flat tire crisis/saga Part 2
i prepared for many things before my trip: mechanical breakdowns, lost keys, lost ID, things that even seemed beyond probability. two things i didnt anticipate were natural disasters (more on that later) and century-old Mormon booby traps. the ominous sound from underneath was a 6-inch-long hand-forged framing nail that was probably 100 years old and it was stuck into my back tire right between the tread blocks:
after a moment taken to really soak in the reality of my situation my healthy reserves of optimism kicked in and i started preparing to replace my inner tube, actually relieved that it was early in the day, beautiful weather, and i was fully equipped to tackle the problem. ipod/ Bolt Thrower, leftover Pabst, complete tool kit, no problem. off came the bags, parked on the edge of the road, tool kit and spare tubes laid out...no center stand. without a center stand, the bike cannot be supported & the rear wheel removed in order to fix it...so its not going to be that easy, then.
after a moment taken to really soak in the reality of my situation my healthy reserves of optimism kicked in and i started preparing to replace my inner tube, actually relieved that it was early in the day, beautiful weather, and i was fully equipped to tackle the problem. ipod/ Bolt Thrower, leftover Pabst, complete tool kit, no problem. off came the bags, parked on the edge of the road, tool kit and spare tubes laid out...no center stand. without a center stand, the bike cannot be supported & the rear wheel removed in order to fix it...so its not going to be that easy, then.
often, dirt bikes get around this issue by just lifting it up onto some kind of simple platform, like a milk crate. there were no milk crates, of course, so i started to pile up rocks. big ones, and high enough to lift the rear end up while still being sort of level so it doesnt fall over. i made my pile, then tried to lift the bike up...it turns out the KLR weighs fuck-all hundreds of pounds and there was no way i was going to be able to lift it alone...so much for that idea...it was then that i was extremely glad that i brought Slime tube sealant, so in it went, and out came my handy CO2 inflator, pulled off the shelf at work. remember how bicycles can have one of two kinds of valves? a presta valve inflator head is useless on a schraeder valve...so if that wasnt going to be of any use, i was stuck using the mini hand pump i brought. still optimistic, i got to work on that little bastard only to watch the sealant just spray right out of the hole as fast as i could push the air in. well, Slime is meant to temporarily repair very small holes, like the kind you get mountain biking in the desert from goatheads and such, not 1/8" rough gashes. to try and help the fibers "clot" i stuck my finger over the hole and sure enough, the Slime started to work and the tube was holding air. i pumped for quite a while, but had forgotten a pressure guage so had no idea how long i needed to sit there and pump away to reach a decent pressure.
eventually my arm was sore and i decided i must be doing pretty good, the tire was looking full, and it was beaten, at least teporarily. i got back on and kept riding, although very carefully in case it deflated once in use. i creeped along for a few miles before noticing that it had gone flat again, so i hopped off and started pumping again, then set out again. this was a pattern that lasted something like 5 miles, stopping about every mile or so. after a while, at this sluggish pace, several hours had passed and there was only a few more hours of daylight left. i was out of water, in the middle of nowhere, and still 40-some miles from even a paved road much less a town. around then, the park ranger showed up and offered a hand, and his pressure gauge. turns out i was only getting about 5 PSI in the thing, so taking turns with the hand pump we were able to get it up near the 30 PSI i needed. with that, he took off, leaving me on my own for the rest of the way back to the highway. with the sun beginning to fall and so many miles still to go on my own without an extra arm for the pump (about 50), it was time to make some serious distance before my tire went flat again and i ran out of daylight...
i had never really ridden off road before. not REALLY. i tooled around on my XR a little, but too shy to really get down to it, especially around corners. jesus, i crashed the fucking thing going 40 in straight line. i had no idea what i was doing. until that moment. i hauled ass like no man should on an overloaded, worn-out-broken-down-flat-tire-havin' piece of shit back to the highway at 60-some MPH; catching air, drifting foot-out around the bends, tucked in on the straights, a rooster tail of dust, rocks, and sand swirling around and behind me. rocks were flying off my front tire and hitting my boots and shins, my arms strained to keep the bike going in a straighish line, the back tire was spinning up, it was a race against time and fear, and theres only one thing that kept me from eating shit...divine intervention. there is simply no other explanation. it was a fucking miracle that i was able to ride like Mouse McCoy himself and not come off. there were sand pits that were more like quicksand than dirt, washboarding for miles, and rocks like a field of marbles...maybe it was my little cricket friend, that days familiar/guardian angel, seen here perched on my tank bag while i was pumping sealant earlier in the day:
i had never really ridden off road before. not REALLY. i tooled around on my XR a little, but too shy to really get down to it, especially around corners. jesus, i crashed the fucking thing going 40 in straight line. i had no idea what i was doing. until that moment. i hauled ass like no man should on an overloaded, worn-out-broken-down-flat-tire-havin' piece of shit back to the highway at 60-some MPH; catching air, drifting foot-out around the bends, tucked in on the straights, a rooster tail of dust, rocks, and sand swirling around and behind me. rocks were flying off my front tire and hitting my boots and shins, my arms strained to keep the bike going in a straighish line, the back tire was spinning up, it was a race against time and fear, and theres only one thing that kept me from eating shit...divine intervention. there is simply no other explanation. it was a fucking miracle that i was able to ride like Mouse McCoy himself and not come off. there were sand pits that were more like quicksand than dirt, washboarding for miles, and rocks like a field of marbles...maybe it was my little cricket friend, that days familiar/guardian angel, seen here perched on my tank bag while i was pumping sealant earlier in the day:
i managed to ride the remaining distance in about 45 minutes, a route that took 4 hours the day before, and once at the highway, i looked down and had just barely made it; it was flat again. having not the patience (or the strength) to get off and start pumping again, i just rode into town on it ,straight to the service station (another 5-10 miles), knowing i still had a long ways to go before i was going to be ready to carry on with my trip. i still needed to properly repair the flat and figure out where i was going to sleep that night, and i was totally exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry...
