In an otherwise nondescript weekend–almost no tours, tests, parties, interviews, meetings, events or obligations–death reigned supreme, and by that I mean the Death Machine was my prime mode of transport. Although as I noted yesterday, in the one appointment I did have, I was also killed off myself, albeit temporarily.
The Death Machine got its name from being like a near-death experience with every ride, particularly because it takes some time to learn how to properly balance to ride the recumbent.
But the bicycle has also been notoriously fickle, breaking down at the most inopportune times.
A couple of years ago, it’s tire burst and send me skidding along the road, causing a fracture in my legs and requiring months of plastic surgery treatment on my knee.
Last weekend, the recumbent was performed brilliantly until just a couple of kilometers from home and nearing the end of a long ride, the pivotal front tire suddenly went flat.
I repaired the tire and headed off, only for the rear wheel to burst and let out the ominous fizzing sound or air blasting out of a tire and the smooth ride along the road becoming bumpy.
But the Death Machine performed in a deadly fashion this weekend, with nothing worse than the occasional slipped chain and carrying me fairly long distances on great fun rides. The recumbent is nice because it puts almost no pressure on my hands when I ride it. If I could trust it and my field repair skills a little more, I would ride it longer.
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