Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater
After another Seattle-ish one-day bout of snow, I decided to try out my fancy studded bike tires. I levered them on their rims last Friday, and rode into work. It was a difficult ride -- the studded tires (Nokian Hakkapelitta W106s) weigh about double my normal tires, and have much higher rolling resistance. When the weather cleared up, I determined the normal tires had to go back on.
So Sunday night, I put the normal tires (Vittora Randonneur Pros, which need to be replaced soon) back on. While I was in there, using my shiny new workstand, I also pulled out the brake pads to see if they needed to be replaced. They seemed alright, so I shoved them back into the calipers, and put the bike away for the night.
This morning, it was blazingly cold out. It had been very clear last night, and my outdoor thermometer read 29° F. I bundled up, wishing that the weather would make up its mind so I could pick a tire and stick with it. But there was no ice on the ground, so I hopped on the bike and pedaled off.
The brakes felt a little weird, like they weren't biting well enough, but I figured that was just due to the cold, and kept riding. I took the less speedy but less windy route down to Greenwood, and ground slowly up the hill past 85th. The flat section, from 80th to 56th, passed without incident.
As I started down the slight incline that becomes the Fremont Avenue hill, I blasted past another rider since I hadn't had to slow for the light, and she'd been stopped. I glanced back to make sure I wouldn't cut her off when I pulled back to the side of the road, when I heard something go clink! as I turned my head back. I saw something skitter off away from me, but figured it was yet another piece of road jetsam. Things have a way of getting under a tire and doing a really good impression of something falling off the bike.
I joked to myself, "I hope that wasn't something I needed," about the skittering object, and started powering down the hill. Something niggled at the back of my head, and I decided I'd better test the brakes. Good thing, too, the front brake wasn't working! Eeek! I eased off the downhill power pedalling, and started slowing. The rear brake worked fine (actually, it seemed kind of weak too, but it was still working), and with some planning, I came to a safe stop at the mid-hill light.
The second half of the hill was taken much more cautiously. The rear brake, even at its best, is a mediocre way to slow the bike, and the cold seemed to have sapped the brakes of their strength a bit. With no small amount of luck, I made it to the light at 36th, and pulled to a stop. The road flattens out after 36th, so I was out of the major danger zone. I was also less than 1/4 mile from my destination, but I thought I'd ride by the local bike shop to see if they were open, and could sell me new brake pads -- I'd decided that I'd somehow dropped a pad on the road at the top of the hill.
I rounded the corner towards the shop, when I heard another clink! skitter, and with a start, grabbed the rear brake lever. Nothing. I said something along the lines of, "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" as I vaulted over the toptube of the bike and landed on the pavement, executing a clumsy but effective Flintstones-style stop.
I turned around and spent a few minutes looking, but couldn't locate the AWOL pad. Freaked out now, I stood one foot on a pedal and rode my bike like an ungainly Razor scooter the rest of the way to work, walking down any incline of any length or slope.
Once I was safely at work and had figured out a rescue plan (calling upon my Flexcar membership to go retrieve the new pads I had sitting in a drawer at home, since all the local bike shops are apparently closed on Mondays), I started thinking. What I realized is that I'd become complacent.
When I put the brake pads back into the calipers last night, I didn't follow the directions, which are pretty explicit -- insert the pads until you hear a distinct click! Instead, I'd inserted them until they seemed about right. Well, as you can doubtless guess, that wasn't good enough.
The calipers hold the pads so that if they're not securely in place, they will gradually slip lower and lower until eventually some bump in the road causes them to go clink! skitter out of the caliper. When I went to replace the pads tonight, I found one remaining pad out of four in place. That's... not a good record.
I realized that I should have taken the reduced bite this morning as a warning sign -- the pads were slightly out of alignment, and so they weren't making full contact with the discs. I should have known that, but I weirdly assumed it must be the cold. They've never been affected by cold before. There's no reason they should have been this morning.
I was, to put it mildly, extremely lucky. It's a rare event that I need to brake hard for any reason, but to be without that ability, particularly as I embarked on one of the bigger hill descents in Seattle, is a sobering thought. To lose one brake is bad enough, but to have both go on the same ride is just frightening. It's also absolutely hilarious, in a way that was best demonstrated by the first Werner movie (if you weren't in Germany in the early 90s, you probably won't get the reference, but that's fine).
Werner is riding his ridiculous clapped-out scooter down a hill towards his jobsite. The hill gets steeper and steeper, and he's pleased to have any headway after the poor scooter coughed and spluttered on the way up the hill. As the moment to brake comes, he gives the handle a squeeze, and the film goes slo-mo.
The brake lever explodes into several separate pieces, which tumble gracefully past Werner's face, the threads on the screws carefully drawn in. He turns to watch the departed parts disappear behind him, making an "Oh... crap!" face.
The film speeds up to normal speed again, and he explains, "My brake just took itself apart!" in the clever observant way of all people who are about to enter a world of pain.
And, as if to prove to me that anything's possible, I found the exact scene, posted to YouTube. Viva la Internet! The relevant scene starts about 40 seconds in.
So yeah, now that I know what happened, that's kind of how I should have felt watching that first brake pad skitter across the road away from me.
Posted at 21:10 permanent link category: /bicycle
Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater