After working too late for shopping (which does not mean much in France) yesterday, I finally had the chance to drop some money on a new wheel today. As there are not too many (or any good) bike shops around, I went to the local sports chain with the intention of buying the most expensive wheel in the store.
That ploy was foiled when the only pricey wheel, a nice silver Ksyrium, was only available as front. I was left to choose between literally three mediocre wheels and pocketed a ridiculously cheap Rigida aero with 24 flat spokes fully built up with fond de jante, tube, tire and quick release, all for the price of a pair of Grand Prix 4000 tires. Fin de série, but not end of season.
The thing weighs a ton, substantially more than my old-school Open SUP. I won't cry about this. With the roads as abysmal as they are around here, sturdiness is a plus. When I took my once again happily running bike for a spin this evening, all seemed good. I made it up the Col de Quatre Seigneurs in near-record time and was most surprised to find that my bottom bracket, not more than an innocent bystander in the latest developments, had stopped creaking.
Deep inside, I suspect my bike has miraculously healed itself. It must have lived a few nights of fear and apprehension since I went on the rampage that cost it a limb and was probably afraid I would next lay hand on its frame and bend it into pretzel. But I wouldn't do this. Where would I get a new bike?
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