I'm mechanically inclined. Which means that I am not afraid of breaking things.
My primary mode of transport is a big honking Space Blue Greenspeed GTO. [See it here in its Imposing Tour Configuration] In keeping with its big honking status, it uses Magura BIG disc brakes. They're hydraulic, and served me well while I careened down mountains towing a trailer with 75 pounds of gear in it.
Several weeks ago, the right brake lever started going a bit mushy, and I noticed a bit of fluid on the cable housing near the caliper...eventually, I had to squeeze the lever almost all the way in just to get the pads to engage. I needed to bleed the brake, because it was obvious that the fluid had left the system. So I got the bleed kit, and then spent a couple of weeks reading the instructions, looking at the brakes, and deciding that I would do it later. I've worked on regular brakes so often that I was able to talk my ex through adjusting her brakes on the West Side Highway bike path in New York City via cellphone while I was on top of a mountain in Kentucky. But hydraulics were uncharted territory, full of mysterious oils and unknown expense.
Last night I finally decided to do the deed, and hooked up the various fittings and tubes and syringes. The basic procedure involves pumping fluid into the system from the bottom, sucking off the excess when it comes out the top, then cycling the brake lever to squeeze all the air bubbles out. At one point, I got a little too enthusiastic with the brake lever, which caused one of the pistons to pop out of the caliper. All the brake fluid dumped out of the reservoir and onto the floor. This meant that I had to disassemble the caliper (shown above) to get the piston back in, a choice I made after I decided that yes, if I broke something, I was willing to buy a new caliper.
So, I unscrewed the bolts holding it together, and it split into two well-machined halves. Once it was open, I could snap the piston back into place with ease. I saw how simple the system was: two matching blocks of machined aluminum, a small hole in both blocks sealed with an o-ring that routed brake fluid through the two halves, which then pushed each piston into the brake pads and pressed them against the rotor. What had been mysterious was revealed.
After another couple of rounds of pumping and sucking brake fluid (it's the new drug scourge killing the nation's youth, doncha know), I got the system full, air-free, and sealed up. The new brake pads are installed on both brakes, and I have wonderful new stopping power. I got more than 3,000 miles out of the old pads, which is excellent, so I probably won't have to replace them for another year or so. I'm also pleased that I didn't have to pay anyone to take care of the problem.
It seems to me that there are a lot of things in life that are like hydraulic disc brakes (Yowza! Outta my way, Garrison Keillor!). Some things need repair or enhancement, but the actual doing of it involves delving into the unknown, and taking risks. It helps to identify what those risks are, so you can put them into perspective, and make a decision to move forward despite them. Then, as you tackle the issue, its mystery lessens: you take it apart, peer into it, see how it works. Understanding brings simplicity and, if you're paying attention, resolution. If the problem arises again, you've got the map of experience to guide you, and it's easier to deal with.
I am of the opinion that many of life's challenges can be explained via pedal-powered metaphor. But you have to ride to get the finer lessons. I'm sure the same thing applies to people who race cars, ride horse, or hang from gliders. It's fractal, I think: a small piece of your life bears a significant relationship to the larger whole, which is composed of multiple, self-similar iterations of that piece. Zoom in to your breakfast, then zoom out to your spiritual quest for meaning in a chaotic and impermanent world, and find the pattern in the irregularity of it all.
Or...maybe it's just oatmeal and coffee.
Today, I don't think so.
My primary mode of transport is a big honking Space Blue Greenspeed GTO. [See it here in its Imposing Tour Configuration] In keeping with its big honking status, it uses Magura BIG disc brakes. They're hydraulic, and served me well while I careened down mountains towing a trailer with 75 pounds of gear in it.
Several weeks ago, the right brake lever started going a bit mushy, and I noticed a bit of fluid on the cable housing near the caliper...eventually, I had to squeeze the lever almost all the way in just to get the pads to engage. I needed to bleed the brake, because it was obvious that the fluid had left the system. So I got the bleed kit, and then spent a couple of weeks reading the instructions, looking at the brakes, and deciding that I would do it later. I've worked on regular brakes so often that I was able to talk my ex through adjusting her brakes on the West Side Highway bike path in New York City via cellphone while I was on top of a mountain in Kentucky. But hydraulics were uncharted territory, full of mysterious oils and unknown expense.
Last night I finally decided to do the deed, and hooked up the various fittings and tubes and syringes. The basic procedure involves pumping fluid into the system from the bottom, sucking off the excess when it comes out the top, then cycling the brake lever to squeeze all the air bubbles out. At one point, I got a little too enthusiastic with the brake lever, which caused one of the pistons to pop out of the caliper. All the brake fluid dumped out of the reservoir and onto the floor. This meant that I had to disassemble the caliper (shown above) to get the piston back in, a choice I made after I decided that yes, if I broke something, I was willing to buy a new caliper.
So, I unscrewed the bolts holding it together, and it split into two well-machined halves. Once it was open, I could snap the piston back into place with ease. I saw how simple the system was: two matching blocks of machined aluminum, a small hole in both blocks sealed with an o-ring that routed brake fluid through the two halves, which then pushed each piston into the brake pads and pressed them against the rotor. What had been mysterious was revealed.
After another couple of rounds of pumping and sucking brake fluid (it's the new drug scourge killing the nation's youth, doncha know), I got the system full, air-free, and sealed up. The new brake pads are installed on both brakes, and I have wonderful new stopping power. I got more than 3,000 miles out of the old pads, which is excellent, so I probably won't have to replace them for another year or so. I'm also pleased that I didn't have to pay anyone to take care of the problem.
It seems to me that there are a lot of things in life that are like hydraulic disc brakes (Yowza! Outta my way, Garrison Keillor!). Some things need repair or enhancement, but the actual doing of it involves delving into the unknown, and taking risks. It helps to identify what those risks are, so you can put them into perspective, and make a decision to move forward despite them. Then, as you tackle the issue, its mystery lessens: you take it apart, peer into it, see how it works. Understanding brings simplicity and, if you're paying attention, resolution. If the problem arises again, you've got the map of experience to guide you, and it's easier to deal with.
I am of the opinion that many of life's challenges can be explained via pedal-powered metaphor. But you have to ride to get the finer lessons. I'm sure the same thing applies to people who race cars, ride horse, or hang from gliders. It's fractal, I think: a small piece of your life bears a significant relationship to the larger whole, which is composed of multiple, self-similar iterations of that piece. Zoom in to your breakfast, then zoom out to your spiritual quest for meaning in a chaotic and impermanent world, and find the pattern in the irregularity of it all.
Or...maybe it's just oatmeal and coffee.
Today, I don't think so.
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