Schwalbe Tire Booster Review Tubeless Inflator

 

We all knew these were coming.  It is here and it is awesome.  Everyone should have one.

From my reading it seemed the tubeless inflator and floor pump all-in-one combos worked well enough but were expensive and when used just as a pump they appeared to be less than ideal.   I held out and am glad I did. 

Operation of the Tire Booster is simple. Attach your floor pump to the presta valve and pump up the canister.  Pull the valve core from the wheel you are inflating and attach the Tire Booster hose.  Then flip the lever that opens the air flow and whoof-bing-bing; the tire inflates and the bead pings into place.   Flip the lever closed, remove the hose, replace the valve core on the wheel and pump it to your desired pressure.

Gone are the days of getting sweaty pumping as fast as you can pump waiting for fatigue to overtake denial.  No more clinking sounds as spent CO2 cartridges bounce off each other in your trash can after trying and failing to inflate your tubeless tires.  No more driving to the bike shop/gas station/friend’s house to use a compressor.   No more risking physical injury with some contrived inflation device hack.   No more puddles of orange sealant.   

Contrived device

Perhaps the best news is that since changing tubeless tires is suddenly (and for the first time) easy I’m less inclined to skip a ride because I don’t want the hassle of swapping tires or go on a ride with inappropriate tires because I am too lazy to swap.

I’ve used this on about a dozen tires and it has worked perfectly on road tires, 40mm gravel monsters and 29er mountain bike tires.   It is small enough that it lives in the back of my car so it travels wherever I do.   

There are two paths forward here.  First you can carry on and spend your money on spilled sealant, CO2 cartridges and gas used driving to use a compressor and then throw up your hands and buy one of these.  Or you can just order one and be done with it and spend the money you would have wasted on sealant, gas and CO2 on more tires.

Highly recommended.  Five out of five Evos!!!

Is this Iowa?

Circumstances provided a late season window for some west side gravel riding.   Seven of us who sport the black and orange carpooled our way to the hinterland known as Carnation where we unloaded bikes and braced for what would start out as a cold ride in the lowland fog of the Snoqualmie Valley.

KB Ready to roll

After an all-too-brief warm up on the Snoqualmie Valley Trail we turned east and headed into the forest on gravel roads.  Our collective gravel equipment has gotten better as time goes on. Gone are the days of dodgy descents on 32mm Cyclocross tires. Our bike handling skills are also better both from the improved equipment and from increased experience.  Thus we were moving quickly despite the loose surface on a long false flat as we went deeper and deeper into the dense, damp forest.

Rounding a corner the grade kicked up and the surface degraded to wet, loose marbles.  Our chatty group went silent as we all focused on applying power and finding the best line up the steep slippery grade.  El Chefe’ shouted “left”, “straight” or “right” as we approached road intersections.  Momentum was everything and we did all we could to avoid stopping.

Curiously the mix of riders at the front and off the back rotated almost randomly and we regrouped often.  KB was at the back, then off the front.  It seemed we all took turns at both ends of the peloton.  As we passed through a clear cut the sunshine warmed our bodies and we rejoiced.  Our elevation and the morning temperatures were on the rise and it was finally time to shed layers.   Sombrero commented he was happy with his tire pressure choices.  Welcome Rich, welcome.

A long descent spilled out onto a particularly rough area of crushed rock and El Jefe’ showed his leadership and took the flat for the team.  Despite an appropriate amount of sealant his tire refused to seal so we put in a tube and continued.  Chilled from the stop we put in some good efforts to finish the climb.

Soon we were at the Cima Coppi and began a long super gradual descent on a gravel road with good lines in the vehicle tire tracks.  I felt like Spartacus as we flew along.  Despite the rough surface thanks to our fat tires we were in control and laying down the power. My heart rate was right where I wanted it to be and it felt good to push it a bit.  I traded pulls with KB and El Chefe’.

The road seemed to alternate between flat and 1% downhill portions. It was the perfect road to rip on.  El Jefe’ and The Judge went into their own speed vortex off the front. We regrouped and when we rounded a corner we were nearly seven abreast as the view opened up.  I called for a photo stop and we took it all in. 

On the one hand it was a true Washington viewpoint.  Stumps and clear cuts as far as the eye could see.  But the sunshine brought out the changing colors and the greens looked equally powerful on the mountains all around us making the vista beautiful as well.  

It was warming up and I believe everyone felt good.   After some more gravel we came to the gate that marked the end of this segment.  We paused and regrouped.  The ride was so much fun we were giddy.

A mile or so of pavement brought us onto the Snoqualmie Valley Trail, which is a rehabilitated rail line and we sailed along under a thick canopy of green. 

Dry leaves and gravel crunched under our tires.  I hung with The Cheetah, who was celebrating a birthday this day. 

There was Cyclocross racing elsewhere this day but increasingly we find ourselves less motivated by podiums and more interested in spreading our suffering out over several hours with friends.  The idea of cramming all of that pain into a forty-five minute torture session just doesn’t sound as fun as it once did.

We are lucky men to have gravel, friends, good bikes, sunshine and mild temperatures in mid-October. 

Fire on the Mountain

Nearly everything in the mountains is amplified and the entrance of fall is no exception.  The energy and power of summer has grown weary and the forest is silent.  The earth dries out and wildlife frantically prepares for winter. Afternoons are still warm and for a window of time only the nights grow colder.  A few leaves fly in the wind before the hills suddenly explode with red, orange and gold.

