rot around the valve. Birdsong a.k.a. "Bat out of hell" tossed me his spare, and we were on our way. Just as we saw the sun peeking through the heavy fog at San Bruno Mountain, I pulled over at the head of the Sawyer Camp Trail with a flat on the rear, a nice snakebite puncture. I used two self-adhesive patches, and we were off again. At the other end of the Sawyer Camp Trail, I got a second snakebite when we turned towards Caņada Road and road over some steel plates. I stopped at the head of Caņada Road and a generous roadie not only gave me a tube and loaned me a floor pump, but then gave me a second tube, saying, "You may need it." He pointed out that the second snakebite no doubt came from an under-inflated tyre: "You can't get up to 110 PSI with that thing," indicating my Zefal HPx. I tootled along merrily and caught up the gang cooling their heels outside Robert's, and we sped down Whiskey Hill Road (a misnomer if ever there was one: no hill, and definitely no whiskey!) to the Stanford Campus. On the other side of Palo Alto, just before crossing the freeway, I got another puncture in the rear tyre, and pulled over to change it. And a mile later, a thumb-tack or push-pin or something went neatly through into that tube. I walked the remaining mile in to the office, showered and changed, and collected my thoughts.
As I have intended to put new tyres on the Reparto Corse, I caught a lift with Vikram over to the Freewheel and got me some new 700x23 serfas, all-black, as dictated by the new chic. And I made it home under my own steam, hurrah. I still ca'n't believe I broke two tyre irons, but, then again, they were nylon.