Don’t you just hate it when you lose a front brake caliper bolt when you’re riding your motorcycle? Yea. Me too.
When I pulled into the parking lot in town on Sunday night, I gave the Husky brake lever a squeeze as I approached the entrance booth. Instead of gliding to a gentle stop I was met with metallic crunching sound, an odd feel on the lever and well, no brakes.
Without actually knowing what was wrong, it was obvious what was wrong. I leaned towards Kenny who was riding next to me and said, “I think my front brake caliper just fell off.”
This of course was met with a look that said, “Whaaaat?” without saying a word. He may or may not have slowly opened his helmets sunshade for dramatic “are you crazy?” effect.
I rolled myself past the booth and pulled directly in front of it to get out of the way of the incoming traffic. I hopped off the bike and saw indeed that my front brake caliper was cocked back and balancing along the edge of the brake rotor. The lower bolt had sacrificed itself to the road gods somewhere on my short journey.
Like my own personal pit crew – in about 2 seconds flat Kenny had parked his bike, jettisoned his gear, walked back to me and began looking at my front wheel. If you don’t already have your own pit crew, you might consider getting one. It is a very nice service.
While he was laying on the hot summer asphalt next to my front wheel, he struck the pose of a man with a purpose who was actually doing something other than, you know – hanging out on the blacktop near the 2 lanes of traffic by a parking entrance booth.
From out of the parking booth right behind us, a squeaky teenaged voice said, “you can park your bike in any spot anywhere in the lot.”
I turned and looked at her, smiled and politely and said, “If I could, I would.”
Actually… my look probably wasn’t entirely polite. It may have appeared more along the lines of “Really? You’re kidding. I can PARK in the spaces in this PARKING LOT? You mean everyone who comes into this lot on a motorcycle doesn’t strip off all of their gear and lay down on the hot blacktop RIGHT HERE and poke at the moving parts on their bike ALL the time?”
But I did smile.
I took a quick walk around the entrance driveway to see if my bolt had by some chance wiggled itself out there. Of course, it was nowhere to be found. We had to figure out some other quick fix.
With the caliper shoved back into its normal position on the disc, I pushed the bike over into the motorcycle parking spaces. You know, because I can park in any of them. We just needed something to steady the caliper in it’s rightful place since I didn’t have another bolt. Some safety wire or … Oh! A zip tie would do.
“We could just zip tie it in place for now,” I said.
“You mean wire tie?” Kenny replied.
::blink:blink:: “What? Yes. Wire tie.”
It was at this moment that I finally realized that men are indeed from Mars and women from Venus. We were saying the same damned thing. Zip tie, wire tie, cable tie, potahto – whatever you want to call it, let’s just go ahead and fix my bike.
I swear. It’s hard to find good help that won’t talk back these days.
I’m happy to report that the temporary fix worked like a charm and that my caliper bolt has been replaced.
I have also docked Kenny’s pay for being insubordinate. Beatings will continue until morale improves.
Which do you say?
Zip, cable or wire tie?