Them’s the brakes

Slow down. In the interim of ignored leaky fork seals the front brake (there are two, one linked with the rear and activated by the foot pedal and the other paying lip service to the hand lever) began weeping brake fluid over any vulnerable paint in the vicinity. Brakes, for which the term “wooden” would be flattery, were demanding attention. Brembo rebuilds are, for the most part, straightforward. Take everything apart and clean it within an inch of its life, replacing where worn and don’t forget that dot4 fluid and dot5 (silicone) are not the same. I had accumulated, through the magic of the internet and a policy of buying is easier than doing, most of the bits that I needed to replace.

The original steel pistons had long been obsoleted in favour of ceramic plated aluminium with the advantage of being lighter and not rusting in place if ignored for a period of more than a month. The front disks had worn away to a ‘wafer thin’ quality worthy of Monty Python’s Mr Creosote. The Germans, bless them, prefer Stainless steel over the original cast iron, presumably because they stay shiny, and that is the choice that I made.

While I was at it I reinstated an original looking round front master cylinder, goodness only knows whether the ratios of piston sizes would work out (they did). Bleeding the re-assembled system of air required patience and the raising and lowering of components to persuade those pesky bubbles out through the six nipples.

While we are on the topic here are my breaks (not all good):

1. Educated beyond my intelligence.
2. A broken home that left me to find my own.
3. Obsessive insecurity that drives me.
4. Social awkwardness that keeps me modest.
5. A father who could make something from nothing.
6. A mother who taught and crafted, dresses, beer, wine, gardens.
7. Good friends to mock and forgive my imperfections.