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2,378 Posts
Well, of course, that warm glow of satisfaction of having changed my own rear tire was short lived (http://11109.rapidforum.com/topic=104167027372). 1600 miles on the new rubber and the prescience of my own words in the above post, "Probably tomorrow I will let out the air and add a dose of Ride-On, since all of my new tires quickly pick up the odd nail, screw, or staple." is confirmed. I had a flat today despite having dumped $15 of Ride-On in each of my two tires.
It happened near the end of my regular ride through south Georgia, that translates to "as far from home as possible." I turned down a remote byway that ends in a scenic area where I usually turn around. I slow to count nine deer in a herd crossing the road just ahead and notice the steering becomes very heavy. I am thinking the front tire may be flat so at my turnaround I check. The front is fine, but the rear looks odd and a kick evokes the dull thump of airless rubber. I inspect the tire and see a bit of glimmer. Scraping lightly with my fingernail, a shard of glass no bigger than 1/4 the size of my little finger nail falls out. Not sure if that's the problem, but I take note of its location.
I stand up to ponder my problem, and, much to my surprise, I notice a local walking along a nearby fence. "Greetings and salutations, good Sir! Might you have some type of air pump." I cry, and he responds with a extensive discourse on the nature of public property (where I am standing) and private property (where he is standing). As he begins to expound on the role of the fence between us as the demarcation of public and private, his dog walks over to my bike and pisses on it - well, it is called a "Wee." I am then informed of the varied array of vehicles owned by the good gentleman, and I think I begin to hear the haunting strains of banjo music echoing through the pines. For some reason, I wonder if Ned Beatty is still alive. Finally, he says "Wait here. I'll bring my tank."
As I wait, I call my wife and tell her of my predicament. I doubt she could find me, but I say if the air doesn't work, I may have to call AAA. As my uncharged phone dies, I hear her say "I've been meaning to talk to you about that AAA renewal..." then silence. My heart sinks.
The man returns with a compressed air tank, and we manage to put forty pounds into the tire, but I can feel the cool swoosh of air on my face from the spot where the little piece of glass fell out. The tire is, again, completely flat by the time we recoil the air hose. My new friend tells me there is a country store a few miles up the road that has air and fix-a-flat. He invites me back anytime for Sunday dinner (well, any Sunday, I suppose). I might take him up on that.
With no other recourse, I mount the bike and take off slowly on the flat tire. Along my previous route, I must slow even further to allow a flock of fourteen turkeys to cross the road. They seem to laugh at me.
At the country store, I get change and reinflate the tire hoping the Ride-On might have somehow activated during the ride. No such luck. I go back in the store and purchase their last can of Fix-A-Flat. Well, I try, the total charge is about $4.98, but they require a minumum of $5 to use my debit card. So, I grab a Slim Jim and Cheese combo pack, enter my PIN, and head back out to the bike.
I take a break to savor the snack, only to find that it is the most foul material ever sealed in plastic. Yet for reasons I cannot explain, I eat the entire product. I sit down and read the instructions for the fix-a-flat, "...not for use in motorcycles tires ..." Argh, but who is the manufacturer to think they know how best to use their product? So I start shooting it into my tire. About half-way through the can, I pause and rotate the tire so the leaky spot is at the bottom and watch as the white sealant bubbles and froths and accumulates on the ground like shaving cream in Floyd the Barber's hand.
I start to wonder how I might find employment in my new surroundings when I notice the sealant did seem to slow a bit as it was ejaculating out onto the ground. I decide to wait a bit longer and try the rest of the can. At about the same time, I noticed the foul taste of the ancient slim jim was still on my palate and returned to the store for a cleansing Butterfinger that was quite fresh.
A second application of fix-a-flat seems to work. The tire inflates with no obvious air loss around the injury, and I head home with blinkers flashing.
One trip to Advance Auto and I have a nicely packaged little motorcycle "vulcanizing" tire plug kit, but destroy the first of the two small plugs provided before I realize the role of "cement-as-lubricant". A second trip, and I restore the kit with a new tube of lube/glue and two large, two small plugs. Later, I sent an email to amotostuff asking them to add a Slime mini compressor to my pending order for a skidplate.
A final jaunt through the countryside confirms the success of my repair.
