I bounded out of bed this morning with uncharacteristic determination to go to yoga class. I dress, ate, and hoped on the bike. Flat tire. Yoga is out. It would take twice as long to get there by bus, and since I happen to be out of spare tubes, I had to patch the tube which will take at least 10 minutes. Given the pouring rain, I would get to yoga too late and too drippy. I set to patching the tube and found my bottle of patch cement all dried up. That’s OK! I have more! And the second bottle was empty. That’s OK! I have more! With the tube securely patched and tires scoured for guilty objects, I pumped the tube and….pssssssssssst. A second pinprick hole on the opposite end! I set the second patch. My new super bottle of cement took forever to dry. I need a new tire, I know. I have about 9,000 miles on this tire, which is probably a pretty good life. The tread is worn, the side walls are cracked. I gave up trying to ride to work. The risk of the worn out tire being the cause of the flats and simply creating another flat down the road seemed too likely. Then the rain came pouring down. It was an omen. Defeated, I sat in my bike outfit on the bed. The cat just sat there and stared at me. It was like she knew. She just kept staring! It could have been worse, my coworker lives in Bothell, north of me. A huge “3 alarm” fire broke out in the wee hours of the morning downtown, redirecting transit and traffic through the morning commute. Not that there isn’t a reason delaying traffic during rush hour daily, but a fire through a historic area is particularly tragic.