I woke up this morning, ready to head to town and begin another list of items on my paperwork trail. Time was fast running out by the time I reached my bike as I had just completed a number of essential tasks for the morning. On reaching the bike, I noticed that the centre stand was firmly planted on the ground which was unusual. Normally only one leg touches the ground and this time both of them were touching. Then I noticed my new unfolding drama. A flat front tyre.
My bald front tyre compared to a new one.
It was hard to blame my poor front tire. After all, it was balder than Kojak and very worn out. Ironically I had planned on replacing that tyre today, but with it being flat it was going to be hard to head into town now. A bus seemed the only solution, so I whipped the wheel off the bike and wandered up the street to Sergio's place with it under my arm.
Sergio's Own Problems
When I arrived at Sergio's place he was struggling with his own problems. Stuck under the hood of his car with a spanner in hand, he was busy trying to pull out his well hidden battery. His car's charging system had broken down the other day, leaving him with a flat battery and non-working car, and today was the first day that he could take his battery down to the local mechanic to charge it up. This would not get him far, but he only needed to get to the other side of the city where his trusted mechanic was.
Sergio was in the last stages of removing his battery by this stage, so I chatted with him while he finished off. In chatting about my flat tyre experience, he asked me why I did not repair it through the local tyre man. I did not even realise that this guy existed, assuming that the big rubber tyre and the bold word, "Gomeria" (meaning "Tyre Shop") at our regular bus stop was of a shop long since gone.
Our local bus stop that I have visted countless times before.
In finishing, Sergio lifted the battery out of the car and placed it into a big wheelbarrow next to him. We placed my wheel in with it and headed off down the road to the local mechanic. It was going to take an hour to charge Sergio's battery, so he came with me to the Gomeria where we repaired the punctured tyre. With my wheel under my arm, we headed off past the big rubber tyre at the bus stop and down the road to discover the workshop that I never knew about.
The Gomeria (Tyre Shop)
We are not the only ones needing assistance, and wait in-line behind two bicycles. With the first bike repaired and sent on her way, the second bike wheels up to inflate his rear tyre. In the inflation process a huge bubble pops out of the side of the tyre, so they let a little bit of air out and the guy seems happy enough. He wheels his bike out then climbs on and rides away. Money is sometimes very tight in this part of town and buying a new tyre is a big investment that needs to be saved for.
It was our turn now. We enter in through the big garage doors pinned back against dirty concrete walls to the sparsely equipped workshop. A young, athletic man attends us, taking my wheel and looking it over. He then takes hold of a wrench and takes out all of the bolts and nuts holding the wheel together. Once removed, the rim split into two and it was easy to pull out the offending tube which was inflated and immersed into a bathtub to reveal the leak.
The Gomeria is run by the whole family.
The tube was as old as the tyre, with patches upon patches scattered over its surface. This time the leak was in a new place, so our tyre mechanic cuts off a piece of special rubber, plugs in his patch iron (a clamp that gets very hot), and then grinds away on the tube at the hole. He sticks the cut piece of rubber on the tube with a bit of glue and then places it carefully in the patch iron and squeezes down on it firmly.
While the tube sat sizzling in the hot clamp, the man returns to my wheel and checks the old tire on the inside. If something was still poking through it may cause another puncture. Stating that the tyre was very bald in a voice that indicates we are likely to get another puncture if I continue to use it like that, he then goes over and retrieves the now cooked tube. After inflating it again and checking for any other leaks, he pokes it back into the tyre and bolts together the two halves of the rim.
It was about here that Sergio suggested that he head back to get his battery from the mechanic, and we meet back at his house. It takes another 5 minutes before my wheel is assembled again and ready to carry away. A sign on the wall declares puncture repairs cost $4 pesos, but I am charged $5. On a later return I notice that there is now another price on the wall, stating that repairs on my style of wheel cost $5. I guess it takes bit more work than the normal tyre.
My old spare tube with all of its patches.
Getting Mobile Again
Happy with my now inflated tyre, I wander around the corner to the main building on our property where I left my bike and install my wheel. With that all done I am ready to go, and after fighting with the bike a little to get it to roar into life, I cruise down the road to Sergio's house to see how things are working for him.
Sergio has just finished his car also, and is cleaning his hands when I turn up. He needs to take his car to the mechanic on the other side of town and is not sure if there is sufficient charge in his battery for him to make it. So he shows me on the map where we are heading and we organise that I will follow him there and we will go into town on the bike from there.
I'm not sure what Sergio was thinking at the time, but I was in the house still chatting with his wife Graciela, when he suddenly attempted to start his car. The engine roared into life, and with the urgency of a desperate man on a tight time limit he raced out of the yard, down the road and was gone. I looked blankly at Graciela and then launched into action. If I lost him, there was no telling if I would be able to find the place he was heading.
Running out of the yard gates, I stopped to close them, then realised the predicament I was in and so left them half closed, calling out behind me that they were still open. I jumped onto my bike and went to start it, but it was turned off. The key keeps falling out of the ignition so I pulled it out of my pocket where I keep it and turned it on. Now we were ready to go. Oops. No. I had locked the steering too.
Pulling the key out of my pocket once again I fumbled as I rushed to unlock my steering. Precious seconds were ticking by as the lock refused to move. It needed a special position, so after forcing myself to relax, I found that position and unlocked it, pocketing the key once again. Some desperate kicks on the kickstart and the bike mercifully roars into life. Remembering all of the previous problems with running out of fuel, I take an extra couple of seconds to make sure the fuel tap is turned to just the right position and then roar off down the road.
The Race Is On
My bike bounces around over the bumps of the rough dirt road as I head toward the main highway, guessing that this is where Sergio had gone. There was no sign of dust or any other clue so he must have been a fair way ahead of me. Looking ahead I catch a glimpse of him turning out onto the main highway and know that I am at least on the right path. It takes me almost a minute to reach that same point myself. I too turn onto the highway.
Twisting the throttle as far as it goes, the tired old bike pushes hard as I feed it each gear. Finally I reach my top speed, somewhere around 75 km/h, and duck down out of the breeze to try and get the bike to go a little faster. Up ahead in the distance I see Sergio's car pulling away from me as he weaves his way past slower cars. There seems to be no way that I can catch up to him, but I keep pushing along at my limited speed, hoping that there will come a break of some sort.
My break comes when Sergio gets caught behind a slow old truck. With him stuck there, I slowly start to catch up with him again. By the time I reach him, the truck has just turned off his path and he is back into crazy mode again. This time I am able to keep close enough to him to see where he is going. The area of town that we are in I have never visited before, and soon we are bouncing down another dirt road even worse than the one we started out on.
Passing slower cars, bicycles, and motorbikes, we leave bewildered faces and a cloud of dust behind us as we race toward our destination. Not knowing where we were going, I simply stick tightly to Sergio's path as we weave through the roads. Finally we reach his mechanic, but everything is closed up. His daughter is still home, so she opens the workshop door for us and lets Sergio's car in.
Sergio's mechanic's workshop.
He made it. And I did too. Now we could continue on to town to finish some more of the paperwork for my bike... and get a tyre to replace my bald one on the front.