Well, it worked out, but I have never felt as helpless as standing by an isolated road in the backwoods of Georgia with a dead phone, no AAA, and no way to plug or even inflate the damned tire. I seriously question the value of the $30 of Ride-On I dumped into my tires, but I suppose regardless of its effectiveness, this episode has reminded me to always be prepared.
It happened near the end of my regular ride through south Georgia, that translates to "as far from home as possible." I turned down a remote byway that ends in a scenic area where I usually turn around. I slow to count nine deer in a herd crossing the road just ahead and notice the steering becomes very heavy. I am thinking the front tire may be flat so at my turnaround I check. The front is fine, but the rear looks odd and a kick evokes the dull thump of airless rubber. I inspect the tire and see a bit of glimmer. Scraping lightly with my fingernail, a shard of glass no bigger than 1/4 the size of my little finger nail falls out. Not sure if that's the problem, but I take note of its location.
I stand up to ponder my problem, and, much to my surprise, I notice a local walking along a nearby fence. "Greetings and salutations, good Sir! Might you have some type of air pump." I cry, and he responds with a extensive discourse on the nature of public property (where I am standing) and private property (where he is standing). As he begins to expound on the role of the fence between us as the demarcation of public and private, his dog walks over to my bike and pisses on it - well, it is called a "Wee." I am then informed of the varied array of vehicles owned by the good gentleman, and I think I begin to hear the haunting strains of banjo music echoing through the pines. For some reason, I wonder if Ned Beatty is still alive. Finally, he says "Wait here. I'll bring my tank."
As I wait, I call my wife and tell her of my predicament. I doubt she could find me, but I say if the air doesn't work, I may have to call AAA. As my uncharged phone dies, I hear her say "I've been meaning to talk to you about that AAA renewal..." then silence. My heart sinks.
The man returns with a compressed air tank, and we manage to put forty pounds into the tire, but I can feel the cool swoosh of air on my face from the spot where the little piece of glass fell out. The tire is, again, completely flat by the time we recoil the air hose. My new friend tells me there is a country store a few miles up the road that has air and fix-a-flat. He invites me back anytime for Sunday dinner (well, any Sunday, I suppose). I might take him up on that.
With no other recourse, I mount the bike and take off slowly on the flat tire. Along my previous route, I must slow even further to allow a flock of fourteen turkeys to cross the road. They seem to laugh at me.
At the country store, I get change and reinflate the tire hoping the Ride-On might have somehow activated during the ride. No such luck. I go back in the store and purchase their last can of Fix-A-Flat. Well, I try, the total charge is about $4.98, but they require a minumum of $5 to use my debit card. So, I grab a Slim Jim and Cheese combo pack, enter my PIN, and head back out to the bike.
I take a break to savor the snack, only to find that it is the most foul material ever sealed in plastic. Yet for reasons I cannot explain, I eat the entire product. I sit down and read the instructions for the fix-a-flat, "...not for use in motorcycles tires ..." Argh, but who is the manufacturer to think they know how best to use their product? So I start shooting it into my tire. About half-way through the can, I pause and rotate the tire so the leaky spot is at the bottom and watch as the white sealant bubbles and froths and accumulates on the ground like shaving cream in Floyd the Barber's hand.
I start to wonder how I might find employment in my new surroundings when I notice the sealant did seem to slow a bit as it was ejaculating out onto the ground. I decide to wait a bit longer and try the rest of the can. At about the same time, I noticed the foul taste of the ancient slim jim was still on my palate and returned to the store for a cleansing Butterfinger that was quite fresh.
A second application of fix-a-flat seems to work. The tire inflates with no obvious air loss around the injury, and I head home with blinkers flashing.
One trip to Advance Auto and I have a nicely packaged little motorcycle "vulcanizing" tire plug kit, but destroy the first of the two small plugs provided before I realize the role of "cement-as-lubricant". A second trip, and I restore the kit with a new tube of lube/glue and two large, two small plugs. Later, I sent an email to amotostuff asking them to add a Slime mini compressor to my pending order for a skidplate.
A final jaunt through the countryside confirms the success of my repair.
Well, it worked out, but I have never felt as helpless as standing by an isolated road in the backwoods of Georgia with a dead phone, no AAA, and no way to plug or even inflate the damned tire. I seriously question the value of the $30 of Ride-On I dumped into my tires, but I suppose regardless of its effectiveness, this episode has reminded me to always be prepared.
