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Happier times:

Barb at Doc Brown's BBQ truck

Well, the day is upon us. It had to come. I'm finally going to break bad on Asheville!

Ready?

What's with all the fucking flat tires around here?!!

Seriously. I've been to the bike shop three times already. I like everyone at my new place, but...

The last time I headed over there, Barb asked me, "What's the definition of insanity?"

"I know," I said. "I'm getting rid of this bike. Let me just go talk to them and figure things out."

The mechanic who worked on my bike - the first and third time - was nice enough to tell me that the other guy worked on my bike - the second time - did so on his last day in town. He didn't like it here and was moving back to Phoenix. So he tightened a few things, put in a new tube, and called it a tune up.

When I returned, again, the good mechanic was smart enough to notice that the inside of my tire was corrupted, so the steel mesh it's made out of was probably poking the inner tubes and causing me to go flat. Repeatedly.

Usually when I'm at the furthest point from home.

But the new tire should have hooked me up. Off I went!

Until the next flat.

So technically, I still love Asheville. I just hate my demonically possessed bike.

Wait, I just thought of something else I hate about Asheville. Apparently, when you move here, the elastic on all your underwear fails.

WTF is with that?