That's Some Wear There Buddy

I got the impression that Mike, the other Mike, not me, wanted to take my bike out to the back forty and shoot it, put it out of its misery. It would have been the compassionate thing to do. If you rode with us this past Two Wheel Tuesday you know that my front brake was unceasing in its racket, that constant rubbing sound was unending, the kind of sound that evil mechanics are forced to listen to (but are not allowed to do anything about) for all eternity when their bill finally comes due. Of course, and as if the sound was not bad enough, that friction did not exactly helped with forward momentum.

I always thought (as opposed to knew because I had never before let them get so far) that if brakes ever got to the point of metal on metal there would be a horrible, high-pitched, screeching sound, something like the neighborhood parrot waking up in the morning. Not so, this sound was never anything more than the typical rubbing of misaligned pads, a less-than-true wheel, or of a piston not fully retracting when the lever is released. The latter is why the rubbing became constant on Tuesday; the piston was pushed out so far to make contact with, what was left of the pad, that it was no longer retracting like it should.

Ah well, live and learn.

Fortunately this story has a happier ending; a bike with bad brakes is not the same as a horse with a broken leg. The new pads (red) are in place; with those, plus the new bottom bracket installed by the Local Bike Stand last week, all is sweet once again and, though they didn't need it, I switched out the rear brake pads as well. Just so that everything is nice and equal.