There's a telltale gash almost an inch long, and Jesse asks me, "Didn't you feel that?" and I curse my decision to save the few ounces of weight and hassle of bringing a spare tire.
A dollar-bill boot is no use, we roll a few more miles and try cutting a boot out of old inner-tube and tuffy tire liner, but the bulge is back, rubbing against my fender, and just as I tell Laura that the next time my tube pops I'll start hitchhiking--it pops again.
Switched the gashed tire to the front, away from most of the load-bearing, and ran it at partial-pressure after stitching in a patch of tire liner/old innertube with dental floss and my trusty yarn needle. This fix got me the 25 or 30 miles from the Hidden Springs campground just outside of Myer's Flat to Garberville, where I unexpectedly ran into a sporting goods shop that just so happens to carry 27" tires (thank goodness!). I bought a spare, just in case.
The moral of the story:
-bring a spare fucking tire, Nova.
-hell, why not try it? it's not the craziest thing i've ever done.
-all the weird tools that i bring with me on the road for makin' things continue to be useful in all sorts of unexpected and amusing settings.
Pics:
The Gash
Gash 2
Stitched, with lots of bitching...
