So my buddy and I bought BTwins on the recommendation of this page..

Let me start by saying that I was actually well happy with the Triban 3; it was a sweet bike. So, if anyone who recommended it happens to read this, bless u.

My buddy, my girl and I all decided to ride from Roscoff to Moliet-et-Maa (near Bordeaux) to meet some friends for a surfing holiday. We set off in high spirits for what would be their first tour, and the first tour I'd ever planned.

It was all going smooth until we got to our first wild-camping spot, when we realised that the bolts on my bud's panier rack had shaken loose. We hadn't any spares, so had to makeshift a repair with some washing line and cable ties until we could find an Intersport the next day. We didn't find it until late that afternoon and the tracks we we're riding were so rough for that part of the route that we were worried about the damage it might do to the bike.

-little foreshadow: we were so fucking right to worry-

So yeah, we find the Intersport, get the bolts in tight, and it's all good to go find the campsite. The campsite happened to be closed and long-abandoned, and we were just about to get back on the road when we noticed that my friend had a flat. So I got the tire off to patch it only to find the inner tube to be so perished that I could only assume it hadn't been changed for years. Bearing in mind that although he bought it second hand just before the trip, he paid for a professional service.

Lucky for him my bike came with a spare inner so we were cushdy. We didn't fancy cycling on after that so we hopped the fence and wilded it again, opting to wash in the canal which, on hind sight, may have been a pretty gross idea..

Anyhoo, the next morning we set out to have breakfast by the canal, but when we got there we found my friend's tire to be flat again. So I took it off to check and found 8 punctures. In the space of 500m he'd accrued 8 fucking punctures. We had no clue where the nearest Intersport was, so I got out my patching gear and got to work, but every time I fixed it and put it on the bike, it popped again in a different place. There were no brambles or w/e in the rim so I was completely stumped.

Seven hours later and I'm still sat patching this tire, when a couple pull up and let us know that there's a bike repair shop just 2km down the canal. Out of the 4 people who'd tried to help us that morning, none of them had thought to mention that. So we pushed the bike to this shop, found the guy and enlisted his help; but, just our beautifully terrible luck, he didn't have a single inner tube. So he said to me that I should cycle to the nearest Intersport, which was only 10km away (which, once again, nobody thought to mention). I sprinted to the shop and got a handful of innertubes (losing my cycling bottle under a car tire in the process), then came back and fixed one in.

Finally, at about 3pm (having gotten up at 7), we left the town. All was looking pretty sweet for us to make it to the next city, Nantes, and we had huge plans for a blow out pizza* and beer night to celebrate. We shoulda known that was never going to happen.

About 20km down the track we met these two cyclists who we'd passed a few times on our trip, so we decided to ride with them. Things were pretty sweet for about 500m, before yet another puncture struck. We stopped and enlisted the help of the two cyclists, who diagnosed the problem exactly. The wheel rim itself was so worn from past use that it had developed spikes angled inwards towards the tire, which had been stabbing the innertube on the rough terrain.

We knew the rim would need heavy filing if we were to go anywhere, so we pushed it to the nearest house and asked a friendly old farmer, Serj, for some help. He was a gem. He sat in his workshop for a straight hour filing it down so we could push on, but advised us to wild in his garden and walk on to the nearest Intersport the next morning. My girl and I needed to get to the city that night, however, as we'd planned to take a train the next day to miss some of the journey, and needed to reschedule the tickets so we could accommodate for the delay.

Incensed at the prospect of leaving our friend behind, we decided to take all of his bags and push on together. Amazingly, we made it the entire way with no problems whatsoever. We got to a campsite, met the cyclists who'd left us at the Serj's place, and got ready for a mad celebration.

That night we cycled up the road to grab some falafel (because- of course -the pizza place was closed), and hit the pub. Everything seemed to be finally going our way. We'd made it to the city and could get a new wheel for my friend's Btwin, catch the train then actually crack on with some cycling.

So, we're leaving the pub, heading over to our bikes, and guess whose isn't there? Mine. My bike, the only one that hadn't had a problem all holiday, was gone. I mean WHAT THE FUCK. I've been a victim of bike theft before, so knew that it was gone so set to grieving my loss.

-amazing little interjection: my buddy cycled to get some beers to cheers me up, and his tire punctured on the way back-

After that, we decided that there was absolutely no point in carrying on, and are now on the train to Bordeaux to do something we can't possibly fuck up: a beach holiday.

-yet another interjection: I bought a hiking bag to carry all my shit to Bordeaux, and it split on the way to the train station only a day later-

So, to summarise, in the space of four days we experienced something like 12 punctures, a bike rim shaped like a shuriken, and a theft. Fuck me.

I mean, I can't knock the bike, it was a solid machine. My mate's was obviously abused in the past, so again, not the fault of the design. I just think maybe someone was conspiring against us on this one. Nevertheless, we've all agreed to come back next year with all new gear and actually smash it. Though, I know I'll be taking a diversion rather than braving the streets of Nantes again.

*For anyone who's interest in whether or not we actually got a pizza, we managed to find one last night only to get into an argument with a waiter who gave us the bread of another table once they were done. I jokingly asked 'si c'est possible d'avoir du pain fraiche' (if it's possible to have some fresh bread), and he went into a diatribe about how they only ever buy fresh bread and that we should be satisfied with it. Ay me.

Edit: just about to get kicked off the train in the middle of rural France for bringing the other two bikes with us. Looks like we can fuck up a beach holiday.

Edit #2: just been interrupted mid-sex by a police officer (we were in the tent dw) on the threat of a 135€ fine for sleeping in a picnic area.. it was so late last night we didn't even realize. It never ends ahahaha