Can You Beat These Guys?

How fast can you change a flat?

The Season Catches Up As I Race Daylight

The semester is ending and final exams are beginning. That left me with a "gap" yesterday.  So, of course, I went for a ride.

I don't mind cold weather, though I notice I have to be more careful when the temperature drops:  Muscles stiffen and puddles glaze with icy crusts.  At least there wasn't much wind, and a light show of sun and clouds drifted across the sky.

We are ten days away from the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. So, yesterday, we had only a few more minutes of daylight than we'll have on that day.  At this time of the year, we have about nine hours of daylight and, after I did the things I had to do, I had less than six hours left. 

Of course, I could have ridden after dark:  I often do just that on my commutes home.  Still, I prefer to stick to daylight whenever possible.  I would try to get myself home by sundown, but if I went a little bit later, that would have been fine.

Which I did, though not by much--and not for the reasons I anticipated.  Near the end of the ride--about 12 kilometers from home--my front tire started losing air. I was making a turn from Home Street (ironic, isn't it?) onto Fox Street in the Bronx when something seemed a bit off-balance.  I thought perhaps I'd run over something, or that maybe I was just getting tired.  But when I made my next turn, onto Southern Boulevard, I noticed that something definitely wasn't right.  A few blocks down, near 149th Street, I realized that my tire was indeed losing pressure. 

Slow-leak flats are often more difficult to deal with because the source of the leak isn't always obvious.  I didn't want to go to the trouble of locating a puncture or, worse, miss some small shard of something in the tire casing that would cause another flat if I were to patch or replace the tube.  

I was also near a subway stop and, although it wasn't dark, I could see the night approaching.

Plus, I had already ridden about 130 kilometers by that time, so I figured I'd had a decent afternoon's ride. Actually, it was more than decent:  I'd made it to Connecticut and pedaled up a few hills along the way.

One thing I must say, though:  I realized that I couldn't call it a "late fall" ride.  The bareness of the trees, and the light, definitely painted an early picture of winter:

Torment In The Torrent

I recently taught Dante's Inferno.  In it, Hell is divided into nine circles, each reserved for particular kinds of sinners and each with its own punishments.

(As best as I can tell, I'd end up in the third ring of the seventh circle.  But I digress.)

One thing that has always struck me about the punishments meted out in each part of Dante's Hell is that they are not only retributive (at least, according to notions of divine justice prevailing in his time);  they are also meant to torment those who are sentenced.  At least, that is how it seemed to me.

Sometimes it seems that the torment is worse than the punishment itself.  I think it's because the resulting pain, humiliation and embarrassment endure for even longer than any physical torture.  Plus, folks whom you believed to be friends or allies--or, at least, fellow travelers--will pepper you with "witty" comments or taunt you with laughter.

At least, that was the experience related described Dublin-based writer Cal McGhee in his Broken Bicycle Blues.  As if it weren't bad enough to get thrown from his bike into a parked car, all of his attempts to call would-be rescuers failed:  The Vodafone customer you are calling is not accessible at the moment.

Oh, but it gets worse:  He starts to walk his bike in the pouring rain.  He doesn't get very far when the "innards of the back tyre unravel and intertwine with the wheel, rendering it absolutely 'bolloxed'."  So, unable to roll his bicycle alongside him, he has to carry his machine--until he no longer can.  

Then, "not equipped with any weaponry," he saws at the tire with a key in an attempt to cut the tire off.  But that key proved no match for the tire and snapped in half.

That key was--you guessed it--his bike key.

Having endured the ordeal of flat tire, crash, broken key and the jeers of other cyclists who passed him, he finally reaches home, where he is "greeted by the beaming smile of a child."  He reaches out to embrace the tyke when he notices how grungy he is and stops himself.

"That's how I died," he informs us.

He asks that no flowers be brought to the funeral.  Instead, he requests donations that can go to "an experimental business heralding a new regime" in which "cyclists in peril" will be "rescued and fed curry sauce until they are restored to full health."

Will that ease the torment of other cyclist seeing him walking and carrying his bike?

Do You Fix It, Or Keep On Riding?

If you've commuted by bike for any amount of time, you've no doubt had at least one flat.

It's one thing for your tire to get punctured and go flat immediately.  Then all you can do is to fix it and, if you're running late, call into the office (or wherever you work). Or, if you're in a place that has mass transit, you can use that.

On the other hand, a gradual leak presents another situation.  How far do you have to go to get to work?  How much time do you have?  You have to answer those questions in deciding whether to fix your flat or to continue riding.

