Tube patching

I've had an on-again-off-again relationship with bicycle inner tube patching going back nearly five years. The cycle goes as follows: for months I patch punctured tubes with the hope of saving money; then for months I curse at leaky patches and toss tubes after new flats. Leaky patches are the worst—a failed patch is a single flat twice repaired.

Are patches worth it? Can they be made to work reliably? I've reentered the on-again phase and after successfully patching seven straight tubes, I think this time it's the real thing and patches are worth it. What changed is that I discovered I was previously doing it wrongly.

There exist numerous how-to guides on the Web for patching tubes, and they all say the same things, so I'm not going to further that redundancy. But I know I can read every word in a short how-to and still screw it up, so I'm going to describe some between-the-lines wisdom I've gleaned from experience—including what I was doing wrongly.

• Keep some air in the tube while patching. I aim to have the tube be the same size as it will be when inflated inside the tire. The reason for this is that patches don't stretch, and patching an uninflated tube creates a cinch spot that won't evenly expand to the shape of the tire.

• The step of sandpapering the tube before applying the rubber cement is critical. This is because you're not just “roughening up” the tube surface; instead, you're removing the non-stick layer put there to prevent the tube from sticking to its mold during manufacturing. That non-stick layer serves no purpose after manufacturing, so sandpaper thoroughly.

• As for what I had been doing wrongly in previous years, that has to do with using a small amount of rubber cement, not a big amount. This has to do with a counterintuitive property of rubber cement, which is that it must be completely dry for it to adhere—unlike glue, which must be wet. I now use my fingertip to smear a layer of rubber cement thin enough so that it dries within seconds. If it doesn't dry within seconds, I've used too much.

• Keep in mind you needn't entirely remove the tube from the tire to patch. If you know where the leak is, such as when you hear the “hiss” of a fast leak, you can remove only the leaky part of the tube, thus keeping the wheel on the bike. This is the fastest way to fix a flat other than a wheel change.

Le Tour

What a Tour de France this year's has been! From the first week on there were great moments nearly each day: Team Garmin-Cervélo won the team time trail and four stages in all; Thomas Voeckler earned the yellow jersey midway through the race—like in 2004—but this time defended it through the Pyrenees and the Alps until the last day in the mountains with just two stages to go in the Tour; last year's winner Alberto Contador lost the Tour early but won over some of us cynical fans with his never-give-up attacks in the mountains the final week; and Cadel Evans won the general classification—finally, after two runner-up finishes in previous years—with tough, smart riding from both him and his teammates.

A common opinion among cycling fans this year is that the pro peloton is cleaning up. Cyclists are less doped—so the opinion goes—and looking more human as they crest alpine summits out of breath and as they finish mountain stages with slumped shoulders. I for one think the peloton is cleaner but still plenty dirty—average speeds remain suspicious—but I think the sport is different now than a few years ago, like in 2006 when Floyd Landis broke away solo in the mountains 120 km out to win stage 17 by over five minutes—and not even looking tired doing it.

It's been a few year's since I concluded most of the pro peloton dopes and most of these respected athletes are liars. (See here.) But even so I thought doping wasn't a big deal. Sure, doping isn't something any normal, sane individual would do, but professional athletes have a different mindset than us normal, sane individuals, and that difference includes taking bigger risks with their long-term health to achieve short-term gain. I thought the ubiquity of doping in cycling makes the sport fair in its own twisted way, as though when everyone is cheating then no one is cheating. But this year's Tour makes me think otherwise.

Many people—and I'm one of them—think Thomas Voeckler's defense of the yellow jersey this year would have ended much sooner if the climbers were as dirty as in years past. Also, clean team Garmin-Cervélo wouldn't have won the team time trial if they were chasing the times of teams with systematic doping programs like in past years. These events and others, with yesteryears' scandal-free, middle-tier cyclists now competing nearer to the top, changes the sport for the better, not just for the sake of cleanliness but because it's more interesting. Doping makes the race more predictable. It also removes the romanticism of the suffering the Tour imparts on its riders.

Sure, maybe Voeckler does dope. Maybe some guys on Garmin-Cervélo do. But even if they are dirty, their level of dirtiness is now enough to matter. That's new. And the race is more interesting as a result. I for one hope that the gap between doping technology and anti-doping technology continues to narrow.

