Conference noted::bicycle

170.0. "Tubulars" by KIRK::JOHNSON (STS$VALUE = BSL$DO_WHAT_I_MEAN();) Mon Nov 10 1986 11:49

I've always been a clincher man.  My father's bike has clinchers,
and my grandfather's bike, if he had one, would have had clincher
wheels.  To me, tubular bike wheels have always seemed so fragile, 
risky, and um, err, un-American.  After all, most guys who ride
on tubulars have shiny black hair and speak one or more derivatives
of Latin.  Deep in my subconscious, I know that riding on bike tires 
without tubes is just as perverse as wearing pants with no underwear.

Now that's all changed.  One of these shady characters sold me his
sleek Italian bike frame; you know - the kind that turn whiplash
into a weekend sport.  And when I slipped my old clincher wheels on
it, the tolerence between them and the frame was a bit tight - about
the same as the point gap on my old Honda motorcycle. So, under
cover of darkness, I went out and bought a pair of tubular wheels
and tires. 

Once home, I glued the rims in record time.  After letting them set
20 minutes, I applied the second layer of glue, and then began
stretching on the tire.  That's when I realized I had fallen into a
treacherous trap: the tires were a LOT smaller than the rims. It was
plain to me that it would take a miracle or a return slip to get me
out of this mess. 

Relying on my clincher resources, I reached for a tire iron. It was
useless on the beadless, glue-stained tubular.  "Another American's
money sacrificed to a European plot!" I thought.  I kicked myself
for not having read those Henry James novels more carefully. 

I wondered whether the shop would accept the story that my Italian
racing frame was set up for 26" wheels, or whether they'd notice the
glue that was oozing off of the rims when I took them back.  In a
fit of desperation, I tried to think of any marriagable woman I knew
who could handle a tubular.  Would she understand when I offered her
silk and lace(-ups) for her hand in marriage?  "Honey, I'll do the
dishes. Could you change those Clements in the corner?" 

Finally, though, a miracle happened:  the first tire slipped on.
Now the valve stem was angled out of the rim like the Tower of Pisa.
"No problem," I thought, and tried to slip the tire around on the
wheel to line it up.  No motion.  The tire was glued into place.
It gave me no comfort to think that this was an Italian bike from 
an area not too far from Pisa.  Fifteen minutes of heaving and
sweat later, it was almost straight.

The salesman had also told me to adjust the tire on the rim so the
tread line was straight when I spun the wheel, like the lines on a
super highway.  I tugged and pulled, but I stilled ended up with
something that looked more like the California coastal highway when
it's up above the cliffs. 

Finally, midway through the agony of stretching on the second tire,
I discovered the miracle that makes a tubular slip on.  It's a magic
incantation.  When you say six special words very rapidly in a row,
the tire just pops right on.  Though the words themselves are hardly
secret, I can't tell you what they are right now. (I couldn't print
this, otherwise.)  Anyway, most of them have four letters, but they
can have as many as seven.  I'd be happy to answer individual
requests for more specific information. 


MATT

    	MATT
    
    	You missed your calling. You should be a comedian. Dave
    	Barry has nothing on you.
    
    	Scott

    
    Great note!  More, more!   - Chris

CLASSIC!!  I must that I was sucked into the vortex before I realized
that a true gag was being perpetrated.

Would you mind being reprinted in club newsletters from coast to coast?

(Gee I wonder what the copyright regs are on notes file entries? Maybe
that's a subject for Digital.notes?)

ed

    
    Good story Matt.  
    
    You might try pre-stretching tubulars on old rims.
                                                     
    Chuck
    

    
    	You can also try shaving your arms *BEFORE* opening the little
    tube of tubasti.
    

>    	You can also try shaving your arms *BEFORE* opening the little
>    tube of tubasti.
    
Tubasti is passe'; if you really want things to stick use 3M Trim 
Adhesive! Also good for gluing your chest hair to your kneecaps, while 
gluing your tyres..... :-)

And if you want something that *LOOKS* like a more impressive mess than 
it really is (which is pretty substantial...) try Clement Road Red!

Gotta go, my fingers are sticking to my keyboard..... :-)
                                                            ken

    I always been the kind of guy who bought new clothes when I discovered
    that every thread I owned was dirty.  I started with the same attitude
    towards tubulars -- if one went flat, I'd peel it off the rim and pitch
    it in the back of the utility closet with the others. 
    
    Unfortunately, I soon discovered that cotton tubulars (unlike cotton
    briefs) didn't come in 3-packs for $6.99.  As my closet filled,
    my checking account drained, and I became flat broke in more ways
    than one.
    
    That's when I discovered the Velox kit -- a bright orange tin filled
    with toy implements: a red crayon, a yellow plastic thimble, a tiny
    black emory board, a few cute rubber patches, and an orange tube
    of glue.  (Oh yeah, and a needle and thread. But I wanted to forget
    about that...)  
    
    The thing was a work of art.  I left it on the coffee table for weeks,
    just to show it off.  I convinced myself that it would be a shame to
    use it -- to wrinkle the tube of glue, dull the crayon, or nick the
    thimble.  Besides, it didn't come with instructions.  The few words
    on the tin were in French.
    
    [To be continued...]