It was raining this morning. It’s well within my lifespan that such a comment wouldn’t have rated as news: “It’s raining in Melbourne? What did you expect?” But life in seemingly perpetual drought changes things, so that a brisk ride in the rain is something of a rare treat these days. (Actually, it was throwing it down in a thunder storm earlier so I sat it out until the rain got lighter—I’m not that much into riding in the rain!)

I was nearing the end of my commute, rolling up to the traffic lights at the end of Federation Square, when I noticed an odd noise coming from the back wheel. I hopped off to investigate, thinking that I’d picked up a patch of clay or mud on the tyre. As I rotated the wheel to check, I was blasted in the face by a jet of air—and again as the wheel turned. I had a puncture, a big one.

It was a ridiculously big fragment of glass.

Now was the time to apply my own advice. You’d have been proud of me: I didn’t even swear. But I did take the time to make myself comfortable and lay out my workspace—at a nearby cafe.

I ordered a brew, sent a text message to the boss to say I’d be late, and got down to it. It must have been the most civilised field repair I’ve made in many a long year.

It’s a funny thing about riding in the rain—it always seems to increase the chance of a puncture. I’ve heard a few theories about this:

• water on the ground surface disturbs glass fragments and debris, turning up sharp points that were previously hidden,

• debris sticks to wet tyres longer, giving sharp nasties more time to make a hole, and

• wet rubber cuts easier (not so sure about this one really, but there you go).

Of course, knowing that doesn’t diminish the inconvenience of a flat but neither is it going to stop me riding in the rain.

More on related topics

• The repair that every cyclist should be able to do
• Autumn cycling: the best, the worst
• Some investigation required
• Riding to work and rain
• Psssssst off