Oh, wow, you guys have, um, charts and EVERYTHING...all we could ever know about tire pressure. Gosh. Ok, well, while folks are poring over those, I have another anecdote that I’m meanly providing on my parents’ behalf. So, if you meet them in reality, you’ll pretend I never told you.
In 2019 my parents flew to Vegas to join us for a spring break road trip from Vegas to Northern California. We hit great stuff on the way like the giant sequoias in the Kings/Sequoia National Parks and met Dad’s half sister (discovered on Ancestry DNA) and more. We really made a week out of it. I had carved out time for a visit to Rivendell HQ, and while we were there, my dearest wish was to get Dad sized for a Super Huge Clem. He’s 6’ 3.5”, and nobody makes a bike that big without a top tube he has to swing his leg over. I’ve watched him nearly tip over while mounting his bike at home several times. I figured a Clem L would be just the thing for him, and Clems would be arriving at Rivendell late summer in 59 and 64 cm. But while we were there, Mom fell in love with a “sea foam green” Cheviot, so she is the one who left with a bike that day. This spring Mom called and announced it was time for her Cheviot to come out of storage and get its tires aired up. It’s Mom’s bike. Those are Mom’s tires. So, naturally it’s Dad’s responsibility to fill them. Anyway, as she was telling me, I realized that they had not filled Mom’s tires last year - the shop had done it during assembly, and I’d have done it when I was home visiting in July. Dad, whose mechanical prowess could be rivaled by my 3 year old niece’s ability, would see a presta valve and lose his cool. “Wait, Mom,” I said, “Dad won’t know how to fill your tire!” “Pshhh, of course he will. He has an air compressor now.” “No, Mom, you guys have never filled those tires. You need a little adapter for that air compressor or else a floor pump with a presta valve port.” “Leah, it’s fine. He’ll know what to do.” A short time later, I got a FaceTime call from Mom’s iPhone, but it was Dad’s angry face on the screen. He had just come in from hunting (joy, it’s turkey season!) and had discovered the presence of one presta valve on the tire. Dad and presta valves are natural enemies. Mom was standing expectantly in the background, assured that we would solve this for her. It’s not her problem! “Why in the world would someone DO something like this?” my old man moaned. “That other kind works perfectly fine! We’ve got adaptors for those! Everyone has adaptors for those!” I don’t think he said “cotton pickin’” but when someone up north says cotton pickin’ you know they mean business, and he was close. I had to show him how the presta valve worked, and he said they were going to town in a few days and would pick up a floor pump. That was a week or two ago and that Cheviot is still stranded in prison with two flat tires. As of 4 minutes ago, Mom insists that Dad is going to fill her tires when he gets back from the post office. I’m charging my iPhone so I’m ready for the FaceTime call I’ll be getting from Dad here shortly. 🙄🙄🙄 -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "RBW Owners Bunch" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to rbw-owners-bunch+unsubscr...@googlegroups.com. To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/rbw-owners-bunch/62eb2b98-f24b-48ee-b92d-b6301c79dad0%40googlegroups.com.
