Last week I had a classic case of famous last words. My friend punctured on a ride, and I made the mistake of bragging that, thanks to going tubeless, I hadn’t punctured in years. Naturally, the next day I punctured. And not just anywhere, but on the wrong side of the Severn Valley, seven miles from a junction. As beautiful as it is, there’s zero phone signal out there.
Normally, puncturing isn’t a major problem for me. I pride myself on being organised with spares and often remind the athletes I coach that punctures aren’t an excuse to miss training. But as it turns out, I wasn’t as organised as I thought. For the last 18 months, I’ve apparently been carrying a punctured tube. After her last puncture, my partner…