Deflation and Elation

It is a bit of essential knowledge passed down from father to son.

A fundamental thing, on an equal footing with learning how to clear a path of snow and ice, kick a football on a swerve, pot a plant, operate a petrol lawnmower, change a spark plug in an engine, paint a door, lag a loft, take apart and re-assemble a domestic appliance, erect a tent, take out a pension and buy a house.

Dependant upon your age you may not have encountered any of the above or they may seem to be rites of passage from a bygone era. After all I am in my 50th birthday year.

The specific thing that I am of course referring to is how to mend a puncture on a bicycle wheel.

I grew up in a bike filled house. My Father was a keen cyclist and this had been grounded in his early teens when he was already ranging far and wide into Europe at a time, he often mused, when a pound sterling made a lad from Croydon a millionaire in French Francs, or so it seemed - such was the favourable exchange rate in the post war years.

We were encouraged at a very early age to master two wheels and the bolts on the stabilisers were never in place long enough to rust or seize up amongst all of us trainee cyclists. I can remember a first bike which had solid rubber for tyres, very practical but at the same time very uncomfortable when coursing up and down the garden path or shadowing Father from the pavement through the housing estate.

Basic maintenance was taught from checking the saddle height and fixings, brakes and pedals to tyre pressure and tightening up any of the mechanical bits.

It was a natural progression to learn what seemed to be the hocus pocus of mending a puncture.

There was a thrilling mystery about the small metal tin which comprised the bits and bobs to tackle a flat tyre. The hinged lid, an elongated rectangle with rounded off edges, when lifted revealed a tube of rubber solution, an assortment of vulcanised cure-c-cure patches, a cube of French chalk, a crayon and a piece of fine sandpaper. Accompanying the puncture repair kit were a pair of tyre levers, gun metal grey.

The process of locating the hole in the inner tube was a bit more problematic.

If pumped up but then rapidly deflating it was just possible to carefully listen, with ear skimming the surface of the tyre, for that revealing escape of air. In small and weak hands it was often a struggle to insert the flattened end of one and then the other lever between the rim of the wheel and the wired edge of the tyre. Often as not one lever flew off to the ground or disappeared into the green of the lawn. Working around the rim with the levers, the grip of the tyre was loosened and then the flimsy inner tube could be prised out.

The previous clue to the location of the puncture could be confirmed by pushing the tube into a washing up bowl of water. A stream of fine bubbles up to the surface always seemed to come from a completely different position to that originally suspected.

My Father taught me two golden rules at this stage.
1) Always check the whole tube because chances are there may be more than one hole.
2) Always check the underside of the tyre for any thorns, tacks or sharp objects that may still be embedded there.

The contents of the repair kit were organised. The yellow crayon was used to mark out a radius with the offending hole in the middle. The surface of the rubber was abraded with the sandpaper to form a good surface for the next stage, a dollop of rubber solution applied and spread with a finger tip. The most suitably sized patch was then applied and the backing paper pulled clear to allow the glue and adhesive backing to bond. In a flourish the French chalk was dragged back and forth on a cerrated part on the bottom of the tin and dabbed over the patch to dry up any residues.

The big test was the return of the tube to the tyre and the excruciatingly difficult action of mounting the tyre back on the rim. There was always a temptation to wedge in and force back the tyre with the levers but this could easily trap and split the inner tube. Usually red faced and sore handed I would eventually be ready to pump up and test the success of the repair. There was a good feeling if the tyre stayed inflated for re-attachment to the bike but absolute despair if the original problem had not been solved and you held a soggy, compressed and flat object.

That is of course the theory and in the controlled conditions of a sunny back garden or in the kitchen and in the supervision of my Father, an expert in all things punctures, it can be a pleasurable way to pass some time. However, alone ,on the windswept verge of a busy trunk road, in the dark and cold the same process in practice can be very, very different. At such a moment there are serious considerations of hanging up the bike in the far depths of the garage and just using the car for every journey, however short and impractical that may be. It is the fond thoughts of the time spent with my Father and the lessons learned that spur me on to complete a text book puncture repair and I realise then that I am just about  ready to pass this knowledge on to my own son.