…four tubes. Four tubes. FOUR TUBES!
Let me come clean. I’ve never had a flat tire on a bike until the day Bernie and I met Mr. Crazy. I’ve never had to change a flat. Never put new tubes or tires on a bike. Not once.
So after I blew a tube on the Nomade, I switched over to the Giant. I knew I needed new tires for the Nomade to replace its 25-year-old Continentals. I asked Jack for a recommendation, and he suggested some Panaracer Pasela touring tires with a Kevlar belt. I ordered a set from Bike Nashbar and figured I’d ride the Giant until they arrived.
To prepare for their arrival, I went down to Full Moon Vista and bought a set of Bontrager tubes — 27 x 1 1/8 Presta tubes. And that was my first mistake.
The tires arrived with today’s mail. While taking a break from a day of house visits for a union campaign, I put on one of the new tubes using three separate guides: (1) Park Tool’s Big Blue Book of Bicycle Repair, (2) Zinn And The Art Of Mountain Bike Maintenance (I know the Nomade isn’t a mountain bike), and (3) the instructions on the back of the tube box. I’d mixed up my two Motobecane bikes — the Mirage has Presta valves, but the Nomade has Schrader valves. Knowing nothing at all about whether it mattered if I switched them, I started with the non-flat front tire on the Nomade.
I deflated the tube and removed one side of the tire. I pulled out the valve and then removed the tube. Then I pulled out the rest of the tire and put just enough air in the new tube for it to be round. I put it inside the tire and — after what I can only describe as an embarrassingly Herculean effort — I got the tire back on the wheel. I blew the tube up to full strength — 105 PSI as recommended on the side of the Pasela tire. I sat back smugly, basking in my newfound–
BANG!
The tube exploded, sending my younger son about three feet in the air. I was, of course, making this repair in the dining room, as all good wrenches do. My wife, who was sitting about three feet away stripping wallpaper, got a nice shot of adrenalin through her system, too.
Figuring that I must have pinched the tube somewhere, I went through the entire process again. Partially remove tire. Take off old tube (no need to deflate it this time!). Remove tire. Put some air in second new tube. Replace tire on wheel. Inflate. Holding … holding …
BANG!
This time, I’d warned my wife and son ahead of time. My youngest son probably didn’t understand the warning, given that he doesn’t really speak too much English yet. But what’s the big deal — he can function with 80% of his hearing, right?
I was now thoroughly demoralized. Jen was quite supportive. “I’m sure everybody goes through tubes when they’re learning. This is your first time.” She almost managed not to laugh while she was saying it. I checked the wheel for a spoke poking through or some other sharp bit. Nothing.
Later in the day, Bernie and I rode down to Full Moon Vista for the second day in a row. This time, I got two Shrader-valved tubes. We rode back home. Removed the not-old-but-recently-detonated tube. Put the new one on. Blew it up part of the way. I could see that the bead line of the tire wasn’t even, so I deflated the tube and fixed it. Blew it up part of the way again. Another bulge in the bead line. Deflate. Fix. It looked good. I blew it up to 95 PSI. “That was a lot easier,” I told Jen. “I think it’s going to work this–”
BANG!
The tire started to pull away from the wheel and the tube popped. I sat on the dining room floor in stunned disbelief. “Maybe your pump is reading incorrectly,” Jen suggested.
In a darkly comic mood, I repeated the process for the fourth time. I put the new tube in as if it were a piece of nuclear material going on the warhead of a rocket. I straightened every crimp, lovingly massaging the tube into place. I’m not a religious man, but I may have invoked a deity or two. I blew the tire up part way. Found another bulge in the bead line. Fixed it. Blew it up. Five seconds went by … 10 seconds … 20 seconds … 30 seconds. “Can I touch it?” asked Bernie, who was now watching the Explode-A-Thon. “Sure,” I said. He lightly touched the tire with one finger. No explosion. I picked it up. It looked good. Had I finally done it? It looked like I–
BANG!
Sweet weeping Jesus! FOUR TUBES! What kind of half-witted knuckle-dragger blows up four tubes changing a tire?
Tomorrow, I plan to enlist the aid of someone who knows what they’re doing. In the words of The Dude: This aggression shall not stand, man!
. Several years ago, I read 