Some resolutions

Why wait for a new year to make resolutions? I've made two this summer.

The first is to show up on time. I'm not a punctual person, though usually I'm not late by much, and I show up to dental appointments and bike rides on time—i.e., occasions when timeliness matters—but habitual tardiness is a flaw despite the excuses—hence my resolution to show up on time.

This will be tough to carry out—impossibly tough—because sometimes it's out of my control whether I show up on time, like when I have a mechanical problem with my bike. But usually when I'm late it's my fault, and usually the cause is my habit of cramming in last-minute tasks before leaving for an appointment. “Three minutes till I must leave? I'll wash the dishes.” Or: “I think I have enough time to read another chapter.” Or: “My toenails really need cutting.” As far as optimization goes, I manage my time well and get a lot done, but it causes me to be late at least as often as I'm on time. So to habitually be on time, I must become less optimal and accept “wasted” slack time.

My second resolution is one Laura and I made together: eat out less. There's nothing strictly wrong with dining out, but it's an expensive alternative to a square meal at home—expensive both in time and money.

Our goal is to eat out only when we've scheduled it in advance by at least a day and therefore avoid impulse dining. So “let's pig out on Ultimate Nachos at Garcia's next Monday” is OK, as well as “let's go to trivia at the pub this Tuesday.” What's out is “I don't feel like cooking anything tonight so let's go out.” Most of our dining out has been impulsive, so this one change is an easy way to cut back.

These are my summer resolutions. What are yours?

Laura Rent-A-Cat

Last Monday afternoon, as I sat on the floor in my apartment and drafted that day's blog post, I saw motion in the corner of my eye. This was the second time that day I saw a quickly passing shadow on the floor by the coat closet, and this time I was just fast enough to see a gray mouse crawling under my stove, having passed from the coat closet to the kitchen. I searched under my stove and behind my fridge, and, though the mouse was long gone, I discovered that my kitchen is riddled with mouse holes.

That is, I think the rodent I saw was a mouse. But it could've been a rat. After searching Google for “mouse versus rat,” I'm more skeptical than ever about my ability to visually identify rats versus mice. I also can't tell the difference only by hearing them—as I would later find out.

After that brief search in the kitchen and coming to grips with the realization that I was cohabiting with a rodent, I decided to call up Laura Rent-A-Cat. “Hello, Laura Rent-A-Cat? I'd like to rent a cat.” Later that night, just before I retired to sleep, Laura herself installed a litter box in my apartment and filled a pot of water and placed it on the floor. The two cats, Emerald and Nutmeg, explored their temporary home. That was good; I wanted those cats to know their arena well before their upcoming melee.

That night I slept on an air mattress instead of my normal spot on the floor; I didn't want to be any closer to the upcoming combat than necessary. But that was my first mistake; soon after I drifted off to sleep, Nutmeg decided to go off her watch and join me on my mattress. I snapped awake for fear of claws puncturing the mattress; I tried shooing Nutmeg off the mattress, but it was clear from her obstinance that if she wasn't allowed on the mattress then so wasn't I. I gave in and propped the mattress against the wall and took my accustomed spot on the floor.

That night, it seemed I awoke from every creak and rustle, both real and imaginary. “What was that? Is it the mouse-rat?” I would look around; the cats would be asleep, but each time they lay in a different spot. “At least the cats are awake enough to move about,” I would think. Then I'd fall back asleep until the next creak or rustle would wake me.

At about three in the morning, I awoke to a loud, sudden “splat!” What was that? Oh, it's just Nutmeg, walking around on my kitchen counter, playing gravity with my day planner. I fell back asleep. Minutes later I awoke again, this time to a distinctive whooshing just behind my head. What was that? Oh, it's just Nutmeg, peeing in the litter box. Again, I fell back asleep. I had less than an hour before my alarm would wake me for my morning ride, but again, only minutes later, I awoke to another strange sound. What was that? Oh, it's just the two cats running from one end of the apartment to the other, chasing the mouse-rat. Chasing the mouse-rat!

