Showing posts with label Puncture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Puncture. Show all posts

Monday 9 May 2011

Tyres

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Tyres are filthy beasts! It is only when you turn the bike upside down and attempt, with much grunting and sweat, to remove the wheel that you realise just how much muck there is on the things. There is a slight possibility that not cleaning the brute since before winter began might have something to do with this. Anyway this morning among much feculence I spent a considerable time prising extremely small pieces of glass shreds from the tyre. These are the result of the kiddies beer bottles that appear to lie strewn over far to many roads and byways these days. There was of course an almighty struggle to get the type off the wheel, a similar struggle to that which ensued when placing it on there the last time. According to the books on the subject the repair begins just by placing a tyre lever in the right place and lifting it slowly. Bah! For one, where is the tyre lever? it was in the toolbox but has now walked into the cupboard! Then the thing goes under the tyre but will not move sideways, and if it does the tyre replaces itself as you move!!! 

Having lost several pounds in weight struggling to get the tyre off, two levers on both sides required, I then discover several little holes in the tyre stuffed with glass. As I searched, first in the cupboard then in the toolbox where it actually was, for the repair kit I also found a new inner tube! I must have bought this when flush with cash a while ago!  Great stuff, the repair can wait!  A straight forward hour long fight with the tyre, an inner tube that kept attempting to be outer tube,  and lever that keep crawling over the floor, I quickly fixed the problem. Another 'Mein Kampf' got the wheel back on the bike and this morning and later in the cool of the evening I trundled happily about the town, dodging late evening joggers, blackbirds looking for supper and families cycling the old railway together. Now I find my knees stiffening up again and the mind is filled with the thought that I am getting fitter, although cynics may refer to this as more like rising from the dead considering how unfit I really happen to be.  Now where did all that oil on the floor come from.....