Don't you love it when you have a plan? You've had a long weekend at work, and you are looking forward to a relaxing bike ride with friends on a nice, cool evening?
You pull out your bike from the storage shed/closet where it was put when you moved into your new apartment and give it the once over. All the lights work, the fender strut that snapped off doesn't cause the fender to rub against the tire, so no harm, no foul. The tires are full, the seat is still positioned correctly, so you load it up into the car and go about your business for the rest of the day.
At a quarter 'til six that evening, you find the trail head for the Monon at 96th Street, and pull into a spot, glad to see your friends. You walk over, say hi, then unload your bike and helmet, standing around and talking waiting for everyone else to show up. Once everyone arrives, some self-shot photos are taken, and everyone saddles up and goes on their way.
Dang, you feel like you're totally out of shape. You immediately start lagging behind, and your friends have to wait for you ever half mile or so. You didn't think you got THAT out of shape, but you're determined to keep up.
Finally, close to 2 miles into a 12 mile ride, you decide to check something when you catch up to them, again. You reach down and squeeze the front tire, and your finger pushes in to touch the rim. Leaning back, you check the rear tire, and it's the same situation.
You just rode almost 2 miles on flat tires.
It was a lovely solo walk back pushing the bike, and I'll be checking it out this weekend to make sure I didn't damage the wheels.
For some reason, biking is not a good friend of mine. It never really ends well. Oh well, maybe next time, I'll be able to keep up better with actual air in my tires.