Bikes are great, even when they're not.

A great thing about a bike is how much can be wrong before it no longer serves its function of being faster than walking. Today, for a little, I was reduced to walking my bike, and yet somehow, I'm still confident I had a positive experience. Although, that is my judgement, so obviously suspect.

After earlier this morning sharing with my friend Colleen that I consider the term gravel a silly, but effective, bit of marketing, equating true gravel to the nastiness alongside railroad tracks, I chose to ride from Holyoke to Northampton, well, alongside railroad tracks. In defense of my sensibility, that section does have a fairly smooth service roadway with very little of bumpy gravel, and it has even better views of the Connecticut River than the road up above it. Also, going that way, I could claim I'm a gravel rider, but I won't.

Maybe if I had a true gravel set-up, it would've been fine, but when I remounted my bike after a stop to give a tributary trickle a more generous gander, I found the ride a little less smooth. Drat, flat tire. I didn't notice any impact. Did I roll across a bit of sharp railroad debris in parking? Nope, a long slit on the rim side of the tube, with nothing on the rim to cause it. I rarely, almost never, see old tubes simply fail, but best I can tell, that's what happened.

Replacement tube in, I started pumping, or tried to. The pump was fighting me, sometimes not fully extending, and then quite hard to push on the compression. I guess I don't flat enough? Like any machine, a pump doesn't appreciate sitting unused. I tried a little saliva lubricant, but that improved it just enough that I could pump to only a very soft tire that might, just might, support my 145 pounds on smooth pavement. I walked the bike until I could rejoin the road.

It was a nice spot, 

and lovely weather, for a walk. 

I enjoyed it!

Pinch, pinch the tire with my hand, that might be too soft even for the road. I'd already reached out to my friend Adele to request they leave a floor pump accessible when I made it to Northampton, but that was still at least five miles away going the direct route, which included a mile of pebbly dirt road which I was confident that squishy tire wouldn't survive. Let me look at the pump again.

Hmm, maybe the head is threaded to the body like the other parts, and could easily unthread. Yay, yes, it was, and it did unthread. That let me blow some gunk out with my portable air compressor, also known as lungs, and diagnose that most of the resistance remained even with the head removed, so the problem with friction between the rubber plunger and the shaft. Luckily, I had just the thing to fix that! A little more strategically placed spit, and the pump was significantly more satisfactory. The gauge on Adele's floor pump confirmed I'd reached the high 30s PSI before I stopped at good-enough.

Was  the bike perfectly great today? Naw, but it's pretty damn cool when something as simple as spit can be the special sauce to see a machine rolling again. Also, even before I figured that out, I was still able to walk WITH my bike and the two of us could've hopped a bus on the route that parallels the tracks. So did I have a good ride? You're darn tootin'! No horn or tow truck required.