More Superstition

It’s obvious but so easy to ignore: human stupidity knows no boundaries.

Essentially, there are two back-lane ways down to Remenham Church. Let’s call them ‘A’ and ‘B’. I normally go down ‘B’. The last time I went down ‘A’, I punctured.

Today I was bowling along quite pleasantly and at around about Crazies Hill I did think to myself that for the last day of October I’ve done well on the puncture stakes, as this time of year is normally ‘puncture season’ – when the weather starts to turn and there’s more grit, including those razor sharp bits of flint, being washed down on to the roads.

Soon after that, I started down ‘A’ and yes, of course, I punctured.

A puncture, by and large, is no big deal. Ten minutes and it’s fixed: just replace the inner tube. Nevertheless, it’s a thing best avoided and it always merits a curse. And curse I did, mainly myself, for a) thinking about punctures and b) going down lane ‘A’.

Which is what I mean about human stupidity having no boundaries: to even entertain the notion for a second that somehow merely thinking about something can make it happen is stunningly dumb.

Granted, it is possible that route ‘A’ might perhaps be more prone to having stones washed down on it, and it was a bit of flint that did the damage, but to imagine that every time I personally go down that lane I’m going to get a flat tyre is just daft, and to suspect that because I’ve thought it might happen, it’s all the more likely to actually happen, is plainly ludicrous.

(To rub my nose in it, as I was mending it another cyclist passed me – puncture free.)

I suppose it’s a touch sobering to realise that I’m just as stupid as anyone else; it would be nice to be able to believe one’s own ego and the propaganda it puts out about being above superstitions, imaginary friends and other gobbledegook. Sobering or depressing.