I’m going to talk about something that affects all cyclists, young and old at least once in their lives. Some may cope, others may fall to pieces but there it is, mocking you as your perfect ride is about to descend into a mass of swearing, sweat and bruised fingers.
I am talking about punctures. Such is the paranoia over getting a puncture that on some sites the P word isn’t even allowed. Instead the P Fairy is used to symbolise those times when nothing can seem to go wrong but there they are. The P Fairy is waiting for you. Not only when it is windy and rainy and the entirety of your route seems to be made up of sharp pointy things, but also on those rides where you feel great and you think you are top of the cycling world.
There’s nothing the P Fairy likes better than to puncture your good mood.
And the P Fairy is canny. It will make sure that the puncture happens with the following results: a) It is freezing cold and wet and dark b) you have no spare inner tube/repair kit/working pump and c) as a result you will be miles away from anything resembling either civilisation or a transport system.
If you’re lucky you will get a puncture on a flat road that deflates gently with a small hiss like a polite old dear trying to hold in a fart standing at the post office queue but effects can be just as bad as a full blown pinch puncture that deflates immediately giving you that sinking feeling without warning.
And of course the puncture will probably be on the back wheel. Not only is it where most <ahem> weight is directed, but it is also the harder wheel to detach and reattach so fits in with the P Fairy’s sadistic nature.
I mentioned kit above. Generally, the average cyclist will have a pump that will take about eighteen hours to blow up to around 50 psi and maybe a repair kit with patches that haven’t seen the light of day since you bought them at the pound shop.
The more aware will actually have a pump that may go up to 90psi but will also carry a spare inner tube and maybe even a gas canister. My experience of gas canisters so far was to waste half the gas before realising that I hadn’t put it on the Presta valve setting.
So after swearing loudly, you finally detach the back wheel from the maze of cables, derailleur and chain already covering half your hands with oil – because being a bear on a bike you have forgotten protective gloves.
Sticking your tyre lever in, you manage to release the tyre and pull out the inner tube. The more sensible among you will check the inside of the tyre to see if there are any sharp objects in there. If you have another puncture in a couple of days and you swear you checked, don’t worry that was a particularly vindictive P Fairy who slipped a small shiv inside when your back was turned.
Pull out the new inner tub and now there are two ways of putting the inner tube back in. On certain tyres you can put a partially reflated inner tube inside them and then start slotting the tyre back into the wheel rim.
Otherwise, you put the inner tube into the rim and slip the tyre around the tube and into the rim walls.
Ah yes. Pushing back the tyre into the rim can be the most painful job in the world. Using your thumbs you push the tyre walls into the rim as you work around the wheel until the last bit which is generally the hardest to push in. Once I had such a stiff tyre that I managed to actually push the skin off my thumb leaving a bloody oily mess.
Success. Dripping with sweat you then spend ten minutes trying to remember exactly which part of the chain the cassette sits on and you’re done. Wheel changed. Never mind your face, hands and legs are now covered in oil. You have become a mechanic...
Well for at least half an hour!
Training ride 2:
21.52 miles
15.6 mph av speed
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