This is a time for reflection as we pause, ever so briefly, between summer and winter.  Our recreation waits until the sun has warmed the forest. It is nice to be unhurried.  The objectives of the summer have either been met or missed and the outcomes accepted.  It is a time to look forward.

In this season of comfort it was unusual that I found myself in the morning cold astride my bike before eight AM.  Circumstances necessitated a completion before one in the afternoon and simple arithmetic dictated the start time.  It was about four or five Celsius with the clouds and sun playing tag in a bright blue sky as I departed. 

This was my first ride of the season with big gloves, booties and a wool beanie under my helmet.  Summer is gone for good. My jersey pockets sagged with food and extra clothing as I embarked on my long solitary ride. I passed through town and it was comically quiet.  In a week this place will be busy with hunters getting coffee before seeking their trophies, but this morning everyone must have still been in bed.  In the summer this street is so busy you almost expect to see jugglers on unicycles, but this morning it is deserted.  

I downshifted and started the climb up and away from town. In the shade of the hillside I felt suddenly colder than I had been in the filtered sunshine.  The ascent warmed me and after ten miles I had only seen two vehicles.  I scanned the hillsides for grouse and deer.  Squirrels darted across the road and hawks soared overhead searching for their breakfast.

The road climbed gradually as I made my way north alongside the Chewuch river.  I wasn’t warm and I wasn’t cold.  My effort kept my furnace stoked and I took comfort knowing I had a wind jacket in my back pocket just in case.  The eastern side of the valley was still in the morning shade but the road had sunlight filtered through the trees.  I rode on the left side of the road just to increase my sun exposure. There was no oncoming traffic.  There was no traffic.  I felt like the only person on the planet.

As I continued north the road gained elevation steadily.  I realized I had forgotten to account for the conundrum of riding in the mountains. The higher you go, the colder it is.  The increase in temperature by the day warming up was almost perfectly offset by the decrease in temperature because of the increase in elevation. 

The grade kept my speed moderate and I was able to look around searching for deer, elk and bear.  Sightings are rare, but worth celebrating.  On my return I would be going thirty to forty kilometers an hour and my focus would be on avoiding the countless potholes in this old road, so if I wanted to see wildlife, this was my chance.

Finally the valley floor opened up a bit and for the first time on this ride I felt some warmth.  I pulled off my big gloves and rode with just my liner gloves on my hands.  My cadence was high and the road continued to alternate between slight incline and steeper sections. 

Nearly two hours into the ride the pavement ended and I smiled at the wonderful sound of gravel crunching under my Sectors. As I climbed and climbed the colors got brighter and move vivid.  I was about 1000m (3,300’) above sea level and autumn was ON!  

The gravel road was steeper and alternated between soft sandy patches and washboard at its end of season finest.  I looked up the valley and churned onward.  The valley floor was a mix of jumbled rocks and a meandering stream that seemed to be in no hurry to send its water down the valley.  The ground cover was awash with color and the mix of dark boulders and colorful foliage was stunning.

This spot was the site of a tragic fire in 2001 and in the spring, when I usually ride this route, the black and grey of the snags is only slightly offset by the smattering of green.  Today the hills were muted grey under the clouds yet the yellow on the valley floor was in bright sunshine and the contrast was a treat I may never see again.  I passed the memorial to the young firefighters who died battling the fire sixteen years ago.  I bowed my head out of respect as I rode past.

Any description I might try to convey would betray my shortcomings as a writer and fail to relate the solemn majesty of this silent valley on this crisp morning.  I paused and tried to absorb the scene.  I wished I could capture the feeling and relive it another time. The sound of my breathing vanished in the vastness of the valley.

I had a keen sensation that reminded me that I was a visitor to this valley.  I could stay, but not for long.  I was a long way from people and warmth.  I ate a bar and thought back to last May when I was here and the valley was flooding with snow melt. 

It is such a dichotomy to be in mountains that have been in existence since man stood upright, yet to be witnessing a color explosion and light combination that may only happen a few hours each year.  I soaked in all I could fathom then turned my bike downhill and with the sun on my back I began the journey home.

I was struck by the steepness of the descent on gravel.  I had been so entranced by the beauty on the way up I had forgotten the unrelenting grade.  The washboard and soft sand demanded my focus.  

When I was back on pavement I are a plum I had carried and forgotten about until I felt it in my pocket.  Then I zipped up for the speedy roller coaster descent.  My speed on the sub-optimal pave’ demanded my full attention and only allowed for momentary glances around me. I got in a good rhythm and pushed the pace.  When the grade would let up or even turn upward for a few hundred yards I got out of the saddle and pushed.  I was feeling strong.

As I was nearing home I attacked a short hill and my quads screamed when I got out of the saddle.  I was approaching four hours of ride time and I had spent most of it riding a moderately serious tempo.  It was now warm enough that I took my liner gloves off and unzipped my jersey a few inches. 

Rolling back through town the tourists were now getting lunch and shopping for things they didn’t even know they needed.  I pedaled on and drained the last drops out of my last bottle.  Although I was tired the climb back to the cabin was easy enough and when I unclipped from my clipless pedals (ironic isn’t it?) I savored the satisfaction of a good day in the saddle.