Doctor, the patient is dead.
This would be very sad if I weren't talking about bicycle tires, huh? After Tuesday's debacle, T (optimistically) filled up my tires on his way to work this morning. He warned me to check them before I left and if they had lost any air to abandon all hope.
The tires seemed firm enough when we loaded up, but I was understandably skittish. My quads still ache! So this time I decided to take a test run. Fool me once and all of that.
Out of the gate, everything felt fine. We made it to the end of our cul de sac before I started to feel the tell-tale drag. I hopped off to check the back tire and, sure enough, it was a little mushier than it had been in the garage. Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor - or in this case, caution is better than burning thighs and long walks in the rain - we high-tailed it back to the house.
So I dropped Q off in the trusty mom-mobile and I am off for slime tires. Better luck next week, right?