New Rear Tire

            I am a capable man. I’ve ridden my motorcycle from San Francisco to Costa Rica and back solo. I’ve repaired electrical problems on my BMW while stranded on the loneliest road in the United States, while it snowed.  It is a point of pride when I tell people that I know how to work on motorcycles. When I paid an Argentine mechanic $10 USD to install a new rear tire yesterday it was because the task is a chore without the right equipment, not because I didn’t know how.

            In the first ten minutes of watching a real mechanic work I received my monies worth. There is a big difference in being able to work on a motorcycle and being good at it.

            His shop was big enough for a workbench, motorcycle stand, pneumatic tire changing equipment, several bikes under 500cc in one corner, and a small bathroom in another. The floor was clean. The walls were empty except for his Harley Davidson Road King poster and three prints of naked women arranged side by side. Most of his tools were put away in drawers and cabinets but several box wrenches and some screwdrivers hung on the wall, organized by type and decreasing size.

            The mechanic maneuvered my bike into the only available space the shop and leaned it on its kickstand. After standing behind the bike for a few seconds he walked to the workbench and selected three wrenches from his collection hanging on the wall. With the largest he cracked the axle nut while the tire was on the ground.  He positioned a small car jack under the right side of the frame and lifted the rear wheel off the ground by triangulating the weight of the bike onto the front wheel and kickstand. I’d tried jacking up the bike in the past and didn’t know this was possible. The last time I changed a tire I strapped the back of the bike to an overhead truss to support it off the ground, a difficult and dangerous operation. My other option was to lay the bike on its side to remove the rear wheel and hope I didn’t drop it in the process. I liked the triangulation process far better. The rest of the operation took about 20 minutes. His movements were efficient and without hurry. The three wrenches’ he’d selected earlier were the only ones used, each in turn.  His body was always correctly positioned to be comfortable and take advantage of using his weight for leverage. Fragile components were protected with soft objects. He checked his work before moving on to the next step; bead seated, no air bubbles from the presto valve, torques set, chain slack adjusted. Everything reinstalled in the exact opposite order it was removed, not one wasted movement.

            He wheeled the bike out of his shop, parked it on its kickstand, and used a clean rag to wipe the seat and handlebars. Every part he had touched was clean. I found this incredibly ironic considering the rest of the bike is still covered in Patagonian dirt.  He handed me my helmet. I thanked him for his quality work. We shook hands, and I rode away.

            As far as I’m concerned a good mechanic is on par with a good musical composer or a dancer. It was beautiful to watch. Deliberate, attention to detail, fluid movements where action communicated intent.

            The next time I need to change my rear tire I’m sure I’ll remember a few tricks of the trade. I’ll be more efficient, but still a long way from being good at it. And as of today, that’s just fine.