This morning, about halfway to work, I noticed that my steering was a bit balkier.  Then, when I hit a bump, I noticed that the tire was soft, though not completely flat.  At that point, I was on Randall's Island--no subway nearby, and the one bus line that goes through the island doesn't allow bikes on board. 

From Tales and Fables

 

So, my choices were:

• Fix the flat.
• Lock the bike up and take the bus to the subway.
• Keep on riding with crossed fingers.

I had ridden about twenty minutes and would need about another fifteen to get to work. My first class would start in about forty-five minutes.  I probably could have fixed the flat, but I really didn't want to be pressed for time.  If I were to lock the bike on the island, it would probably be bit safer there than in most other parts of the city.  But getting back could be a hassle.  And, really, I didn't know how much longer I could ride on my deflating front tire.

Still, I chose the last option.  Even though I could feel, with every turn, the bike losing whatever handling abilities it had, I figured that I had a chance of getting to work before my inner tube completely lost air.  Also, I reckoned that if I couldn't make it the rest of the way to work, I'd at least be able to cross the bridge into the Bronx, where I could catch the subway (which I'd have to take for only two stops).

I managed to pedal to work.  For the last couple of blocks, my tire and tube felt like a half-melted marshmallow between my rim and the street.  But at least I still had some time to spare when I got to my job.

Now I'm about to go home--but I have to fix the flat first.  Oh well. 

When you realize you are riding on a slow leak, how do you decide whether to fix it, keep on riding or bail out?

Flat-Free--For Today, Anyway

Today dawned clear; bright sun filled the morning and afternoon sky.  Clouds gathered around the time schools were letting kids out but there was no threat of rain. That much I could tell because although the air grew warmer, as it normally does during the day, the humidity didn’t increase. Or so it seemed.

In other words, today was a very, very nice day for a ride in these parts.  So of course I went.  Best of all, I pedaled into the wind as I pedaled away from home.  That meant, of course, that the wind blew me back.  I couldn’t have planned it any better than that.

I rode over parts of routes I’ve ridden many times before.  Although I’ve been thinking, lately, about new places and paths, I was happy to ride my old, familiar routines today.  In brief, I was simply happy to ride.

No, I haven’t had some near-death experience or other tragedy that could have left me unable to ride my bike—or live.  This day, and the ability to ride with nothing to distract me from its pleasures, was enough. 

All right, I’ll admit that there was one particular thing about this ride that made me even happier than I usually am when I’m on my bike.  Perhaps it will seem completely mundane, and under most circumstances it would be.  What is that piece of good fortune?  Here goes:  I didn’t get a flat.

From Trinity Outdoor Education

 

Now, I manage to do most of my rides—including my commutes—without puncturing my tires or tubes.  But on the three rides I took before this one, I had no such luck.  In fact, on one ride, I managed to get two flats.

You might be asking yourself, “She’s devoting a post to that?”  I can’t blame you if you are.  But the fact that I got this recent rash of flats is actually of some import—to me, anyway.  Why?

Well, those flats weren’t the result of worn-out or poor-quality tires or tubes.  I also haven’t been riding any tires that are lighter or otherwise more delicate than the ones I’ve used for the past several years. (The tires I rode today were Continental Gatorskins; I almost invariably ride tires from Continental, Michelin, Panaracer or Schwalbe.)  And, of course, the road conditions aren’t different from what I’ve been riding for a while.

All right, I should amend that last statement.  It does seem that there’s more debris on the streets, roads and paths than I normally see at this time of year.  I think it may have something to do with the fact that we had snow and ice so late in the season this year.  In most years, I encounter the most debris—and get the majority of whatever flats I get—in late winter and early spring.  I think that in most years, some shards of glass and other hazards are buried under the snow and ice and exposed once those winter accumulations melt or are brushed or shoveled away.  The first couple of heavy rains in April or May seem to wash much of the debris away; I rarely get flats late in the spring, or in the summer or fall unless I’m riding on a worn tire or have some other unusual circumstance.

In most years in this part of the world, the snow and ice are usually gone by March and the first heavy rains—the kinds that cause flooding on low ground or places with poor drainage—strike in April. However, we didn’t have such a torrent until the first day of this month. It usually takes two or three such storms, I think, to wash away much of what causes flats.

I’m hoping today’s ride is a good omen.  If it isn’t, well, I’ve had to do much worse things than replace or repair a tube during a ride!