I jerked awake, all brain functions immediately on. I was on my feet, I had the light on, and I tracked the cats' battle progress. They had the rodent in full chase; it first tried to find safety amid the clutter of tubes and tires beneath my bike rack, but Nutmeg flushed it out. Then the rodent scrambled along the wall to its haven of the kitchen and its under-the-stove escape. But Emerald out-flanked the rodent and closed off the stove escape. Then she attacked. With typical feline swiftness, Emerald lunged at the rodent and took it within her mouth. The rodent, which squeaked all during the chase, was now frantic in its distress. Emerald dropped the rodent onto the kitchen floor. The rodent squawked and flipped back onto its feet and tried to make a getaway. Emerald struck again. And again she released the rodent. And struck again. And released again.

By now I was cheering as happily as any good gladiatorial spectator. I retrieved the one-inch dowel rod that I use to secure the sliding patio door shut and returned to the scene. The rodent was again on its back, squawking and trying to make a getaway. “Should I pin it down and finish it off?” I thought. “No, let the cat finish it.” But the rodent flipped onto its feet and ran towards the kitchen sink, on the opposite side of the kitchen as the stove. Emerald calmly stared after the rodent, and it was only after some seconds of silence that I figured out something was wrong. I peered under the cabinet overhang where the rodent should have been, but the only thing there was yet another mouse hole. Dang!

The rodent escaped, presumably unharmed. The cats are too well fed to have interest in hunting beyond inflicting pain on other creatures. These kibble-fed kitties need their killer instincts sharpened. So, as I wrote today's blog, when Emerald brought into the apartment—Laura's apartment, in fact—a lizard, I gave her free rein. And Emerald killed it. Well, almost killed it. She ripped the lizard into three pieces before losing interest; the lizard continued breathing its final breaths, slowly. It's saddening to see a harmless reptile die such a death, but that lizard is necessary warm-up for tonight—for tonight the cats do battle again!

* * *

I'll be out of town for the next week-and-a-half, and I won't blog again until Thursday, July 21.

Project: Benotto 10-speed

Since I ruined my Schwinn, I've been without a get-around bike, a bike that's reliable enough to take on short trips and that's cheap enough to warrant leaving locked up even in seedy places.

I began looking on Craigslist for a replacement get-around bike soon after wrecking the Schwinn. I knew what I wanted: another old-fashion road bike. Road bikes are faster, and for me, speed is comfort.

I found and bought a Benotto 10-speed that I guess dates to the 70's or 80's. The bike was in poor condition, but I liked how despite years of obvious neglect, both dérailleurs shifted and both brakes worked. Also, the wheels looked true enough to work as is. I figured all the bike needed to be ridable was a new chain; I would swap out the tubes and tires from the Schwinn.

To get started, I bought a new chain from the local bike shop. Then, upon ripping off the rotting tires and tubes, I realized that the old rim tape was rotted, too. (I should have guessed that before taking off the tires.) I had one roll of rim tape in my bike parts box, so I bought another roll, again from the local bike shop. After taping the rims and trying to swap on the old Schwinn's tires, I realized that the Benotto has different-sized wheels: 27-inch, not the (now) standard 700c. Twenty-seven-inch wheels are slightly larger—just enough so that tires are not interchangeable between the two sizes of wheels. So I bought new tires, but from online, not from the local bike shop. Tires are significantly cheaper online.

Finally, after receiving the tires in the mail, I put the bike together: new chain, borrowed tubes from the Schwinn, new tires, borrowed saddle from the Schwinn, borrowed pedals from the Schwinn. I made a couple of tweaks along the way. First, I used some anti-rust solvent on the rear spindle because the quick release screws were nearly stuck in place, making it hard to get the rear wheel on and off. Also, I cut the new chain two links short because the rear wheel doesn't free-spin well, and a shorter chain forces the hub to free-spin when coasting. This isn't ideal, but it works.

Now I have a working get-around bike. There's still more work to be done on it, like replacing the cables and fixing the rear hub, but the bike proved itself yesterday afternoon on its maiden voyage—a trip with Laura to the Sunnyslope swimming pool about four miles away. The bike did well—even through the dust storm on the way back.

Cost:

bike	$80
chain	$15
rim tape	$10
tires	$60
tubes	$0
saddle	$0
pedals	$0
total	$165