We saved three turtles today.

Yesterday, upon meeting up with David Lane (our esteemed Couch Surfee for Baton Rouge), the first question he asked of us was of course:

"How many flat tires have ya'll had?"

Because up until that point, the answer we had for him was zero. 

We'll hang that information on the line as I continue on with our adventures that day.  David Lane rode his gorgeous triathlon racing bike (a giant with all the bells and whistles that may have been worth upwards of three thousand dollars) thirty miles out from his house to meet us and pull us in. 

-note- "pulling us in" means riding in front of us, taking the brunt of the wind front and allowing us to draft behind him.  Very kind, considering that day we had ridden another century.

Upon getting to David's house, he made us an extraordinary dinner of chicken spaghetti over capellini noodles and sauteed portabello mushrooms.  I bought a six pack of blue moons and he provided a few glasses of Rex Goliath Cabernet.  Classy guy that David Lane. 

Providing Kay with not only her own bed, but also her own apartment (David's girlfriend's apartment was fortuitously proximal and open, not to mention kick ass), David had wined us and dined us and given us shelter and comfort in a strange city.  The next day, smitten with Baton Rouge, we made the poor decision of galavanting around the city.  After experiencing some of the more worthwhile sites and places of local/unique cuisine (Louie's and Atcha's), we headed out from Baton Rouge on our way to Opelousas.  At 3 oclock in the afternoon.

We made such an impression on Mr. Lane that he decided to ride with us.

30 miles out from Baton Rouge, My Fiona (Nick's aptly named bike) got a flat in its back tire.  A wheel newly equipped with an armadillo tire, that is.  A staple had found its way through almost an eighth of an inch of vulcanized rubber. 

After changing the tire and riding onward, David taught us the new trick of line drafting (-note- ask skyler later for details).  We also got an ambulance escort over a dangerous bridge, without even asking!

Arriving in another obscure Louisiana town, we discovered that David's back tire now also had a flat.  That's two flats in two hours, for those keeping count (after nearly 700 miles of no flat tires).  Nick decided he wanted to ride in the car for the last seven miles, placing me on Fiona (im the only one tall enough to ride the mammoth bike) and Cory on The Blazing Saddle (my bike).  After two miles of Cory riding the The Blazing Saddle, its back tire deflated.  Yep.

Arriving at the hotel that night, we all ate Caeser's Pizza, and promptly went to bed. 

In the morning we discovered that David's AND Nick's front tires were now flat, David's from unknown causes and Nick's from another rogue staple.  Riding dejectedly to the nearest gas station to pump our tires up (David having caught a ride home from the camel and Fiona having been fitted with another new tube), we found a pump with a pressure gauge to let us know the air pressure of the tire and began to fill my new back tire tube. 

The gauge was broken and didn't show past 90 psi. 

The tire popped again. 

After putting another tube on my bike and filling it up cautiously, we set out again.  50 meters into the ride, and i do mean only 50 meters, the tire popped.  Again. 

Carrying my bike the half mile back to the hotel, i waited with Kay in the laundry room while the camel got back from Baton Rouge.  Fitting the car with my bike, we set out to meet Skyler and Nick on the road and change/pump my newest tube.

After meeting Skyler and Nick, we changed/pumped my tire, and thirty seconds later ill be damned if the little buggar didn't deflate/pop again. 

me- "i DID check the tube [for rocks or glass or pop-capable things], i didn't find anything!" 

skyler- "lets just go eat and figure it out later"

After eating Po'boys, salad, and popcorn shrimp at Buster's in Elton, LA, we upturned The Blazing Saddle and began the inspection.  A nice old man named Jack Jenkins stopped in to see if we were faring alright. 

I proceeded to tweeze out four (nigh invisible) stray pebbles from my back armadillo tire, which had been causing the flats, and we rode on. 

That's seven flat tubes for those keeping count.  All in a 24 hour period. 

Later on today, Nick ate shit on his bike when he ran into my back wheel (the same tormented wheel that produced three popped tubes) and couldn't unclip his feet from the peddles quick enough to dismount.  Quite frankly i was relieved to not have another damned flat tire.

skyler- "...you [Nick] slid ten feet!"

Nick- "i think i left some of my hip on the pavement back there"

After a few days of unfortunate events and what some men may call unintentional jinxes, we ride on to Beaumont tomorrow.  For the unexpected philanthropy of this post, check the first line.

ttfn